Mars en feu qui les domine,
Souffle à grand bruit leur ruine;
Et les bombes dans les airs
Allant chercher le tonnere,
Semblant tombant sur la terre,
Vouloir s'ouvrir les enfers.
N'ont veû fur leurs foibles rives
With terror fill the neighb'ring field,
While William carries on the trench
Till both the town and castle yield.
Vill'roy to Boufflers should advance,
Says Mars, thro' cannons mouth in fire!
Ideft, one Marefhal of France
Tells t'other he can come no nigher.
Regain the lines the shortest way,
Vill'roy, or to Versailles take poft,
For having feen it, thou canst say
The fteps by which Namur was loft.
The fmoke and flame may vex thy fight;
Look not once back; but, as thou goeft,
Quicken the fquadrons in their flight,
And bid the devil take the floweft.
Think not what reafon to produce
From Louis to conceal thy fear:
He'll own the strength of thy excufe,
Tell him that William was but there.
Now let us look for Louis' feather
That us'd to fhine fo like a ftar;
The Gen'rals could not get together
Wanting that influence, great in war;
O Poet! thou hadst been difcreeter,
Hanging the Monarch's hat fo high,
If thou hadst dubb'd thy ftar a meteor
That did but blaze, and rove, and die.
XIII.
To animate the doubtful fight
Namur in vain expects that ray;
In vain France hopes the fickly light
Should shine near William's fuller day.
It knows Verfailles, its proper ftation,
Nor cares for any foreign sphere :
fee Boileau's conftellation
Be fure no danger can be near.
XIV.
Loin de fermer le paffage
A vos nombreux bataillons,
Luxembourg a du rivage
Reculé fes pavillons,
Quoy? leur feul afpect vous glace?
Où font ces chef's pleins d'audace,
Jadis fi prompts à marcher,
Qui devoient de la Tamife,
Et de la Drâve foûmife,
Jufqu'à Paris nous chercher ?
Cependant l'effroy redouble
Sur les remparts de Namur
Son gouverneur qui fe trouble
S'enfuit fous fon dernier mur.
Déja jufques à fes portes
Je voy monter nos cohortes,
La flame et le fer en main :
Et fur les monceaux de piques,
De corpes morts, de rocs, de briques,
S'ouvrir un large chemin.
C'en eft fait. Je viens d'entendre
Sur ces rochers épurdus
Battre un fignal pour fe rendre :
Le feu ceffe. Ils font rendus.
Dépouillez vôtre arrogance,
Fiers ennemis de la France,
Et deformais gracieux,
Allez à Liege, à Bruxelles,
Porter les humbles nouvelles
De Namur pris à vous yeux.
The French had gather'd all their force,
And William met them in their way,
Yet off they brufh'd, both foot and horfe;
What has friend Boileau left to say?
When his high Mufe is bent upon't,
Of death, pikes, rocks, arms, bricks, and fire;
Leave 'em behind you honest Friend,
And with your countrymen retire.
Your ode is fpoilt; Namur is freed:
For Dixmuyd fomething yet is due ;
So good Count Guifcard may proceed;
But, Boufflers, Sir, one word with you-
'Tis done. In fight of these commanders
Who neither fight nor raise the fiege,
The foes of France march fafe thro' Flanders,
Divide to Bruxelles or to Liege.
THE GARLAND.
"HE pride of ev'ry grove I chose, The violet fweet and lily fair, The dappled pink and blushing rofe, To deck my charming Cloe's hair.
At morn the nymph vouchfaf'd to place
Upon her brow the various wreath;
The flow'rs lefs blooming than her face,
The fcent lefs fragrant than her breath.
The flow'rs fhe wore along the day,
And ev'ry nymph and fhepherd faid,
That in her hair they look'd more gay
Than glowing in their native bed.
Undreft at ev'ning, when the found
Their odours loft, their colours past,
She chang'd her look, and on the ground
Her garland and her eyes fhe caft.
That eye dropt sense diftinct and clear
As any Mufe's tongue could fpeak,
When from its lid a pearly tear
Ran trickling down her beauteous cheek.
Diffembling what I knew too well,
My love, my life, faid I, explain
This change of humour; pr'ythee tell,
That falling tear-what does it mean?
VII.
She figh'd, the fmil'd; and to the flow'rs
Pointing, the lovely mor'lift faid,
See, Friend, in fome few fleeting hours,
See yonder what a change is made.
Ah me! the blooming pride of May
And that of Beauty are but one;
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