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Struck by a billow, in the hero's view,
From prow to stern the broken galley flew,
Which bore Orontes, and the Lycian crew.
Swept off the deck, the pilot from the ship,
Stun'd by the stroke, shot headlong down the deep.
The vessel by the furge turn'd round and round,
Sunk by the whirling gulf devour'd and drown'd.
Some from the dark abyss emerge again;
Arms, planks, and treasures floating on the main.
And now thy ship, Ilioneus, gives way,
And brave Achates' vefsel drinks the sea.
Nor old Alethes his strong galley faves,
And Abas yields to the victorious waves.
The storm diffolves their well-compacted sides,
Which drink at many a leak the rushing tides.

Mean time great Neptune from beneath the main
Heard the loud tumults in his watery reign,
And saw the furious tempest wide around
Work up the waters from the vast profound.
Then, for his liquid realms alarm’d, the God
Lifts his high head serenely o'er the flood;
Where wide disperst the Trojan feet he spies,
Prest by the ilorms and terrors of the skies :
Full well he knew his fifter's endless hate,
Her wiles and arts to link the Trojan state.
To Eurus and the western blaft he cry'd,
Does your high birth inspire this lawless pride ?
Audacious winds ! without a power from me,
To raise at will such mountains on the sea :


Thus to confound heaven, earth, the air, and main,
Whom I—but first I'll calm the waves again.
But if you 'tempt my rage a second time,
Know, that some heavier vengeance waits the crime.
Hence fly with speed; from me your tyrant tell,
That to my lot this watery empire fell.
Bid him his rocks, your gloonny dungeons, keep ;
But leave to me the trident of the deep :
There let him reign with undisputed power,
And hear within his blustering subjects roar.

He spoke ; and speaking chac'd the clouds away,
Hush'd every billow, and restor'd the day.
Cymotkoe guards the vessels in the Mock,
And Triton heaves them from the pointed rock.
He with his trident disengag'd the ships,
And clear'd the Syrtes, and compos'd the deeps.
Then mounted on the radiant car he rides
Swift o'er the seas,.and smoothly skims the tides :
As when sedition fues th'ignoble crowd,
And the wild rabble storms and thirsts for blood,
Of stones and brands a mingled tempelt flies,
And all the sudden arms that rage supplies :
If some



amidit the strife,
In morals strict, and innocence of life,
All fix'd in Glence stand; their fury cools ;
While his resiltless eloquence controls
Their frantic rage, and gently calms their souls.
So did the roaring deeps their rage compose,
When the great father of the flouds arose.
Rapt by his steeds, he flies in open day,
Throws up the reins, and skims the watery way.



And deep in anguish funk, on Stanhope's fate,
Begin to doubt their own immortal state.

But hold, my Muse, thy mournful transport errs,
Hold here, and listen to Lucinda's tears.
While thy vain sorrows echo to his tomb,
Behold a fight that strikes all forrow dumb :
Behold the partner of his cares and life,
Bright in her tears, and beautiful in grief.
Shall then in vain those streams of sorrow flow,
Dreft up in all the elegance of woe?
And shall the kind officioys Muse forbear
To answer ligh for figh, and tell out tear for tear?
Oh! no; at such a melancholy scene,
The Poet echoes back her woes again.
Each weeping Mufe should minister relief,
From all the moving eloquence of grief.
Each, like a Niobe, his fate bemoan,
Melt into tears, or harden into stone.
From dark obscurity his virtues fave,
And, like pale Spectres, hover round his grave.
With them the marble should due measures keepy
Relent at every figh, at every accent weep.

Britannia mourn thy hero, nor refuse
To vent the fighs and sorrows with the Muse :'
Oh! let thy rising groans load every wind,
Nor let one sluggish accept lag behind.
Thy heavy fate with justice to deplore,
Convey a gale of fighs from shore to shore.
And thou, her guardian angel, widely spread
Thy golden wings, and fhield the mighty dead.


Brood o'er his afhes, and illustrious dust,
And sooth with care the venerable ghost.
To guard the nobler relicks, leave a while
The kind protection of thy favourite isie:
Around his filent tomb, thy station keep,
And, with thy filter-angel, learn to weep.

Ye fons of Albion, o'er your patriot mourn,
And cool with streams of tears his facred urn.
His wondrouis virtues, stretch'd to distant Thores,
Demand all Europe's tears, as well as yours.
Nature can't bring in every period forth,
A finish'd hero, of exalted worth,
Whose godlike genius, towering and sublime,
Muft long lie ripening in the womb of time:
Before a Stanhope enters on the stage,
The birth of years, and labour of an age.
In field, and council, born the palm to share,
His voice a senate, as his sword a war:
And each illustrious action of his life,
Conspire to form the patriot, and the chief :
On either side, unite their blended rays,
And kindly mingle in a friendly blaze.

Stand out, and witness this, unhappy Spain, Lift up to view the mountains of thy llain : Tell how thy heroes yielded to their fear, When Stanhope rouz'd the thunder of the war: With what fierce tumults of severe delight Th’impetuous hero plur.g'd into the fight. How he the dreadful front of death cefac’d, Pour'd on the foe, and laid ihe battle waste.


Did not his arm the ranks of war deform,
And point the hovering tumult where to storm ?
Did not his sword through legions cleaye his

Break their dark squadrons, and let in the day?
Did not he lead the terrible attack,
Puth conquest on, and bring her bleeding back ?
Throw wide the scenes of horror and despair,
The tide of confli&t, and the stream of war?
Bid yellow Tagus, who in triumph rollid,
Till then his turbid tides of foaming gold,
Boaft his rich channels to the world no more,
Since all his glittering streams, and liquid ore,
Lie undistinguish’d in a flood of gore.
Pid his charg'd waves, and loaded billows sweep,
Thy slaughter'd thousands to the frighted deep.
Confess, fair Albion, how the listening throng
Dwelt on the moving accents of his tongue.
In the sage council seat him, and confess
Thy arm in war, thy oracle in peace :
How here triumphant too, his nervous sense
Bore off the palm of manly eloquence:
The healing balm to, Albion's wounds apply'd,
And chaim'd united factions to his Gde :
Fix'd on his sovereign's head the nodding crown,
And prop'd the tottering basis of the throne,
Supported bravely all the nation's weight,
And stood the public Atlas of the Itate.

Sound the loud trumpet, let the folemn knell
Bid with due horror his great loul farewel.

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