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But tyrants dread ye, lest your just decree
Transfer the power, and set the people free.
See rescued Britain at your altars bow;
And hear her hymns your happy care avow;
That still her axes and her rods support
The judge's frown, and grace the awful court;
That Law with all her pompous terror stands,
To wrest the dagger from the traitor's hands;
And rigid justice reads the fatal word,
Poises the balance first, then draws the sword.
Britain her safety to your guidance owns,
That she can sep'rate parricides from sons;
That, impious rage disarmed, she lives and reigns,
Her freedom kept by him, who broke her chains.
And thou, great minister, above the rest
Of guardian spirits, be thou for ever blest;
Thou, who of old wert sent to Israel's court,
With secret aid, great David's strong support,
To mock the frantic rage of cruel Saul,
And strike the useless javelin to the wall;
Thy later care o'er William's temples held,
On Boyne's propitious banks, the heavenly shield;
When power divine did sovereign right declare,
And cannons marked whom they were bid to spare. 30
Still, blessed angel, be thy care the same;

Be William's life untouched, as is his fame!
Let him own thine, as Britain owns his hand:
Save thou the king, as he has saved the land!

you;

We angels' forms in pious monarchs view;
We reverence William; for he acts like
Like you, commissioned to chastise and bless,
He must avenge the world, and give it peace.

Indulgent Fate our potent prayer receives;
And still Britannia smiles, and William lives.

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The hero dear to earth, by Heaven beloved,
By troubles must be vexed, by dangers proved:
His foes must aid to make his fame complete,
And fix his throne secure on their defeat.

So, though with sudden rage the tempest comes; Though the winds roar, and though the water foams, Imperial Britain on the sea looks down,

And smiling sees her rebel subject frown;
Striking her cliff, the storm confirms her power;
The waves but whiten her triumphant shore;
In vain they would advance, in vain retreat;
Broken they dash, and perish at her feet.

For William still new wonders shall be shown: The powers that rescued, shall preserve the throne. Safe on his darling Britain's joyful sea,

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Behold, the monarch ploughs his liquid way;
His fleets in thunder through the world declare,
Whose empire they obey, whose arms they bear.
Blessed by aspiring winds, he finds the strand
Blackened with clouds; he sees the nations stand 60
Blessing his safety, proud of his command.

In various tongues he hears the captains dwell
On their great leader's praise; by turns they tell,
And listen, each with emulous glory fired,
How William conquered, and how France retired;
How Belgia freed the hero's arm confessed,
But trembled for the courage which she blessed.
O Louis, from this great example know,
To be at once a hero, and a foe;
By sounding trumpets, hear, and rattling drums,
When William to the open vengeance comes;
And see the soldier plead the monarch's right,
Heading his troops, and foremost in the fight.

Hence then, close Ambush and perfidious War,

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Down to your native seats of Night repair.
And thou, Bellona, weep thy cruel pride
Restrained, behind the victor's chariot tied
In brazen knots, and everlasting chains,
(So Europe's peace, so William's fate ordains).
While on the ivory chair, in happy state,
He sits, secure in innocence, and great
In regal clemency; and views beneath
Averted darts of rage, and pointless arms of death.

TO CLOE WEEPING.

SEE, whilst thou weep'st, fair Cloe, see
The world in sympathy with thee!

The cheerful birds no longer sing,

Each droops his head, and hangs his wing;
The clouds have bent their bosom lower,
And shed their sorrows in a shower;
The brooks beyond their limits flow;
And louder murmurs speak their woe;
The nymphs and swains adopt thy cares,
They heave thy sighs, and weep thy tears;
Fantastic nymph! that grief should move
Thy heart obdurate against Love.
Strange tears! whose power can soften all,
But that dear breast on which they fall.

TO MR HOWARD.'

AN ODE.

1 DEAR Howard, from the soft assaults of Love, Poets and painters never are secure;

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1 Hugh Howard, better known by these verses than by his own works, was son of Ralph Howard, doctor of physic, and was born in Dublin, February 7, 1675.

Can I untouched the fair ones' passions move,
Or thou draw beauty, and not feel its power!

2 To great Apelles when young Ammon brought '
The darling idol of his captive heart;
And the pleased nymph with kind attention sat,
To have her charms recorded by his art;

3 The amorous master owned her potent eyes; Sighed when he looked, and trembled as he drew; Each flowing line confirmed his first surprise,

And as the piece advanced, the passion grew.

4 While Philip's son, while Venus' son was near, What different tortures does his bosom feel! Great was the rival, and the god severe:

Nor could he hide his flame, nor durst reveal.

5 The prince, renowned in bounty as in arms,
With pity saw the ill-concealed distress;
Quitted his title to Campaspe's charms,
And gave the fair one to the friend's embrace.

6 Thus the more beauteous Cloe sat to thee,
Good Howard, emulous of the Grecian art;
But happy thou, from Cupid's arrow free,
And flames that pierced thy predecessor's heart.

7 Had thy poor breast received an equal pain,

Had I been vested with the monarch's power, Thou must have sighed, unlucky youth, in vain; Nor from my bounty hadst thou found a cure.

8 Though to convince thee, that the friend did feel A kind concern for thy ill-fated care,

1 See Pliny's Natural History, b. 35. c. 10.

I would have soothed the flame I could not heal; Given thee the world, though I withheld the fair.

LOVE DISARMED.

BENEATH a myrtle's verdant shade
As Cloe half asleep was laid,
Cupid perched lightly on her breast,
And in that heaven desired to rest:
Over her paps his wings he spread;
Between, he found a downy bed,
And nestled in his little head.

Still lay the god: the nymph surprised,
Yet mistress of herself, devised
How she the vagrant might enthral,
And captive him, who captives all.

Her boddice half-way she unlaced;
About his arms she slily cast

The silken bond, and held him fast.

The god awaked, and thrice in vain
He strove to break the cruel chain;
And thrice in vain he shook his wing,
Incumbered in the silken string.

Flutt'ring the god, then weeping said,
Pity poor Cupid, generous maid,
Who happened, being blind, to stray,
And on thy bosom lost his way;
Who strayed, alas! but knew too well,
He never there must hope to dwell:
Set an unhappy prisoner free,
Who ne'er intended harm to thee.

To me pertains not, she replies,
To know or care where Cupid flies,
What are his haunts, or which his way;

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