Mars on the gods did then his aid bestow,
And now in godlike William storms with equal force be
Still they proceed, with firm unshaken pace,
And hardy breasts oppos'd to Danger's face,
With daring feet, on springing mines they tread
Of fecret fulphur, in dire ambush laid.
Still they proceed; though all beneath, the labouring earth
Trembles to give the dread irruptions birth.
Through this, through more, through all they go,
Mounting at last amidst the vanquish'd foe.
See, how they climb, and scale the steepy walls !
See, how the Britons rife! fee the retiring Gauls !
Now from the fort, behold the yielding flag is spread,
And William's banner on the breach display'd,
Hark, the triumphant shouts from every voice!
The skies with acclamations ring!
Hark, how around, the hills rejoice,
And rocks reflected Ios sing!
Hautboys and fifes and trumpets join'd,
Heroic harmony prepare,
And charm to filence every wind,
And glad the late-tormented air.
Far is the found of martial music spread,
Echoing through all the Gallic hoft,
Whose numerous troops the dreadful storm survey'd :
But they, with wonder or with awe dismay'd,
Unmov'd beheld the fortress loft.
William, their numerous troops with terror fill'd,
Such wondrous charms can godlike valour show!
Not the wing'd Perfeus, with petrific shield
Of Gorgon's head, to more amazement charm'd his foe.
Nor, when on foaring horse he flew, to aid
And fave from monster's rage the beauteous maid;
Or more heroic was the deed;
Or she to furer chains decreed,
Than was Namur, till now by William freed.
Descend, my Muse, from thy too-daring height, Defcend to earth, and ease thy wide-ftretch'd wing; For weary art thou grown of this unwonted flight, And doft with pain of triumphs fing. More fit for thee, refume thy rural reeds; For war let more harmonious harps be strung: Sing thou of love, and leave great William's deeds To him who fung the Boyne; or him to whom he fung.
"Dignum laude virum Musa vetat mori."
DESCEND, celestial Muse! thy fon inspire
Of thee to fing; infuse thy holy fire.
Belov'd of gods and men, thyself disclose;
Say, from what source thy heavenly power arose,
Which, from unnumber'd years delivering down
The deeds of heroes deathless in renown,
Extends their life and fame to ages yet unknown.
Time and the Muse set forth with equal pace;
At once the rival started to the race:
And both at once the destin'd course shall end,
Or both to all eternity contend.
One to preferve what t' other cannot fave,
And rescue virtue rising from the grave.
To thee, O Montague, these strains are fung,
For thee my voice is tun'd, and speaking lyre is strung; For every grace of every Muse is thine In thee their various fires united shine, Darling of Phœbus and the tuneful Nine! To thee alone I dare my fong commend, Whose nature can forgive, and power defend, And fhew by turns the patron and the friend.
Begin, my Muse, from Jove derive thy fong,
Thy fong of right does first to Jove belong :
For thou thyself art of celestial feed,
Nor dare a fire inferior boaft the breed.
When first the frame of this vast ball was made,
And Jove with joy the finish'd work furvey'd;
Viciffitude of things, of men and states,
Their rise and fall were destin'd by the Fates.
Then Time had first a name; by firm decree
Appointed lord of all futurity,
Within whose ample bosom fates repose
Caufes of things, and secret feeds inclose,
Which, ripening there, shall one day gain a birth,
And force a passage through the teeming earth.
To him they give to rule the spacious light,
And bound the yet unparted day and night;
To wing the hours that whirl the rolling sphere,
To shift the seasons, and conduct the year,
Duration of dominion and of power
To him prescribe, and fix each fated hour.
This mighty rule to Time the Fates ordain,
But yet to hard conditions bind his reign;
For every beauteous birth he brings to light,
(How good foe'er and grateful in his fight,)
He must again to native earth restore,
And all his race with iron teeth devour.
Nor good nor great shall 'scape his hungry maw,
But bleeding Nature prove the rigid law.
Not yet the loosen'd earth aloft was flung,
Or pois'd amid the skies in balance hung;
Nor yet did golden fires the fun adorn,
Or borrow'd lustre silver Cynthia's horn;
Nor yet had Time commiffion to begin,
Or fate the many twisted web to spin;
When all the heavenly hoft afssembled came
To view the world yet refting on its frame;
Eager they prefs, to fee the fire dismiss,
And roll the globe along the vast abyss.
When deep revolving thoughts the god retain,
Which for a fpace fufpend the promis'd scene,
Once more his eyes on Time intentive look,
Again inspect Fate's univerfal book.
Abroad the wondrous volume he displays,
And present views the deeds of future days.
A beauteous scene adorns the foremost page,
Where Nature's bloom presents the golden age.
The golden leaf to filver foon refigns,
And fair the sheet, but yet more faintly, shines.
Of bafer brass, the next denotes the times.
An impious page deform'd with deadly crimes.
The fourth yet wears a worse and browner face,
And adds to gloomy days an iron race.
He turns the book, and every age reviews,
Then all the kingly line his eye pursues:
The first of men, and lords of earth defign'd,
Who under him should govern human-kind.
Of future heroes, there, the lives he reads,
In search of glory spent, and godlike deeds;
Who empires found, and goodly cities build,
And favage men compel to leave the field.
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