Dying and mad the traitor bites the ground,
His back tranfix'd with a dishonest wound;

While through the fierceft troops, and thickeft prefs,
Virtue carries on fuccefs;

Whilst equal Heaven guards the distinguish'd brave,
And armies cannot hurt whom angels fave.
VII.

Virtue to verfe immortal luftre gives,
Each by the other's mutual friendship lives;
Eneus fuffer'd, and Achilles fought,
The Hero's acts enlarg'd the Poet's thought,
Or Virgil's majefty, and Homer's rage,
Had ne'er like lasting nature vanquish'd age.
Whilft Lewis then his rifing terror drowns

With drum's alarms, and trumpets' founds,
Whilft, hid in arm'd retreats and guarded towns,
From danger as from honour far,

He bribes clofe murder against open war:
In vain you Gallic Mufes ftrive

With labour'd verfe to keep his fame alive:
Your mouldering monuments in vain ye raife
On the weak bafis of the tyrant's praise:
Your fongs are fold, your numbers are profane,
'Tis incenfe to an idol given,

Meat offer'd to Prometheus' man

That had no foul from Heaven.

Against his will, you chain your frighted king
On rapid Rhine's divided bed;

And

And mock your hero, whilft ye fing
The wounds for which he never bled;

Falfhood does poifon on your praise diffuse,
And Lewis' fear gives death to Boileau's Mufe.
VIII.

On its own worth true majesty is rear'd

And virtue is her own reward;

With folid beams and native glory bright,
She neither darkness dreads, nor covets light;
True to herself, and fix'd to inborn laws,
Nor funk by fpight, nor lifted by applause,
She from her fettled orb looks calmly down,
On life or death, a prifon or a crown.
When bound in double chains poor Belgia lay,
To foreign arms and inward ftrife a prey,
Whilft one good man buoy'd up her finking state,
And Virtue labour'd against Fate;

When Fortune bafely with Ambition join'd,
And all was conquer'd but the patriot's mind;
When storms let loofe, and raging feas,
Juft ready the torn veffel to o'erwhelm,
Forc'd not the faithful pilot from his helm,
Nor all the Syren fongs of future peace,
And dazzling profpect of a promis'd crown,
Could lure his tubborn virtue down

But against charms, and threats, and hell, he stood, To that which was feyerely good;

Then, had no trophies juftified his fame,
No Poet bleft his fong with Nafsau's name,
Virtue alone did all that honour bring,
And Heaven as plainly pointed out THE KING,
As when he at the altar ftood

In all his types and robes of power,

Whilft at his feet religious Britain bow'd,
And own'd him next to what we there adore,"

IX.

Say, joyful Maefe, and Boyne's victorious flood,
(For each has inixt his waves with royal blood)
When William's armies past, did he retire,
Or view from far the battle's distant fire ?
Could he believe his perfon was too dear?
Or ufe his greatnefs to conceal his fear?

Could prayers or fighs the dauntless hero move?
Arm'd with Heaven's juftice, and his people's love,
Through the first waves he wing'd his venturous way,
And on the adverse fhore arofe,

(Ten thousand flying deaths in vain oppose).
Like the great Ruler of the day,

With ftrength and fwiftnefs mounting from the fea:
Like him all day he toil'd? but long in night
The god had eas'd his wearied light,

Ere

vengeance left the ftubborn foes,

Or William's labours found repose!

When his troops faulter'd, ftept not he between?
Reftor'd the dubious fight again,

Mark'd

Mark'd out the coward that durft fly,
And led the fainting brave to Victory?
Still as fhe fled him, did he not overtake
Her doubtful courfe, ftill brought her bleeding back?
By his keen fword did not the boldest fall?
Was he not king, commander, foldier, all?-
His dangers fuch as, with becoming dread,
His fubjects yet unborn fhall weep to read?
And were not those the only days that e'er
The pious prince refus'd to hear

His friends' advices, or his subjects prayer?
X.

Where'er old Rhine his fruitful water turns,
Or fills his vaffals' tributary urns;

To Belgia's fav'd dominions, and the fea,
Whose righted waves rejoice in William's fway;
Is there a town where children are not taught,
Here Holland profper'd, for here Orange fought;
Through rapid waters, and through flying fire,
Here rufh'd the prince, here made whole France

retire?

By different nations be his valour bleft,

In different languages confeft:

And then let Shannon fpeak the rest;

Let Shannon speak, how on her wondering shore,
When Conqueft hovering on his arms did wait,
And only afk'd fome lives to bribe her o'ers

The god-like man, the more than conqueror,
With high contempt fent back the fpecious bait ;

1

And, fcorning glory at a price too great,
With fo much power, fuch piety did join,
As made a perfect virtue foar

A pitch unknown to man before;

And lifted Shannon's waves o'er those of Boyne,
XI.

Nor do his fubjects only share

The prosperous fruits of his indulgent reign;
His enemies approve the pious war,

Which, with their weapon, takes away their chain,
More than his fword his goodness strikes his foes:
They blefs his arms, and figh they muft oppose,
Juftice and freedom on his conquefts wait;
And 'tis for man's delight that he is great:
Succeeding times fhall with long joy contend,
If he were more a victor, or a friend :
So much his courage and his mercy strive,
He wounds to cure, and conquers to forgive,

XII.

Ye heroes, that have fought your country's cause,
Redrefs'd her injuries, or form'd her laws,
To my adventurous fong juft witness bear,
Affift the pious Mufe, and hear her swear;
That 'tis no Poet's thought, no flight of youth,
But folid ftory, and severest truth,
That William treasures up a greater name,
Than any country, any age, can boast :

And all that ancient flock of fame

He did from his fore-fathers take,

не