TH

On the Taking of NAMUR.

HE town which Louis bought, Nassau re-claims, And brings instead of bribes avenging flames. Now, Louis, take thy titles from above,

Boileau fhall fing, and we'll believe thee Jove :
Jove gain'd his miftrefs with alluring gold,
But Jove like thee was impotent and old!
Active and young did he like William ftand,
He 'ad ftunn'd the dame, his thunder in his hand.

ODE; in Imitation of HORACE, 3 Ód. ii.
Written in 1692.

I.

How long, deluded Albion, wilt thou lie

In the lethargic fleep, the fad repose,

By which thy close, thy conftant enemy,
C Has foftly lull'd thee to thy woes?

Or wake, degenerate ifle, or cease to own

What thy old kings in Gallic camps have done;

The fpoils they brought thee back, the crowns they

won:

William (fo fate requires) again is arm'd;

Thy father to the field is gone:

Again Maria weeps her abfent lord,
For thy repofe content to rule alone.

VOL. I.

E

Are

Are thy enervate fons not yet alarm'd ?

When William fights, dare they look tamely on,
So flow to get their ancient fame restor'd,

As nor to melt at Beauty's tears, nor follow Valour's

fword?

II.

See the repenting ifle awakes,

Her vicious chains the generous goddess breaks :-
The fogs around her temples are difpell'd;
Abroad the looks, and fees arm'd Belgia stand
Prepar'd to meet their common Lord's command ;
Her lions roaring by her fide, her arrows in her hand-
And, blushing to have been fo long with-held,
Weeps off her crime, and haftens to the field:
Henceforth her youth shall be inur❜d to bear
Hazardous toil and active war :

To march beneath the dog-star's raging heat,
Patient of summer's drought, and martial sweat ;
And only grieve in winter's camps to find
Its days too fhort for labours they defign'd:

All night beneath hard heavy arms to watch;
All day to mount the trench, to ftorm the breach;
And all the rugged paths to tread,

Where William and his virtue lead..

III.

Silence is the foul of war;

Deliberate counsel must prepare

The mighty work, which valour must compleat :
Thus William refcued, thus preferves the state;
Thus teaches us to think and dare.

As

As whilst his cannon just prepar'd to breathe
Avenging anger and swift death,

In the tried metal the close dangers glow,

And now, too late, the dying foe

Perceives the flame, yet cannot ward the blow;.
So whilft in William's breaft ripe counfels lie,,
Secret and fure as brooding Fate,

No more of his design appears,
Than what awakens Gallia's fears;

And (though Guilt's eye can fharply penetrate)
Distracted Lewis can defcry

Only a long unmeasur'd ruin nigh.

IV.

On Norman coafts and banks of frighted Seine
Lo! the impending storms begin:
Britannia fafely through her master's fea,
Plows up her victorious way.

The French Salmoneus throws his bolts in vain,
Whilft the true Thunderer afferts the main :
"Tis done to fhelves and rocks his fleets retire,
Swift victory in vengeful flames

Burns down the pride of their prefumptuous names
They run to fhipwreck to avoid our fire,

And the torn veffels that regain their coaft
Are but fad marks to fhew the reft are loft:

All this the mild, the beauteous, Queen has done,
And William's fofter-half shakes Lewis' throne:

Maria does the fea command

Whilft Gallia flies her husband's arms by land.

So, the Sun abfent, with full fway the Moon
Governs the isles, and rules the waves alone :
So Juno thunders when her Jove is gone.
Io Britannia! loofe thy ocean's chains,

Whilft Ruffel ftrikes the blow thy queen ordains
Thus rescued, thus rever'd, for ever stand,
And bless the counfel, and reward the hand,
Io Britannia! thy Maria reigns.

V.

From Mary's conquefts, and the rescued main,
Let France look forth to Sambre's armed fhore,
And boast her joy for William's death no more.
He lives; let France confefs, the victor lives:
Her triumphs for his death were vain,
And spoke her terror of his life too plain.
The mighty years begin, the day draws nigh,
In which that one of Lewis' many wives,
Who, by the baleful force of guilty charms,
Has long enthrall'd him in her wither'd arms,
Shall o'er the plains, from diftant towers on high,
Caft around her mournful eye,

And with prophetic forrow cry:

"Why does my ruin'd lord retard his flight ?
Why does despair provoke his age to fight?
As well the wolf may venture to engage
The angry lion's generous rage;

The ravenous vulture, and the bird of night,
As fafely tempt the stooping eagle's flight;
As Lewis to unequal arms defy

Yon' hero, crown'd with blooming victory,

Juft triumphing o'er rebel-rage restrain'd,

And yet unbreath'd from battles gain'd.
See all yon' dufty field's quite cover'd o'er
With hoftile troops, and Orange at their head;
Orange, deftin'd to complete

The great defigns of labouring Fate;
Orange, the name that tyrants dread :
He comes; our ruin'd empire is no more;
Down, like the Perfian, goes the Gallic throne;
Darius flies, young Ammon urges on."
VI.

Now from the dubious battle's mingled heat,
Let Fear look back, and ftretch her hafty wing,
Impatient to fecure a bafe retreat :

Let the pale coward leave his wounded king,
For the vile privilege to breathe,

To live with shame in dread of glorious death!
In vain for Fate has swifter wings than Fear,
She follows hard, and strikes him in the rear;
Dying and mad the traitor bites the ground,
His back transfix'd with a dishonest wound;

Whilft through the fierceft troops, and thickest prefs, Virtue carries on fuccefs;

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