Afk Villeroy, for Villeroy beheld
The town furrender'd, and the treaty feal'd; With what amazing strength the forts were won, Whilft the whole pow'r of France ftood looking on. But stop not here: Behold where Berkley stands, And executes his injur'd King's commands; Around thy coaft His bursting bombs he pours On flaming citadels, and falling tow'rs;
With hiffing streams of fire the air they streak, And hurl destruction round 'em where they break; The fkies with long ascending flames are bright, And all the fea reflects a quivering light.
Thus Etna, when in fierce eruptions broke, Fills heav'n with afhes; and the earth with smoke Here crags of broken rocks are twirl'd on high, Here molten stones and scatter'd cinders fly: Its fury reaches the remoteft coaft,
And strows the Afiatic fhore with duft:
Now does the failof from the neighbʼring main
Look after Gallic towns and forts in vain;
No more his wonted marks he can descry,
But fees a long unmeasur'd ruin lie;
Whilft, pointing to the naked coaft, he shows
His wondring mates where towns and steeples rofe,
Where crowded citizens he lately view'd,
[ftood.
And fingles out the place where once St. Maloes
Here Ruffel's actions fhould my Muse require;
And would my ftrength but fecond my defire,
I'd all his boundless bravery rehearse,
And draw his cannons thund'ring in my verfe;
High on the deck should the great leader stand,
Wrath in his look, and light'ning in his hand;
Like Homer's Hector when he flung his fire
[retire.
Amidft a thousand fhips, and made all Greece
But who can run the British triumphs o'er,
And count the flames difperft on ev'ry shore?
Who can describe the scatter'd victory,
And draw the reader on from fea to fea?
Elfe who cou'd Ormond's God-like acts refuse,
Ormond the theme of ev'ry Oxford Muse?
Fain wou'd I here his mighty worth proclaim,
Attend him in the noble chase of fame,
Through all the noise and hurry of the fight,
Obferve each blow, and keep him ftill in fight.
Oh, did our British peers thus court renown, And grace the coats their great fore-fathers won! Our arms wou'd then triumphantly advance,
Nor Henry be the last that conquer'd France.
What might not England hope, if fuch abroad
Purchas'd their country's honour with their blood:
When fuch, detain'd at home, fupport our ftate
In WILLIAM's ftead, and bear a kingdom's weight,
The schemes of Gallic policy o'erthrow,
And blast the counfels of the common foe;
Direct our armies, and distribute right,
And render our * MARIA's lofs more light.
But stop, my Muse, th' ungrateful found forbear,
MARIA's name ftill wounds each British ear:
Each British heart MARIA ftill does wound,
And tears burft out unbidden at the found;
MARIA still our rifing mirth destroys,
Darkens our triumphs, and forbids our joys.
But fee, at length, the British ships appear! Our NASSAU comes! and as his fleet draws near,
The rifing mafts advance, the fails grow white,
And all his pompous navy floats in fight.
Come, mighty Prince, defir'd of Britain, come!
May Heav'n's propitious gales attend thee home!
Come, and let longing crowds behold that look,
Which fuch confufion and amazement ftrook
Through Gallic hofts: But, oh! let us defcry
Mirth in thy brow, and pleasure in thy eye;
Let nothing dreadful in thy face be found,
But for a-while forget the trumpet's found;
Well pleas'd, thy people's loyalty approve,
Accept their duty, and enjoy their love.
For as when lately mov'd with fierce delight,
You plung'd amidft the tumult of the fight,
Whole heaps of death encompass'd you around,
And steeds o'er-turn'd lay foaming on the ground;
So crown'd with laurels now, where-e'er you go,
Around you blooming joys, and peaceful blessings
flow.
Except the Story of ARISTUS.
Thereal fweets fhall next my Muse engage,
And this, Macenas, claims your patronage,
Of little creatures wond'rous acts I treat,
The ranks and mighty leaders of their state,
Their laws, employments, and their wars relate.
A trifling theme provokes my humble lays,
Trifling the theme; not fo the Poet's praise,
If great Apollo and the tuneful nine
Join in the piece, and make the work divine.
First, for
bees a proper station find,
That's fenc'd about, and shelter'd from the wind; For winds divert them in their flight, and drive The fwarms, when loaden homeward, from their
Nor fheep, nor goats, muft pafture near their stores, To trample under foot the fpringing flowers;
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