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OF THE PROPHESY OF NEREUS.
Book II. ODE XV.
Dicam insigne, recens, adhuc
Hebrum prospiciens, et nive candidam
As Mar his round one morning took, (Whom some call earl, and some call duke,) And his new brethren of the blade, Shivering with fear and frost, survey'd, On Perth's bleak hills he chanc'd to spy An aged wizard six feet high, With bristled hair and visage blighted, Wall-ey'd, bare-haunch'd, and second-sighted. The grisly sage in thought profound Beheld the chief with back so round, Then roll'd his eye-balls to and fro O'er his paternal hills of snow, And into these tremendous speeches Broke forth the prophet without breeches. "Into what hills betray'd, by thee, This ancient kingdom do I see! Her realms unpeopled and forlorn! Wae's me! that ever thou wert born! Proud English loons (our clans o'ercome) On Scottish pads shall amble home;
I see them drest in bonnets blue
(The spoils of thy rebellious crew);
I see the target cast away,
"In vain thy hungry mountaineers
"What boots thy high-born host of beggars,
"In vain thy lads around thee bandy,
"Douglas, who draws his lineage down
(His noble household-band) advances,
"But see Argyll, with watchful eyes,
"Is thus thy haughty promise paid
... Then down shall fall the king of Perth.
Heaven shall for ever on him smile,
FROM A LADY IN ENGLAND TO A GENTLEMAN AT AVIGNON.
To thee, dear rover, and thy vanquish'd friends, The health, she wants, thy gentle Chloe sends. Though much you suffer, think I suffer more, Worse than an exile on my native shore. Companions in your master's flight you roam, Unenvy'd by your haughty foes at home; For ever near the royal outlaw's side You share his fortunes, and his hopes divide, On glorious schemes, and thoughts of empire dwell, And with imaginary titles swell.
Say, for thou know'st I own his sacred line,
Ere to thy cause, and thee, my heart inclin'd,
Slept all the morn, and punted half the night:
And sift the news of every foreign shore,
Studious to find new friends, and new allies;
But still Avignon, and the pleasing coast
Let not our James, though foil'd in arms, despair, Whilst on his side he reckons half the fair: In Britain's lovely isle a shining throng War in his cause, a thousand beauties strong. Th' unthinking victors vainly boast their powers; Be theirs the musket, while the tongue is ours. We reason with such fluency and fire, The beaux we baffle, and the learned tire, Against her prelates plead the church's cause, And from our judges vindicate the laws. Then mourn not, hapless prince, thy kingdoms lost A crown, though late, thy sacred brows may boast; Heaven seems through us thy empire to decree; Those who win hearts, have given their hearts to thee. Hast thou not heard that when, profusely gay, Our well-drest rivals grac'd their sovereign's day, We stubborn damsels met the public view In loathsome wormwood, and repenting rue? What Whig but trembled, when our spotless band In virgin roses whiten'd half the land!