Attend to what a leffer Mufe indites,
Pardon her Faults, and countenance her Flights.
On You, my Lord, with anxious Fear I wait,
And from your Judgment must expect my Fate,
Who, free from Vulgar paffions, are above
Degrading Envy, or Mifguided Love;
If you, well pleas'd, shall smile upon my lays,
Secure of Fame, my Voice I'll boldly raise,
For next to what You write, is what You praife.
HEN now the business of the Field is o'er,
The Trumpets fleep, and Cannons cease to roar,
When ev'ry dismal Echo is decay'd,
And all the Thunder of the Battle laid;
Attend, Aufpicious Prince, and let the Muse
In humble Accents Milder thoughts infuse.
Others, in bold Prophetic numbers skill'd,
Set thee in Arms, and led thee to the field;
My Muse expecting on the British ftrand
Waits thy Return, and welcomes thee to land:
She oft has seen thee preffing on the Foe,
When Europe was concern'd in ev'ry Blow;
But durft not in Heroic strains rejoice;
The Trumpets, Drums, and Cannons drown'd her Voice:
She faw the Boyn run thick with Human gore,
And floating Corps lie beating on the Shore ;
She faw thee climb the banks, but try'd in vain
To trace her Hero through the dusty plain,
When through the thick Embattel'd lines he broke,
Now plung'd amidst the Foes,now loft in clouds of smoke.
O that fome Muse, renown'd for Lofty, verse,
In daring numbers wou'd thy Toils rehearse!
Draw thee Belov'd in peace, and Fear'd in wars,
Inur'd to Noon day sweats, and Mid-night cares!
But ftill the God-like Man, by fome hard Fate,
Receives the Glory of his toils too late;
Too late the Verse the mighty Act fucceeds,
One Age the Hero, one the Poet breeds.
A Thousand years in full fucceffion ran,
Ere Virgil rais'd his voice, and fung the Man
Who, driv'n by stress of fate, fuch dangers bore
On ftormy Seas, and a difaftrous Shore,
Before he fettled in the Promis'd Earth,
And gave the Empire of the World its birth.
Troy long had found the Grecians bold and fierce, Ere Homer mufter'd up their Troops in Verfe; Long had Achilles quell'd the Trojans' Lust, And laid the Labour of the Gods in duft, Before the Tow'ring Mufe began her flight, And drew the Hero raging in the Fight, Engag'd in tented fields, and rolling floods, Or flaught'ring Mortals, or a Match for Gods.
And here, perhaps, by Fate's unerring doom, Some Mighty Bard lies hid in years to come,
That fhall in WILLIAM's God-like Acts engage,
And with his Battles warm a Future age,
Hibernian fields fhall here thy Conquefts fhow,
And Boyn be Sung, when it has ceas'd to Flow;
Here Gallic labours fhall advance thy fame,
And here Seneffe shall wear Another name.
Our late Pofterity, with fecret dread,
Shall view thy Battles, and with Pleasure read
How, in the bloody field, too near advanc'd,
The Guiltless Bullet on thy fhoulder glanc'd.
The Race of NASSAUS was by heav'n defign'd
To curb the proud Oppreffors of mankind,
To bind the Tyrants of the Earth with laws,
And fight in ev'ry Injur'd nation's cause,
The World's great Patriots; they for Juftice call,
And as they favour, Kingdoms rife or fall.
Our British Youth, unus'd to rough Alarms,
Careless of Fame, and negligent of Arms,
Had long forgot to Meditate the foe,
And heard unwarm'd the Martial Trumpet blow;
But now, infpir'd by Thee, with fresh delight,
Their Swords they brandish, and require the Fight,
Renew their Ancient Conquefts on the Main,
And act their Father's triumphs o'er again;
Fir'd, when they hear how Agincourt was strow'd
With Gallic corps, and Cressi swam in blood,
With eager warmth they fight, Ambitious all
Who first shall storm the Breach, or mount the Wall.
In vain the thronging Enemy by force
Would clear the Ramparts, and repel their courfe;
They break through all, for WILLIAM leads the way,
Where Fires rage most, and loudest Engines play.
Namure's late Terrors and Destruction show,
What WILLIAM, warm'd with just Revenge, can do :
Where once a thousand Turrets rais'd on high
Their gilded Spires, and glitter'd in the sky,
An undistinguish'd heap of Duft is found,
And all the pile lies smoking on the ground.
His Toils for no Ignoble ends defign'd,
Promote the common welfare of mankind;
No wild Ambition moves, but Europe's Fears,
The Cries of Orphans, and the Widow's Tears:
Oppret Religion gives the first alarms,
And injur'd Juftice fets him in his Arms;
His Conquefts Freedom to the world afford,
And nations blefs the Labours of his fword.
Thus when the forming Mufe wou'd copy forth
A perfect Pattern of Heroic worth,
She fets a Man Triumphant in the field,
O'er Giants cloven down, and Monsters kill'd,
Reeking in blood, and fineer'd with duft and sweat,
Whilft Angry Gods confpire to make him Great.
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