A Pindarique ODE, Humbly Inscrib'd To His Most SACRED and Victorious MAIESTY.


LONDON: Printed for Iacob Tonson, and the Iudge's-Head near the Inner-Temple-Gate in Fleetstreet, M DC XCV.

ON THE Conquest of Namur, A PINDARIQUE ODE.

ONce more, my Muse, resume thy Lyre!
Of Heroes, Arms, and lofty Triumphs sing:
Strike, boldly strike th' unpractis'd String;
'Tis WILLIAM's Acts my soaring Thoughts inspire,
And animate my Breast with nobler Fire.
My daring Hand the willing Lyre obeys,
Untaught it sounds the Hero's Praise:
Each tuneful String repeats the Victor's Name,
And ecchoes back the loud Applause of Fame.
No longer, Muse, the blest MARIA mourn,
With Trophies now her brighter Shrine adorn:
Now sing her Hero's Fame in lofty Strains,
Worthy the captive Mase, and Namur's vanquish'd Plains.
Nature ne're brought a fierce Destroyer forth,
Of that portentous size and growth:
[Page 2]But still to poice the Ballance of the Age,
She introduc'd a Hero on the Stage.
Injurious Lewis like a Torrent grows,
A rapid Torrent that the Bank o'reflows,
And robs our Western World of its repose;
In vain th' Imperial Eagle stops his course,
In vain Confederate Arms oppose:
On you (Great Prince) th' infested Nations wait,
And from your Sword attend a milder Fate.
The injur'd Belgians WILLIAM's aid implore,
A num'rous Army wastes their Shore:
Embarque, my Muse, upon the British Fleet,
And on the ready Hero wait.
He flies, like Iove to meet the Theban Dame,
When arm'd with Lightning's pointed flame,
And in his hand th' avenging Thunder bore:
The terrour of his Ensigns still confess his Power.
Quick of Dispatch, preventing Fear,
As Cowards cautious, bolder than Despair:
Silent, yet swift as Light, his active Soul
Reaches at once the Barriers and the distant Goal.
What Labour will the Hero chuse!
What Action worthy of a Muse!
[Page 3]T'employ the hundred busie Tongues of Fame,
And make her hundred Mouths too few to found his Name.
Namur's the Goal in Honour's Race,
Tempting the Prize, but fatal is the Chase:
At once a lovely and amazing Sight,
Striking the Eye with Terrour and Delight.
Founded on Rocks the Imperial Fortress stands,
And all around the distant Plain commands:
Beauty and Strength their utmost Force impart,
'Tis wrought by Nature and improv'd with Art;
An awful Pile! immoveable as Fate.
Fix'd like the solid Rock that proudly bears its Weight.
A thousand brazen Mouths the Walls surround,
That vomit Flames, with fatal Fury wound:
Death shines with Terrour thro' each smoking Cloud,
Like Lightning swift, and as the Thunder loud.
Not the fam'd Colchean Fleece could boast,
So dread a Guard, so terrible an Host:
NASSAU attempts a nobler Enterprize,
The Danger's more, and richer is the Prize;
Alone his Arms can such a Power engage;
Destroy with fiercer Flames, and Thunder back their Rage.
Why are the rapid Sambres Streams so slow!
The tardy Mase forgets to flow:
[Page 4]Their lagging Waves upon the Turrets gaze,
Proud to reflect their Namur's awful Face;
Whilst to th' astonish'd Shores they tell,
Those wondrous Walls are inaccessable.
The lofty Ilion Towers for Beauty fam'd,
And sacred Walls, tho' rais'd by Hands divine,
Tho' mercenary Gods her Turrets fram'd,
In Strength and Form inferiour were to thine;
Walls, that nor Grecian Arms, nor Arts could gain,
And the divine Achilles storm'd in vain.
Your greater Arms, NASSAU, were then unknown,
Where e're your bellowing Engines shake,
Where e're your more destructive Bombs are thrown,
Nature and Art in vain Resistance make,
Nor durst the Powers that built defend their shatter'd Town.
Two rival Armys now possess the Field,
In all the horrid Pomp of War:
With shining Arms and brighter Heroes far,
Tho' both with different Looks, and different Passions fill'd.
Betwixt both Hosts the Stake of Honour lies,
The Object that employs their Arms and Eyes,
How to defend, or how to gain the Prize.
The Brittains are a warlike Race,
In Arms expert, and fam'd for Arts in Peace:
[Page 5]Your matchless Deeds, NASSAU, they imitate,
Like you they Death pursue, and rush on certain Fate.
Not all the bellowing Engines of the War,
Amidst the Storm can British minds affright:
Nor Sulphurs blasting Flames deter,
That glare thro' Clouds of Smoak with horrid Light;
Tho' Bullets there descend in scalding Showers,
And those the Cannon spare, the ambusht Flame devours.
In fatal Caverns now the teeming Earth
Labours with a destructive Birth:
The loud Volcanos stretch their flaming jaws,
And ev'ry dreadful Blast a Host destroys;
This Wreck of War the upper Regions Share,
Whilst Arms, and Men, and Rocks lye scatter'd in the Air.
Yet Death in ev'ry Form the Britains face,
And march with an undaunted Pace:
Their faithless Steps to various Ruins lead,
They walk in Sepulchres, on Graves they tread;
Whilst Rocks and Mountains rooted from the Ground,
Interr the Hosts they slay, are Tombs to those they wound.
With horrid Groans distorted Nature's rent,
Loud as the Peals that shake the Firmament:
Whilst roaring Ordinance confirm the Sound,
And mimick Thunder bellows under Ground.
[Page 6]Thus on Trinacria's mournful Shores,
With Ruin big the raging AEtna roars:
The rising Smoak obscures the darkned Skie,
Whilst high as Heaven its flaming Intrails flie;
Mountains and Rocks its Fury hurls around,
Spreading with Ruins o're the desolate Ground.
Whence spring those flowing Rays of Light!
That pierce thro' Wars obscurer Night?
Or does the suppliant Flag display
Its chearful Beams of white?
See! like the Phosphorus of Peace,
The Shades retire before those sacred Rays,
Which introduce the bright victorious Day.
The Trumpets interceding Voice I hear,
Now soft and tun'd unto the Ear:
The Drums in gentler Parlees beat,
The Drums and Trumpets both intreat;
Whilst Wars Alarms are charm'd with Musick's Voice,
And all the bloody Scene of Death withdraws.
Fam'd Boufflers self consents to fear,
Even Boufflers dreads the British Thunderer:
He sues for Mercy whilst he feels his Power,
And with a trembling Hand subscribes him Conquerour.
And here your Worthys shall your Triumphs grace,
In War your Guard, your Ornaments in Peace:
Heroes are WILLIAM's, and the Muses Care,
Partake their Labours, and their Laurels share.
Let willing Fame her Trumpet sound,
Great Ormond's Name shall all her Breath employ,
And fill the echoing Shores with Ioy:
Whilst each officious Wind conveys the Sound,
And wafts it all th' attentive World around.
In bloody Camps He early gain'd Renown,
Early the distant Goal of Honour won:
What Toils, what Labours has the Hero bore?
Not the fam'd Ossory encounter'd more:
Of whom the Belgick Plains such wonders tell,
Who liv'd so lov'd, and so lamented fell.
Triumphant Prince! Thou Patron of the Muse,
Unweary'd Thee she sings, thy Acts with Wonder views:
Renown'd in War! thy Rhedecinas Pride!
Thou do'st o're Wit, and glorious Camps preside;
To Thee the Care of Arms and Arts belong,
Whose Fame shall live to Ages in Heroick Song.
For all thy Victories in War,
You, valiant Cutts, th' officious Muses crown,
[Page 8]For you triumphant Wreaths prepare,
Immortal as your Fame, and fair as your Renown.
Well did you execute your great Command,
And scatter Deaths with a destructive Hand:
What Wonders did your Sword perform,
When urging on the fatal Storm,
Undaunted, undismay'd!
Up to the Walls inclos'd with Flames you led,
And over-look'd the Works on mighty Heaps of dead.
In you the Hero and the Poet meet,
Your Sword is fatal, but your Numbers sweet,
When in MARIA's Praise your Lyre was strung,
You charm'd the heavenly Nymph to whom you sung.
Oh Honour! more than all thy Bays,
Than all the Trophies Fame and Conquest raise,
To've charm'd MARIA's Breast, and gain'd MARIA's Praise.
Indulge one grateful Labour more, my Muse,
A Subject Friendship bids thee chuse:
Let Codrington's lov'd Name inspire thy thought,
With such a Warmth and Vigour as he fought:
In vain thou dost of Arms and Triumphs sing,
Unless he crowns thy Verse, and tunes thy sounding String.
Victorious youth! your Charwell's greatest pride,
Whom glorious Arms, and learned Arts divide:
[Page 9]Whilst imitating great NASSAU you fight,
His Person guard, and conquer in his sight:
Too swift for Fame your early Triumphs grow,
And Groves of Laurel shade your youthful Brow.
In you the Muses and the Graces join,
The glorious Palm, and deathless Laurels thine:
Like Phoebus self your charming Muse hath sung,
Like his your warlike Bow and tuneful Lyre is strung.
But who, fam'd WILLIAM's Valour dares express,
No Muse can soar so high, nor Fancy paint,
Each Image will appear too faint:
Too weak's the Pencil's Art, and all the Pow'r of Verse.
How calm he look'd, and how serene!
Amidst the bloody Labours of the Field:
Unmov'd he views the Bullets round him flie,
And Dangers move with Horrour by;
Whilst Iudgment sway'd his nobler Rage within,
And his presaging Brow with Hopes of Conquest smil'd.
His chearful Looks a gayer dress put on,
His Eyes with decent Fury shone:
Dangers but serv'd to heighten every Grace,
And add an awful Terrour to the Hero's Face.
Where e're in Arms the great NASSAU appears,
The Extream of Action's there:
[Page 10]Himself the thickest Danger shares,
Himself th' informing Soul that animates the War.
Heroes of old in wondrous Armour fought,
By some immortal Artist wrought:
Achilles Arms, and Ajaxs seven-fold Shield,
Were Proof against the Dangers of the Field.
But greater WILLIAM dares his Breast expose
Unarm'd, ungarded, to his Foes:
A thousand Deaths and Ruins round him fled,
But durst not violate his Sacred Head;
For Angels guard the Prince's Life and Throne,
Who for his Empire's Safety thus neglects his own.
Had he in Ages past the Scepter sway'd,
When Sacred Rites were unto Heroes paid:
His Statue had on ev'ry Altar stood,
His Court a Temple been, his greater Self a God.
Now tune thy Lyre, my Muse, now raise thy Voice,
Let Albion hear, her distant Shores rejoice:
Thy Solemn Paeans now prepare,
Sweet as the Hymns that fill'd the Air,
When Phoebus Self return'd the Python's Conquerour.
When ev'ry Grove, with a triumphant Song,
Confest the Victor as he past along:
Whilst with the Trophies ev'ry Hill was crown'd,
And ev'ry echoing Vale disperst his Fame around.
[Page 11]As loud the British Shores their Voices raise,
And thus united sing the Godlike WILLIAM's Praise.
What the fam'd Merlin's sacred Verse of Old,
And Nostradam's prophetick Lines fore-told:
To thee, oh happy Albion's, shown,
And, in NASSAU, the Promise is out-done.
Behold a Prince indulgent Heaven has sent,
Thy boundless Wishes to content:
A Prophet great indeed, whose powerful Hand,
Shall vanquish Hosts of Plagues, and heal the groaning Land.
The great NASSAU now leads thy Armies forth,
And shews the World the British worth:
Beneath his Conduct they securely fight,
Their Cloud by Day, their guardian Flame by Night.
His Bounty too shall every Bard inspire,
Reward their Labours, and protect their Lyre:
For Poets are to warlike Princes dear,
And they are valiant WILLIAM's Care;
His Victories instruct them how to write,
WILLIAM's the glorious Theme and Patron of their Wit.

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