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The facrifice of fattery
To lawless Neros, or Bourbonian kings.
True virtue to her kindred stars aspires,
Does all our pomp of stone and verse surpass,
And mingling with etherial fires,
No useless ornament requires
From speaking colours, or from breathing brass.
Greatest of princes ! where the wand’ring fun
Does o’er earth’s habitable regions roll,
From th’ eastern barriers to the western goal,
And sees thy race of glory run
With swiftness equal to his own :
Thee on the banks of Flandrian Scaldis sings .
The jocund swain, releas’d from Gallic fear :
The English voice unus'd to hear,
Thee the repeating banks, thee every valley rings.
The sword of heav'n how pious Anna wields,
And heav'nly vengeance on the guilty deals,
Let the twice fugitive Bavarian tell;
Who, from his airy hope of better state,
By luft of fway irregularly great,
Like an apoftate angel fell:
Who, by imperial favour rais’d,
I’ th’ highest rank of glory blaz’d:
And had 'till now'unrivalld shone,
More than a king, contented with his own;
But Lucifer's bold steps he trod,
Who durft affault the throne of God;
And for contented realms of blissful light,
Gain’d the sad privilege to be
The first in folid misery,
Monarch of hell, and woes, and everlasting night.
Corruption of the best is always worst;
And foul ambition, like an evil wind,
Blights the fair blossoms of a noble mind;
And if a seraph fall, he's doubly curst.
Had guile, and pride, and envy grown
In the black groves of Styx alone,
Nor ever had on earth the baleful crop been sown ;
The fwain without amaze, had tilld
The Flandrian glebe, a guiltless field :
Nor had he wonder'd, when he found
The bones of heroes in the ground:
No crimson streams had lately swell’d
The Dyle, the Danube, and the Scheld.
But evils are of necessary growth,
To rouze the brave, and banish Noth;
And some are born to win the stars,
By sweat and blood, and worthy scars.
Heroic virtue is by action seen,
And vices serye to make it keen;
And as gigantic tyrants rise,
NASSAUS and CHURCHILLS leave the skies,
The earth-born monsters to chastise.
If, heav’nly Muse, you burn with a desire
· To praise the man whom all admire ;
Come from thy learn’d Castalian springs,
And stretch aloft thy Pegasean wings :
Strike the loud Pindaric strings,
Like the lark who foars and sings;
And as you fail the liquid skies,
Cast on · Menapian fields your weeping eyes :
For weep they surely must,
To see the bloody annual facrifice ;
To think how the neglected duft,
Which with contempt is basely trod,
Was once the limbs of captains, brave and just,
The mortal part of some great demi-god;
Who.for thrice fifty years of stubborn war,
With Naught'ring arms, the gun and sword,
Have dug the mighty sepulchre,
And fell as martyrs on record,
Of tyranny aveng'd, and liberty restor’d.
See, where at Audenard, with heaps of nain,
Th’ heroic man, inspir’dly brave,
Mowing across, bestrews the plain,
And with new tenants crowds the wealthy grave.
His mind unshaken at the frightful scene,
His looks as chearfully serene, . .
The routed battle to pursue,
As once adorn’d the Paphian queen,
When to her Thracian paramour she few.
The gath’ring troops he kens from far, And with a bridegroom's passion and delight,
Courting the war, and glowing for the fight,
The new Salmoneus meets the Celtic thunderer,
Ah, curfed pride! infernal dream!
Which drove him to this wild extream,
That dust a deity should seem;
Be thought, as through the wondering streets he rode,
A man immortal, or a god :-
With rattling brass, and trampling horse,'
Should counterfeit th’inimitable force
Of divine thunder : horrid crime !
But vengeance is the child of time, ,
And will too surely be repaid
On his profane devoted head,
Who durft affront the powers above,
And their eternal Alames disgrace,
Too fatal, brandish'd by the real Jove,
Oro Pallas, who affumes, and fills his aweful place :
The British Pallas ! who, as · Homer's did
For her lov'd Diomede,
Her hero's mind with wisdom fills,
And heav'nly courage in his heart instils.
Hence through the thickest squadrons does he ride,
With Anna’s angels by his side.
With what uncommon speed
He spurs his foaming fiery steed, :
And pushes on through midmost fites,
Where France's fortune, with her sons, retires !
6 VICEM GERIT ILLA TONANTIS.
< Homer, in his fifth Iliad, because his hero is to do wonders beyond the power of man, premises, in the beginning, that Pallas had peculiarly fitted him for that day's exploits.