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 kill'd, Reeking in blood, and smeard with dust and sweat, Whilst angry gods conspire to make him great.

Thy navy rides on seas before unprest, 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 confin'd, 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 wrapt in smoke and fire, The waves with wide unnumber'd wrecks were

strow'd, And planks, and arms; and men, promiscuous

flow'd.
Spain's numerous fleet, that perish'd on our coast,
Could scarce a longer line of battle boast,
The winds could hardly drive 'em 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 uncontroll'd 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 rais'd 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! Pain 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 stoln, and captives'unrestord, Give strength to every blow, and edge his sword. Behold with what resistless force he falls On towns besieg'd, and thunders at thy walls ! Ask Villeroy, for Villeroy beheld The town surrender'd and the treaty seal'd; 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 injur'd King's commands ; Around thy coast bis bursting bombs he pours On flaming citadels and falling tow'rs ; With hissing streams of fire the air they streak, And hurl destruction round 'em where they brake; The skies with long ascending Aames are bright, And all the sea reflects a quivering light.

Thus Ætna, when in fierce eruptions broke, Fils Hear'n with ashes and the earth with smoke ;

a

Here crags of broken rocks are twirl'd 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 maik
Look after Gallic towns and forts in vain ;
No more his wonted marks he can descry,
But sees a long unmeasur'd ruin lie,
Whilst pointing to the naked coast, he shows
His wondering mates where towns and steeples

rose, Where crowded citizens he lately view'd, 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, 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 disperst on every shore? Who can describe the scatter'd victory, And draw the reader on from sea to 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 burry 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
Purchas’d 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 feet draws near,
The rising masts advance, the sails grow white,
And all his pompous navy floats in sight.
Come, mighty Prince ! desir'd 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 pleas'd, thy people's loyalty approve,
Accept their duty, and enjoy their love:
For as, when lately mov'd with fierce delight,
You plung'd 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 peaceful 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, aw'd by thy delusive hand,
As in the Presence-chamber stand.

The magic of thy art calls forth
His secret soul and hidden worth,
His probity and mildness shows,
His care of friends and scorn of foes :
In every stroke, in every line,
Does some exalted virtue shine,
And Albion's happiness we trace
Through all the features of his face.

O may I live to hail the day
When the glad nation shall survey
Their sovereign through his wide command,
Passing in progress o'er the land !
Each heart shall bend, and every voice,
In loud applauding shouts rejoice,