When Fortune basely with Ambition join'd,
And all was conquer'd but the patriot's mind;
When storms let loose, and raging seas,
Just ready the torn vessel to o'erwhelm,
Forc'd not the faithful pilot from his helm,
Nor all the Siren songs of future peace,
And dazzling prospect of a promis'd crown,
Could lure his stubborn virtue down:
But against charms, and threats, and hell, he stood
To that which was severely good;
Then had no trophies justify'd his fame,
No poet bless'd his song with Nassau's name;
Virtue alone did all that honour bring,
And Heav'n as plainly pointed out the King,
As when he at the altar stood
In all his types and robes of pow'r,
Whilst at his feet religious Britain bow'd,
And own'd him next to what we there adore.
Say, joyful Maese, and Boyne's victorious flood,
(For each has mix'd his waves with royal blood)
When William's armies pass'd, did he retire,
Or view from far the battle's distant fire?
Could he believe his person was too dear?
Or use his greatness to conceal his fear?
Could pray'rs or sighs the dauntless hero move
Arm'd with Heav'n's justice and his people's love,
Thro' the first waves he wing'd his vent'rous way,
And on the adverse shore arose,
(Ten thousand flying deaths in vain oppose)
Like the great ruler of the day,
With strength and swiftness mounting from the sea,
Like him all day he toil'd, but long in night
The God has eas'd his weary'd light,
Ere vengeance left the stubborn foes,
Or William's labours found repose.
When his troops faulter'd, step'd not he between,
Restor'd the dubious fight again,
Mark'd out the coward that durst fly,
And led the fainting brave to Victory?
Still as she fled him, did he not o'ertake
Her doubtful course, and brought her bleeding back?
By his keen sword did not the boldest fall?
Was he not king, commander, soldier, all—
His dangers such as with becoming dread
His subjects yet unborn shall 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' pray'r?
Where'er old Rhine his fruitful water turns,
Or fills his vassals' tributary urns,
To Belgia's sav'd dominions and the sea,
Whose righted waves rejcice in William's sway, Is there a town where children are not taught, Here Holland prosper'd, for here Orange fought? Thro' rapid waters and through flying fire
Here rush'd the Prince, here made whole France By different nations be his valour blest, [retire? In different languages confest,
And then let Shannon speak the rest:
Let Shannon speak how, on her wond'ring shore,
When conquest hov'ring on his arms did wait,
And only ask'd some lives to bribe her o'er,
The godlike man, the more than conqueror,
With high contempt sent back the spacious bait,
And scorning glory at a price too great,
With so much pow'r, such piety did join,
As made a perfect virtue soar
A pitch unknown to man before,
And lifted Shannon's waves o'er those of Boyne.
Nor do his subjects only share
The prosp'rous fruits of his indulgent reign;
His enemies approve the pious war,
Which, with their weapon, takes away their chain :
More than his sword his goodness strikes his foes;
They bless his arms, and sigh they must oppose;
Justice and freedom on his conquests wait,
And 'tis for man's delight that he is great:
Succeeding times shall 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.
Ye heroes! who have fought your country's cause, Redress'd her injuries, or form'd her laws,
To my advent'rous song just witness bear,
Assist the pious Muse, and hear her swear,
That 'tis no poet's thought, no flight of youth,
But solid story and severest truth,
That William treasures up a greater name
Than any country, any age, can boast;
And all that ancient stock of fame
He did from his forefathers take
He has improv'd, and gives with int'rest back,
And in his constellation does unite
Their scatter'd rays of fainter light:
Above or Envy's lash or Fortune's wheel
That settled glory shall for ever dwell,
Above the rolling orbs and common sky,
Where nothing comes that e'er shall die.
Where roves the Muse? where, thoughtless to Is her short-lived vessel borne
By potent winds, too subject to be tost,
And in the sea of William's praises lost?
Nor let her 'tempt that deep; nor make the shore
Where our abandon'd youth she sees
Shipwreck'd in luxury and lost in ease;
Whom nor Britannia's danger can alarm,
Nor William's exemplary virtue warm :
Tell 'em, howe'er, the King can yet forgive
Their guilty sloth, their homage yet receive,
And let their wounded honour live :
But sure and sudden be their just remorse:
Swift be their virtue's rise, and strong its course:
For tho' for certain years and destin❜d times
Merit has lain confus'd with crimes,
Tho' Jove seem'd negligent of human cares,
Nor scourg'd our follies nor return'd our pray'rs,
His justice now demands the equal scales,
Sedition is suppress'd, and truth prevails;
Fate its great end by slow degrees attains,
And Europe is redeem'd, and William reigns.
HIER, l'Amour touché du son
Que rendoit ma lire qu'il aime,
Me promit pour une chanson,
Deux baisers de sa mare même.
Non, luy dis-je, tu scais mes vœux :
Tu connois quel penchant m'entraine, Au lieu d'un j'en offre deux,
Pour un seul baiser de Climene.
Il me promit ce doux retour,
Ma lire en est plus de tendresse ; Mais vous, Climene, de l'amour Acquiterez-vous la promesse ?
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