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They break through all, for William leads the

way Where fires rage most, and loudest engines play. Namur's late terrors and destruction show What William, warm’d with just revenge, can do: Where once a thousand turrets raised on high Their gilded spires, and glitter'd in the sky; An undistinguish'd heap of dust is found, And all the pile lies smoking on the ground.

His toils, for no ignoble ends design'd, Promote the common welfare of mankind; No wild ambition moves, but Europe's fears, The cries of orphans, and the widows' tears : Oppress'd Religion gives the first alarms, And injured Justice sets him in his arms; His conquests freedom to the world afford, And nations bless the labours of his sword. Thus when the forming Muse would copy

forth A perfect pattern of heroic worth, She sets a man triumphant in the field, O’er giants cloven down, and monsters killd, Reeking in blood, and smear'd with dust and sweat, Whilst angry gods conspire to make him great.

Thy navy rides on seas before unpress’d, And strikes a terror through the haughty East; Algiers and Tunis, from their sultry shore, With horror hear the British engines roar; Fain from the neighbouring dangers would they run, And wish themselves still nearer to the sun. The Gallic ships are in their ports confined, Denied the common use of sea and wind, Nor dare again the British strength engage; Still they remember that destructive rage Which lately made their trembling host retire, Stunn'd with the noise, and wrapp'd in smoke and

The waves with wide unnumber'd wrecks were strow'd,

[flow'd. And planks, and arms, and men, promiscuous

Spain's numerous fleet, that perish'd on our coast,
Could scarce a longer line of battle boast,
The winds could hardly drive them to their fate,
And all the ocean labour'd with the weight.

Where'er the waves in restless errors roll,
The sea lies open now to either pole;
Now

may we safely use the northern gales,
And in the Polar Circle spread our sails ;
Or deep in southern climes, secure from wars,
New lands explore, and sail by other stars ;
Fetch uncontrolld each labour of the sun,
And make the product of the world our own.

At length, proud prince! ambitious Louis! cease
To plague mankind, and trouble Europe's peace;
Think on the structures which thy pride has raised,
On towns unpeopled, and on fields laid waste;
Think on the heaps of corpse' and streams of blood,
On every guilty plain and purple flood
Thy arms have made, and cease an impious war,
Nor waste the lives entrusted to thy care:
Or if no milder thought can calm thy mind,
Behold the great avenger of mankind !
See mighty Nassau through the battle ride,
And see thy subjects gasping by his side!
Fain would the pious prince refuse the’ alarm,
Fain would he check the fury of his arm,
But when thy cruelties his thoughts engage,
The hero kindles with becoming rage,
Then countries stolen, and captives unrestored,
Give strength to every blow, and edge his sword.
Behold with what resistless force he falls
On towns besieged, and thunders at thy walls !

Ask Villeroy, for Villeroy beheld
The town surrender'd and the treaty seald;
With what amazing strength the forts were won,
Whilst the whole power of France stood looking on.

But stop not here: behold where Berkeley stands,
And executes his injured King's commands;
Around thy coast his bursting bombs he pours
On flaming citadels and falling towers;
With hissing streams of fire the air they streak,
And hurl destruction round them where they break;
The skies with long ascending flames are bright,
And all the sea reflects a quivering light.

Thus Ætna, when in fierce eruptions broke, Fills Heaven with ashes and the earth with smoke; Here crags

of broken rocks are twirld on high, Here molten stones and scatter'd cinders fly; Its fury reaches the remotest coast, And strows the Asiatic shore with dust.

Now does the sailor from the neighbouring main Look after Gallic towns and forts in vain ; No more his wonted marks he can descry, But sees a long unmeasured ruin lie, Whilst, pointing to the naked coast, he shows His wondering mates where towns and steeples Where crowded citizens he lately view'd, (rose, And singles out the place where once St. Maloes'

stood. Here Russel's actions should my

Muse require, And would my strength but second my desire, I'd all his boundless bravery rehearse, And draw his cannons thundering in my verse; High on the deck should the great leader stand, Wrath in his look, and lightning in his hand;

sea ?

Like Homer's Hector, when he flung his fire Amidst a thousand ships, and made all Greece

retire. But who can run the British triumphs o'er, And count the flames dispersed on every

shore? Who can describe the scatter'd victory, And draw the reader on from sea Else who could Ormond's godlike acts refuse? Ormond! the theme of every

Oxford Muse. Fain would I here his mighty worth proclaim, Attend him in the noble chase of fame, Through all the noise and hurry of the fight Observe each blow, and keep him still in sight. Oh! did our British peers thus court renown, And

grace the coats their great forefathers won, Our arms would then triumphantly advance, Nor Henry be the last that conquer'd France. What might not England hope, if such abroad Purchased their country's honour with their blood ? When such, detain'd at home, support our state In William's stead, and bear a kingdom's weight, The schemes of Gallic policy o'erthrow, And blast the counsels of the common foe; Direct our armies, and distribute right, And render our Maria's' loss more light? But stop, my Muse, the’ungrateful sound forbear, Maria's name still wounds each British ear; Each British heart Maria still does wound, And tears burst out unbidden at the sound; Maria still our rising mirth destroys, Darkens our triumphs, and forbids our joys.

But see, at length, the British ships appear! Our Nassau comes ! and, as his fleet draws near,

| Queen Mary, who died in 1694.

The rising masts advance, the sails grow white,
And all his pompous navy floats in sight.
Come, mighty Prince! desired of Britain ! come;
May Heaven's propitious gales attend thee home!
Come, and let longing crowds behold that look,
Which such confusion and amazement strook
Through Gallic hosts; but, oh! let us descry
Mirth in thy brow, and pleasure in thine eye ;
Let nothing dreadful in thy face be found,
But for a while forget the trumpet's sound;
Well pleased, thy people's loyalty approve,
Accept their duty, and enjoy their love :
For as, when lately moved with fierce delight,
You plunged amidst the tumult of the fight,
Whole heaps of death encompass'd you around,
And steeds, o'erturn'd, lay foaming on the ground;
So, crown'd with laurels now, where'er you go,
Around you blooming joys and peacefull blessings

flow,

TO

SIR GODFREY KNELLER,

ON HIS PICTURE OF THE KING.

KNELLER! with silence and surprise
We see Britannia's monarch rise,
A godlike form, by thee display'd
In all the force of light and shade ;
And, awed by thy delusive hand,
As in the Presence-chamber stand.

The magic of thy art calls forth
His secret soul and hidden worth,

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