Pardon me, Janus, 'twas a fault,
Created by too great a thought:
Mindless of the god and day,
I from thy altars, Janus, stray;
From thee, and from myself, borne far away.
The fiery Pegasus disdains
To mind the rider's voice, or hear the reins:
When glorious fields and opening camps he views;
He runs with an unbounded loose:
Hardly the Muse can sit the headstrong horse;
Nor would she, if she could, check his impetuous force:
With the glad noise the cliffs and valleys ring;
While she through earth and air pursues the king.
She now beholds him on the Belgic shore,
Whilst Britain's tears his ready help implore;
Dissembling for her sake his rising cares,
And with wise silence pondering vengeful wars.
She through the raging ocean now
Views him advancing his auspicious prow;
Combating adverse winds and winter seas,
Sighing the moments that defer our ease;
Daring to wield the sceptre's dangerous weight,
And taking the command, to save the state;
Though ere the doubtful gift can be secured,
New wars must be sustained, new wounds endured.
Through rough Ierne's camps she sounds alarms,
And kingdoms yet to be redeemed by arms;
In the dank marshes finds her glorious theme;
And plunges after him through Boyne's fierce stream.
She bids the Nereids run with trembling haste,
To tell old Ocean how the Hero passed.
The god rebukes their fear, and owns the praise
Worthy that arm, whose empire he obeys.
Back to his Albion she delights to bring
The humblest victor, and the kindest king.
Albion with open triumph would receive
Her hero, nor obtains his leave;
Firm he rejects the altars she would raise;
And thanks the zeal, while he declines the praise.
Again she follows him through Belgia's land,
And countries often saved by William's hand;
Hears joyful nations bless those happy toils,
Which freed the people, but returned the spoils.
In various views she tries her constant theme,
Finds him in councils, and in arms the same;
When certain to o'ercome, inclined to save,
Tardy to vengeance, and with mercy brave.
Sudden another scene employs her sight;
She sets her hero in another light;
Paints his great mind superior to success,
Declining conquest, to establish peace;
She brings Astrea down to earth again,
And quiet, brooding o'er his future reign.
Then with unweary wing the goddess soars
East, over Danube and Propontis' shores;
Where jarring empires, ready to engage,
Retard their armies, and suspend their rage;
Till William's word, like that of Fate, declares,
If they shall study peace, or lengthen wars.
How sacred his renown for equal laws,
To whom the world defers its common cause!
How fair his friendships, and his leagues how just, Whom every nation courts, whom all religions trust!
From the Mæotis to the Northern sea,
The goddess wings her desperate way;
See the young Muscovite,' the mighty head,
Whose sovereign terror forty nations dread,
Enamoured with a greater monarch's praise,
And passing half the earth to his embrace;
She in his rule beholds his Volga's force,
O'er precipices with impetuous sway
Breaking, and as he rolls his rapid course,
Drowning, or bearing down, whatever meets his way.
But her own king she likens to his Thames,
With gentle course devolving fruitful streams;
Serene yet strong, majestic yet sedate,
Swift without violence, without terror great.
Each ardent nymph the rising current craves;
Each shepherd's prayer retards the parting waves;
The vales along the bank their sweets disclose;
Fresh flowers for ever rise: and fruitful harvest grows.
Yet whither would the adventurous goddess go!
Sees she not clouds, and earth, and main below;
Minds she the dangers of the Lycian coast,
And fields, where mad Bellerophon was lost?
Or is her towering flight reclaimed,
By seas from Icarus's downfall named?
Vain is the call, and useless the advice:
To wise persuasion deaf, and human cries,
Yet upwards she incessant flies;
Resolved to reach the high empyrean sphere,
And tell great Jove, she sings his image here;
To ask for William an Olympic crown,
To Chromius' strength and Theron's speed unknown:
Till, lost in trackless fields of shining day,
Unable to discern the way,
Which Nassau's virtue only could explore,
Untouched, unknown, to any Muse before;
She, from the noble precipices thrown,
Comes rushing with uncommon ruin down.
Glorious attempt! unhappy fate!
The song too daring, and the theme too great!
Yet rather thus she wills to die,
Than in continued annals live, to sing
A second hero, or a vulgar king;
And with ignoble safety fly
In sight of earth, along a middle sky.
To Janus' altars, and the numerous throng,
That round his mystic temple press,
For William's life, and Albion's peace,
Ambitious Muse reduce the roving song.
Janus, cast thy forward eye
Future, into great Rhea's pregnant womb;
Where young ideas brooding lie,
And tender images of things to come;
Till by thy high commands released,
Till by thy hand in proper atoms dressed,
In decent order they advance to light;
Yet then too swiftly fleet by human sight;
And meditate too soon their everlasting flight.
Nor beaks of ships in naval triumph borne,
Nor standards from the hostile ramparts torn,
Nor trophies brought from battles won,
Nor oaken wreath, nor mural crown,
future honours give
To the victorious monarch's name:
The plenitude of William's fame
Can no accumulated stores receive.
Shut then, auspicious god, thy sacred gate,
And make us happy, as our king is great.
Be kind, and with a milder hand,
Closing the volume of the finished age,
Though noble, 'twas an iron page,
A more delightful leaf expand,
Free from alarms, and fierce Bellona's rage.
Bid the great months begin their joyful round,
By Flora some, and some by Ceres crowned;
Teach the glad hours to scatter as they fly,
Soft quiet, gentle love, and endless joy;
Lead forth the years for peace and plenty famed,
From Saturn's rule, and better metal named.
Secure by William's care let Britain stand,
Nor dread the bold invader's hand:
From adverse shores in safety let her hear
Foreign calamity, and distant war;
Of which let her, great Heaven, no portion bear!
Betwixt the nations let her hold the scale,
And as she wills, let either part prevail;
Let her glad valleys smile with wavy corn:
Let fleecy flocks her rising hills adorn;
Around her coast let strong defence be spread:
Let fair abundance on her breast be shed;
And heavenly sweets bloom round the goddess' head.
Where the white towers and ancient roofs did stand,
Remains of Wolsey's or great Henry's hand,
To age now yielding, or devoured by flame;
Let a young phenix raise her towering head;
Her wings with lengthened honour let her spread;
And by her greatness show her builder's fame.
August and open, as the hero's mind,
Be her capacious courts designed:
Let every sacred pillar bear
|