The Works of John Sheffield :: :: University of Virginia Library

I feel a strange Impulse, a strong Desire,
(For what vain Thoughts will not a Muse inspire?)
To sing on lofty Subjects, and to raise
My own low Fame, by writing James's Praise.

Oft have we heard the Wonders of his Youth;
Observ'd those Seeds of Fortitude and Truth;
Which since have spread so wide, so wondrous high,
The Good distress'd beneath that Shelter lie.

206

In Arms more active than ev'n War requir'd,
And in the midst of mighty Chiefs admir'd.
Of all Heav'n's Gifts, no Temper is so rare,
As so much Courage, mix'd with so much Care.

When martial Fire makes all the Spirits boil,
And forces Youth to military Toil;
No Wonder it should fiercely then engage;
Women themselves will venture in a Rage:
But in the midst of all that furious Heat,
While so intent on Actions brave and great,
For other Lives to feel such tender Fears,
And careless of his own, to care for theirs;
Is that Composure which a Hero makes,
And which illustrious York alone partakes,
With that great Man whose Fame has flown so far,
Who taught him first the noble Art of War.

Oh wondrous Pair! whom equal Virtues crown;
Oh worthy of each other's vast Renown!

207

None but Turenne with York could Glory share,
And none but York deserve so great a Master's Care.

Scarce was he come to bless his native Isle,
And reap the soft Rewards of glorious Toil,
But like Alcides, still new Dangers call
His Courage forth, and still he vanquish'd all.

At Sea, that bloody Scene of boundless Rage,
Where floating Castles in fierce Flames engage,
(Where Mars himself does frowningly command,
And by Lieutenants only fights at Land)
For his own Fame howe'er he fought before,
For England's Honour yet he ventur'd more.

In those black Times, when Faction raging high,
Valour and Innocence were forc'd to fly,
With York they fled; but not deprest his Mind;
Still, like a Diamond in the Dust, it shin'd.
When from afar his drooping Friends beheld
How in Distress he ev'n himself excell'd;

208

How to his envious Fate, his Country's Frown,
His Brother's Will, he sacrific'd his own;
They rais'd their Hearts, and never doubted more
But that just Heav'n would all our Joys restore.

So when black Clouds surround Heav'n's glorious Face,
Tempestuous Darkness cov'ring all the Place;
If we discern but the least glimm'ring Ray
Of that bright Orb of Fire which rules the Day;
The chearful Sight our fainting Courage warms;
Fix'd upon that, we fear no future Harms.

The Mareschal de Turenne.