No more may travellers desire to know Where Simois and Granicus did flow; Nor Rubicon, a poor forgotten stream, Be or the soldier's rant, or poet's theme: All waters shall unite their fame in thee, Lost in thy waves, as those are in the sea."
They breath'd afresh, unwilling to give o'er, And begg'd thick mists long to conceal the shore: Smooth was the liquid plain; the sleeping wind, More to the sea, than to it's master kind, Detain❜d a treasure, which we value more Than all the deep e'er hid, or waters bore. But he, with a superior genius born, Treats Chance with insolence, and Death with scorn: Darkness and ice in vain obstruct his way, Holland is near, and Nature must obey; Charg'd with our hopes the boat securely rode, For Cæsar and his fortune were the load.
With eager transport Belgia met her son, Yet trembling for the danger he had run; Till, certain of her joy, she bow'd her head, Confess'd her lord, bless'd his return, and said: "If passion by long absence does improve, And makes that rapture, which before was love, Think on my old, my intermitted bliss, And by my former pleasure measure this: Nor by these feeble pillars which I raise, Unequal to sustain the hero's praise; Too faint the colours, and too mean the art, To represent your glories, or my heart: These humble emblems are design'd to show, Not how we would reward, but what we owe. Here from your childhood take a short review, How Holland's happiness advanc'd with you; How her stout vessel did in triumph ride, And mock'd her storms, while Orange was her guide. What since has been our fate-I need not say, Ill suiting with the blessings of the day, Our better fortune with our prince was gone, Conquest was only there where he led on. Like the Palladium, wheresoe'er you go, You turn all death and danger on the foe. In you we but too sadly understood
How angels have their spheres of doing good; Else the same soul which did our troops possess, And crown'd their daring courage with success, Had taught our fleet to triumph o'er the main, And Fleurus had been still a guiltless plain. What pity 'tis, ye gods! an arm and mind Like yours should be to time and place confin'd! But thy return shall fix our kinder fate, For thee our councils, thee our armies wait; Discording princes shall with thee combine, And centre all their interests in thine; Proud of thy friendship, shall forego their sway, As Rome her great dictator did obey; And all united make a Gordian knot,
Wept at his fall from so sublime a state, And by the traitor's death reveng'd the fate Of majesty profan'd-so acted too
The generous Cæsar, when the Roman knew A coward king had treacherously slain, Whoms scarce he foil'd on the Pharsalian plain: The doom of his fam'd rival he bemoan'd, And the base author of the crime dethron'd. Such were the virtuous maxims of the great, Free from the servile arts of barbarous hate: They knew no foe but in the open field, And to their cause and to the gods appeal'd. So William acts-and if his rivals dare Where Jove, as once on Ida, holds the scale, Dispute his reign by arms, he'll meet them there, And lets the good, the just, and brave, prevail.
TO THE EARL OF CARLISLE, UPON THE DEATH OF HIS SON BEFORE LUXEMBURGH.
He's gone! and was it then by your decree, Ye envious powers, that we should only see This copy of your own divinity?
Or thought ye it surpassing human state, To have a blessing lasting as 't was great? Your cruel skill you better ne'er had shown, Since you so soon design'd him all your own. Such fostering favours to the damn'd are given, When, to increase their Hell, you show them Heaven, Was it too godlike, he should long inherit At once his father's and his uncle's spirit? Yet as much beauty, and as calm a breast, He 'ad all the favours Providence could give, As the mild dame whose teeming womb he blest. Except its own prerogative to live;
Reserv'd in pleasures, and in dangers bold, Youthful in action, and in prudence old : His humble greatness, and submissive state, Made his life full of wonder, as his fate; One, who, to all the heights of learning bred, Read books and men, and practis'd what he read. Round the wide globe scarce did the busy Sun With greater haste and greater lustre run. True gallantry and grandeur he descry'd, From the French fopperies, and German pride. And like the industrious bee, where'er he flew, Gather'd the sweets which on sweet blossoms grew. Babel's confused speeches on his tongue, With a sweet harmony and concord hung. More countries than for Homer did contest Do strive who most were by his presence blest. Nor did his wisdom damp his martial fire, Minerva both her portions did inspire, Use of the warlike bow and peaceful lyre.
Which neither craft shall loose, nor force shall cut." So Cæsar doubly triumph'd when he wrote,
Showing like wit, as valour when he fought.
If God, as Plato taught, example takes From his own works, and souls by patterns makes, Much of himself in him he did unfold, And cast them in his darling Sidney's mold, Of too refin'd a substance to be old. Both did alike disdain an hero's rage Should come like an inheritance by age. Ambitiously did both conspire to twist Bays with the ivy, which their temples list: 5 Pompey.
Scorning to wait the slow advance of Time, Both fell like early blossoms in their prime, By blind events, and Providence's crime. Yet both, like Codrus, o'er their yielding foe, Obtain'd the conquest, in their overthrow; And longer life do purchase by their death, In fame completing what they want in breath. Oh! had kind Fate stretch'd the contracted span To the full glories of a perfect man; And, as he grew, could every rolling year A new addition to our wonder bear,
He 'ad paid to his illustrious line that stock Of ancient honour, which from thence he took. But oh!
So hasty fruits, and too ambitious flowers, Scorning the midwifery of ripening showers, In spite of frosts, spring from th' unwilling Earth, But find a nip untimely as their birth: Abortive issues so delude the womb, And scarce have being, ere they want a tomb. Forgive, my lord, the Muse that does aspire With a new breath to fan your raging fire; Who each officious and unskilful sound Can with fresh torture but enlarge the wound. Could I, with David, curse the guilty plain, Where one more lov'd than Jonathan was slain; Or could I flights high as his merits raise, Clear as his virtue, deathless as his praise; None who, though laurels crown'd their aged head, Admir'd him living, and ador'd him dead, With more devotion should enrol his name In the long-consecrated list of Fame. But, since my artless and unhallow'd strain Will the high worth, it should commend, profane; Since I despair my humble verse should prove Great as your loss, or tender as your love; My heart with sighings, and with tears mine eye, Shall the defect of written grief supply.
DEDICATED TO THE BLESSED MEMORY OF HER LATE GRACIOUS MAJESTY queen Mary.
ONCE more, my Muse, we must an altar raise ; May it prove lasting, as Maria's praise! And, the song ended, be the swan's thy doom, Rest ever silent, as Maria's tomb.
But whence shall we begin? or whither steer? Her virtues like a perfect round appear, Where Judgment lies in admiration lost, Not knowing which it should distinguish most. Some angel, from your own, describe her frame, For sure your godlike beings are the same: All that was charming in the fairer kind, With manly sense and resolution join'd; A mien compos'd of mildness and of state, Not by constraint or affectation great; But form'd by Nature for supreme command, Like Eve just moulded by the Maker's hand; Yet such her meekness, as half-veil'd the throne, Lest, being in too great a lustre shown, It might debar the subject of access, And make her mercies and our comforts less. So gods, of old, descending from their sphere To visit men, like mortals did appear: Lest their too awful presence should affright Those whom they meant to bless, and to delight.
Thus to the noon of her high glory run, From her bright orb, diffusive like the Sun, She did her healing influence display, And cherish'd all our nether world, that lay Within the circle of her radiant day; Reliev'd not only those who bounty sought, But gave unask'd, and as she gave forgot; Found modest Want in her obscure retreat, And courted timorous Virtue to be great. The Church, which William sav'd, was Mary's care, Taught by her life, and guarded by her pray'r; What her devotions were, ye cherubs, tell, Who ever round the seat of Mercy dwell; For here she would not have her goodness known, But you beheld how she address'd the throne, And wonder'd at a zeal so like your own. Since she was form'd, and lov'd, and pray'd like you,
She should, alas! have been immortal too.
A mind so good, in beauteous strength array'd, Assur'd our hopes she might be long obey'd, And we, with heighten'd reverence, might have seen The hoary grandeur of an aged queen,
Who might, with William, jointly govern here, As that bright pair which rules the heavenly sphere. Grace and mild mercy best in her were shown, In him the rougher virtues of the throne; Of Justice she at home the balance held; Abroad, Oppression by his sword was quell'd; The generous lion, and the peaceful dove, The god of battle, and the queen of love, Did in their happy nuptials well agree; Like Mars, he led our armies out; and she With smiles presided o'er her native sea.
Such too their meetings, when our monarch came With laurels loaden, and immortal fame: As when the god on Hamus quits his arms, Softening his toils in Cytherea's charms: Then with what joy did she the victor meet, And lay the reins of empire at his feet! With the same temper as the Latian hind ' Was made dictator, conquer'd, and resign'd; So Pallas from the dusty field withdrew, And, when imperial Jove appear'd in view, Resum'd her female arts, the spindle and the clew; Forgot the sceptre she so well had sway'd, And, with that mildness she had rul'd, obey'd; Pleas'd with the change, and unconcern'd as Jove, When in disguise he leaves his power above, And drowns all other attributes in love.
Such, mighty sir, if yet the sacred ear Of majesty in grief vouchsafe to hear, Was the lov'd consort of thy crown and bed, Our joy while living, our despair now dead. Yet though with Mary one supporter fall, Thy virtue can alone sustain the ball. Of Sibyl's books, that volume which remain'd, The perfect value of the whole retain'd. When in the fiery car Elijah fled, His spirit doubled on his partner's head; So will thy people's love, now Mary 's gone, Unite both streams, and flow on thee alone. The grateful senate with one voice combine To breathe their sorrows, and to comfort thine, By bringing to thy view how Europe's fate Does on thy counsels and thy courage wait: But, when the vastness of thy grief they see, They own 'tis just, and melt in tears with thee.
Blush not, great soul, thus to reveal thy woe; Sighs will have vent, and eyes too full o'erflow: Shed by degrees, they pass unfelt away; But raise a storm and deluge where they stay. The bravest heroes have the softest mind, Their nature 's, like the gods, to love inclin❜d. Homer, who human passions nicely knew, When his illustrious Grecian chief he drew, Left likewise in his soul one mortal part, Whence love and anguish too might reach his heart. For a lost mistress, in despair he sate,
And let declining Troy still struggle with her fate: But when the partner of his cares lay dead, Like a rous'd lion from his tent he fled, Whole hecatombs of trembling Trojans slew, And mangled Hector at his chariot drew. Still greater is thy loss,be such thy rage, As conquer'd Gallia only may assuage.
She who on Earth secur'd thee by her prayer, Return'd to Heaven, shall prove thy guardian angel there,
And, hovering round thee with her heavenly shield, Unseen protect thee in the doubtful field. Go then, by different paths to glory go, The Church's both estates with Mary show; And while above she triumphs, fight below.- Tis done-our monarch to the camp returns,— The Gallic armies fly-their navy burns, And Earth and Seas all bow at his command, And Europe owns her peace from his victorious hand.
THE AUSTRIAN EAGLE.
Ar Anna's call the Austrian eagle flies, Bearing her thunder to the southern skies; Where a rash prince, with an unequal sway, Inflames the region, and misguides the day; Till the usurper, from his chariot hurl'd, Leaves the true monarch to command the world.
THE NATURE OF DREAMS.
Ar dead of night imperial Reason sleeps, And Fancy with her train loose revels keeps, Then airy phantoms a mix'd scene display, Of what we heard, or saw, or wish'd by day; For Memory those images retains,
Which Passion form'd, and still the strongest reigns. Huntsmen renew the chase they lately run, And generals fight again their battles won. Spectres and furies haunt the murderer's dreams, Grants or disgraces are the courtier's themes. The miser spies a thief, or a new hoard, The cit's a knight, the sycophant a lord. Thus Fancy's in the wild distraction lost, With what we most abhor, or covet most. But of all passions that our dreams control, Love prints the deepest image in the soul; For vigorous fancy and warm blood dispense Pleasures so lively, that they rival sense. Such are the transports of a willing maid, Not yet by time and place to act betray'd, Whom spies or some faint virtue forc'd to fly That scene of joy, which yet she dies to try; Till Fancy bawds, and, by mysterious charms, Brings the dear object to her longing arms: Unguarded then she melts, acts fierce delight, And curses the returns of envious light.
In such blest dreams Byblis enjoys a flame, Which waking she detests, and dares not name. Ixion gives a loose to his wild love,
And in his airy visions cuckolds Jove. Honours and state before this phantom fall; For Sleep, like Death, its image, equals all.
IMITATED FROM THE FRENCH OF MONS. MAYNARD, TO CARDINAL RICHELIEU.
WHEN money and my blood ran high,
My Muse was reckon'd wondrous pretty; The sports and smiles did round her fly, Enamour'd with her smart concetti.
Now (who'd have thought it once?) with pain She strings her harp, whilst freezing age But feebly runs through every vein,
And chills my brisk poetic rage. I properly have ceas'd to live,
To wine and women, dead in law; And soon from Fate I shall receive
A summons to the shades to go. The warrior ghosts will round me come To hear of fam'd Ramillia's fight, Whilst the vext Bourbons through the gloom Retire to th' utmost realms of Night. Then I, my lord, will tell how you With pensions every Muse inspire; Who Marlborough's conquests did pursue, And to his trumpets tun'd the lyre. But should some drolling sprite demand, "Well, sir, what place had you, I pray?" How like a coxcomb should I stand! What would your lordship have me say?
In this satire, the poet proves that nobility does not consist in statues and pedigrees, but in honourable and good actions. He lashes Rubellius Plancus, for being insolent, by reason of his high birth; and lays down an instance, that we ought to make the like judgment of men, as we do of horses, who are valued rather according to their personal qualities, than by the race of whence they come. He advises his noble friend Ponticus (to whom he dedicates the satire) to lead a virtuous life, dissuading him from debauchery, luxury, oppression, cruelty, and other vices, by his severe censures on Lateranus, Damasippus, Gracchus, Nero, Catiline; and, in opposition to these, displays the worth of persons meanly born, such as Cicero, Marius, Servius Tullius, and the Decii.
WHAT's the advantage, or the real good, In tracing from the source our ancient blood?
The translator of this satire industriously avoided imposing upon the reader, and perplexing the printer with tedious common-place notes: but finding towards the latter end many examples of
To have our ancestors in paint or stone, Preserv❜d as relics, or like monsters shown? The brave Æmilii, as in triumph plac'd, The virtuous Curii, half by time defac'd, Corvinus, with a mouldering nose, that bears Injurious scars, the sad effects of years, And Galba grinning without nose or ears? Vain are their hopes, who fancy to inherit By trees of pedigrees, or fame, or merit:
Denotes the noblest or the fiercest beast: Be therefore careful, lest the world in jest Should thee just so with the mock titles greet Of Camerinus, or of conquer'd Crete.
To whom is this advice and censure due? Rubellius Plancus, 'tis applied to you; Who think your person second to divine, Because descended from the Drusian line; Though yet you no illustrious act have done,
Though plodding heralds through each branch may To make the world distinguish Julia's son
Old captains and dictators of their race, While their ill lives that family bely,
And grieve the brass which stands dishonour'd by. 'Tis mere burlesque, that to our generals praise Their progeny immortal statues raise, Yet (far from that old gallantry) delight To game before their images all night, And steal to bed at the approach of day, The hour when these their ensigns did display. Why should soft Fabius impudently bear Names gain'd by conquests in the Gallic war? Why lays he claim to Hercules's strain, Yet dares be base, effeminate, and vain? The glorious altar to that hero built Adds but a greater lustre to his guilt, Whose tender limbs and polish'd skin disgrace The grisly beauty of his manly race; And who, by practising the dismal skill
Of poisoning, and such treacherous ways to kill, Makes his unhappy kindred marble sweat, When his degenerate head by theirs is set.
Long galleries of ancestors, and all The follies which ill-grace a country hall, Challenge no wonder or esteem from me; "Virtue alone is true nobility." Live therefore well: to men and gods appear, Such as good Paulus, Cossus, Drusus, were; And in thy consular, triumphal show, Let these before thy father's statues go Place them before the ensigns of the state, As choosing rather to be good than great. Convince the world that you 're devout and true, Be just in all you say, and all you do ; Whatever be your birth, you 're sure to be A peer of the first magnitude to me;
Rome for your sake shall push her conquests on, And bring new titles home from nations won, To dignify so eminent a son.
With your blest name shall every region sound, Loud as mad Egypt, when her priests have found A new Osiris for the ox they drown'd.
But who will call those noble, who deface, By meaner acts, the glories of their race; Whose only title to our fathers' fame
Is couch'd in the dead letters of their name? A dwarf as well may for a giant pass; A Negro for a swan; a crook-back'd lass Be call'd Europa; and a cur may bear The name of tiger, lion, or whate'er
noblemen, who disgraced their ancestors by vicious practices, and of men meanly born, who ennobled their families by virtuous and brave actions, he thought some historical relations were necessary towards rendering those instances more intelligible; which is all he pretends to by his remarks. He would gladly have left out the heavy passage of the Mirmillo and Retiarius, which he honestly confesses he either does not rightly understand, or
From the vile offspring of a trull, who sits By the town wall, and for a living knits. "You are poor rogues," you cry, "the baser scum And inconsiderable dregs of Rome;
Who know not from what corner of the Earth The obscure wretch, who got you, stole his birth: Mine I derive from Cecrops."-May your grace Live and enjoy the splendour of your race!- Yet of these base plebeians we have known Some, who, by charming eloquence, have grown Great senators, and honours to that gown: Some at the bar with subtilty defend The cause of an unlearned noble friend; Or on the bench the knotty laws untie : Others their stronger youth to arms apply, Go to Euphrates, or those forces join Which garrison the conquests near the Rhine. While you, Rubellius, on your birth rely; Though you resemble your great family No more, than those rough statues on the road (Which we call Mercuries) are like that god: Your blockhead though excels in this alone, You are a living statue, that of stone.
Great son of Troy, whoever prais'd a beast For being of a race above the rest,
But rather meant his courage, and his force? To give an instance-We commend a horse (Without regard of pasture or of breed) For his undaunted mettle and his speed; Who wins most plates with greatest ease, and first Prints with his hoofs his conquests on the dust. But if fleet Dragon's progeny at last
Prove jaded, and in frequent matches cast, No favour for the stallion we retain, And no respect for the degenerate strain; The worthless brute is from Newmarket brought, And at an under-rate in Smithfield bought, To turn a mill, or drag a loaded life Beneath two panniers and a baker's wife.
That we may therefore you, not yours, admire First, sir, some honour of your own acquire; Add to that stock which justly we bestow On those blest shades to whom you all things
This may suffice the haughty youth to shame, Whose swelling veins (if we may credit Fame) Burst almost with the vanity and pride That their rich blood to Nero's is ally'd: The rumour 's likely; for "We seldom find Much sense with an exalted fortune join'd."
cannot sufficiently explain. If he has not confined himself to the strict rules of translation, but has frequently taken the liberty of imitating, paraphrasing, or reconciling the Roman customs to our modern usage, he hopes this freedom is pardonable, since he has not used it but when he found the original flat, obscure, or defective; and where the humour and connection of the author might naturally allow of such a change.
But Ponticus, I would not you should raise Your credit by hereditary praise; Let your own acts immortalize your name; "Tis poor relying on another's fame;" For, take the pillars but away, and all The superstructure must in ruins fall; As a Vine droops, when by divorce remov'd From the embraces of the Elm she lov'd.
Be a good soldier, or upright trustee, An arbitrator from corruption free. And if a witness in a doubtful cause,
Where a brib'd judge means to elude the laws; Though Phalaris's brazen bull were there, And he would dictate what he 'd have you swear, Be not so profligate, but rather choose
To guard your honour, and your life to lose, Rather than let your virtue be betray'd; Virtue the noblest cause for which you 're made. Improperly we measure life by breath; Such do not truly live who merit death;" Though they their wanton senses nicely please With all the charms of luxury and ease; Though mingled flowers adorn their careless brow, And round them costly sweets neglected flow, As if they in their funeral state were laid, And to the world, as they 're to virtue, dead. When you the province you expect, obtain, From passion and from avarice refrain; Let our associates' poverty provoke Thy generous heart not to increase their yoke, Since riches cannot rescue from the grave, Which claims alike the monarch and the slave. To what the laws enjoin, submission pay; And what the senate shall command, obey. Think what rewards upon the good attend, And how those fall unpitied who offend: Tutor and Capito may warnings be, Who felt the thunder of the states' decree, For robbing the Cecilians, though they (Like lesser pikes) only subsist on prey. But what avails the rigour of their doom? Which cannot future violence o'ercome, Nor give the miserable province ease, Since what one plunderer left, the next will seize. Cherippus then, in time yourself bethink, And what your rags will yield by auction, sink; Ne'er put yourself to charges to complain Of wrong which heretofore you did sustain, Make not a voyage to detect the theft: 'Tis mad to lavish what their rapine left. When Rome at first our rich allies subdued, From gentle taxes noble spoils accrued; Each wealthy province, but in part opprest, Thought the loss trivial, and enjoy'd the rest. All treasuries did then with heaps abound; In every wardrobe costly silks were found; The least apartment of the meanest house Could all the wealthy pride of art produce; Pictures which from Parrhasius did receive Motion and warmth; and statues taught to live: Some Polyclete's, some Myron's work declar'd, In others Phidias' masterpiece appear'd; And crowding plate did on the cupboard stand, Emboss'd by curious Mentor's artful hand. Prizes like these oppressors might invite, These Dolabella's rapine did excite, These Anthony for his own theft thought fit, Verres for these did sacrilege commit;
And when their reigns were ended, ships full fraught The hidden fruits of their exaction brought,
Which made in peace a treasure richer far, Than what is plunder'd in the rage of war.
This was of old; but our confederates now Have nothing left but oxen for the plough, Or some few mares reserv'd alone for breed; Yet lest this provident design succeed, They drive the father of the herd away, Making both stallion and his pasture prey. Their rapine is so abject and profane, They not from trifles nor from gods refrain; Lares from the niches seize, But the poor
If they be little images that please.
Such are the spoils which now provoke their theft, And are the greatest, nay, they 're all that 's left.
Thus may you Corinth or weak Rhodes oppress, Who dare not bravely what they feel redress: For how can fops thy tyranny control,
"Smooth limbs are symptoms of a servile soul." But trespass not too far on sturdy Spain,
Sclavonia, France; thy gripes from those restrain, Who with their sweat Rome's luxury maintain, And send us plenty, while our wanton day
Is lavish'd at the Circus, or the play. For, should you to extortion be inclin'd, Your cruel guilt will little booty find, Since gleaning Marius has already seiz'd All that from sun-burnt Afric can be squeez'd. But, above all, "Be careful to withhold Your talons from the wretched and the bold; Tempt not the brave and needy to despair; For, though your violence should leave them bare Of gold and silver, swords and darts remain, And will revenge the wrongs which they sustain; The plunder'd still have arms-
Think not the precept I have here laid down A fond, uncertain notion of my own; No, 'tis a Sibyl's leaf what I relate, As fix'd and sure, as the decrees of Fate.
Let none but men of honour you attend; Choose him that has most virtue for your friend, And give no way to any darling youth To sell your favour, and pervert the truth. Reclaim your wife from strolling up and down, To all assizes and through every town, With claws like harpies, eager for the prey, (For which your justice and your fame will pay.) Keep yourself free from scandals such as these; Then trace your birth from Picus, if you please: If he 's too modern, and your pride aspire To seek the author of your being higher, Choose any Titan, who the gods withstood, To be the founder of your ancient blood, Prometheus, and that race before the flood, Or any other story you can find
From heralds, or in poets, to your mind.
But should you prove ambitious, lustful, vain; Or could you see with pleasure and disdain, Rods broke on our associates' bleeding backs, And heads-men labouring till they blunt their ax, Your father's glory will your sin proclaim, And to a clearer light expose your shame; "For still more public scandal vice extends, As he is great and noble who offends."
How dare you then your high extraction plead? Yet blush not when you go to forge a deed, In the same temple which your grandsire built; Making his statue privy to the guilt. Or in a bawdy masquerade are led, Muffled by night, to some polluted bed.
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