Pax Redux A Pindarick Ode on the Return of His Majesty, and the Happy Conclusion of the Peace. By Samuel Cobb |
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PAX REDUX: A PINDARICK ODE ON THE Return of His MAJESTY, and the happy Conclusion of the PEACE.
I.
Now may the gentle Muse securely comeFrom long Exile, and her known Bard inspire:
'Tis just to tune the Peaceful Lyre,
When Warlike Harmony is dumb.
Cease, Sacred Goddess, to deplore
Th' injurious Malice of a tedious War:
No more its noisy Thunder dread:
Its impious Lightning shall no more
Blast the chaste Laurel on thy Head.
No Mother now shall beat her Breast, and tear
Her hoary injur'd Hair;
Nor shall the Maid with Female cries,
For her lost Lover, wound the suffering Air,
Or thicken it with Sighs.
II.
WAR, curs'd by Parents, leaves the Tented Field,Unbuckles his bright Helmet, and, to rest
His weary Limbs, sits on his idle Shield,
With Scars of Honour plough'd upon his Breast:
Sternly he looks behind, and in amaze
Starts, when he views the Shining Bands
Of PEACE with Olive in their hands;
He scours along the Plain to shun their killing Blaze,
That Angel, whose great Charge it is to keep
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Darts the curst Fiend down to his Native Deep;
Down the dark Hills he falls, unfathomably steep,
A long Eternity to dwell.
There gash'd with Wounds of Glory to retire:
For though the Fury takes delight
In Anger, Thunder, and in Fire,
PEACE Stabs him with a Smile, and Smothers him with Light.
III.
Wondrous! what something more than GreatIs this, that seems to animate
The very Soul, and spread
Its gathering Off-spring o'er Man's curious World, the Head?
Deep Mystery! Lo, from its seeds arise
Gigantick sense, whose Language flies
High as the Top of Heav'n, and shines above the Skies.
When Thou, whate'er Thou art, such Notions didst infuse,
Sure the wise Heathens did thy Name abuse,
To put Thee off with that mean Title of a MUSE.
'Tis true, that when they saw thy Powers Divine
So variously dispers'd, so prodigally Shine,
They thought Thee more than One, and split Thee into Nine.
Each individual Part of thy vast Influence,
May warm an incapacious Soul to Sense,
Enough to list his Shining Name
In the second Roll of Fame:
But here must all thy Army throng,
Here thy Collected Self must meet to frame
The brave Pindarick Song.
IV.
Come then, with all thy Trappings, all thy TrainOf Raptures, and of Ecstasies,
Of Figures, and of Mysteries
Conceal'd from vulgar Eyes:
Come, and thy Priest ordain
To touch thy fires, and talk in thy Majestick Strain.
Say whom of all th' Heroick Race
Wilt Thou with Pelides place?
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To whose immortal Fame
Wilt Thou erect a Temple, and ingrave his NAME
On massy Monuments of Verse?
Of all the fam'd NASSOVIAN Line
(That is, of all the God-like and Divine)
None equal to Great WILLIAM shine.
God's chief Vicegerent, who by Secret Springs would show
How he should scourge the boldest Foe,
Commission'd, like a Moses, to release
Thee, England, from thy tedious Nine Years Miseries,
And sooth the Rebel World with the sweet charms of Peace.
How he persuades the moody People to prevent
Their future and tremendous Punishment,
E'er the Last Plague, to slay their First born Male, be sent!
For though He's gentle as the softest Muse,
And more unharmful than a galless Dove;
Yet none but sturdy Tyrants he subdues,
And wins the Suppliant with Love.
So Heav'nly Lightning does it's force conceal,
It's Vertue, hardest Matters feel,
It spares the Scabbard while it melts the Steel.
V.
'Tis sweet, past labours to renew,And in the Memory repeat
What to the Eye was formidably Great.
To think how WILLIAM, like an Eagle, flew,
And in his Talons grasp'd whate'er did lye
Within the Compass of his Eye.
How would he sometimes like a Whirlwind, play,
And sweep whole Groves of Men away!
Sometimes, like Hannibal, o'er rugged Hills he past,
His glorious way o'er Alpes of slain he led,
O'er Mountains, which himself had cast,
And clomb the Pyreneans of the Dead.
Sometimes he flow'd like the luxuriant Main
That with impetuous Tide,
Immeasurably deep and wide,
Stretches his liquid Volumes o'er the delug'd Plain.
Yet though this wondrous Ocean can display
His Conquests to the Cradle of the Day;
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He shoulders Kingdoms from their Seat:
Though other Nations he deface,
He clasps fair Albion with a kind embrace,
And with incircling arms defends her Generous Race.
VI.
The Venerable Thunderer of oldLeft his Olympian Seat,
(When he intended to behold
Important Battles, or dispose
The ballanc'd Fate of Kings,) and chose
Thee, Springy Ida, for his blest Retreat.
Though the capacious Worlds above
Were all too narrow for extended Jove,
Coop'd in this inch of Land
The crowded Immortality would stand,
Here, on the Grand Concerns of Fate,
The stinted Godhead to debate
Himself a Consistory sate.
VII.
Nor can the streights of the commanded Main,Nor can this Handful of a World contain
WILLIAM's immortal Soul
That moves this Lump, like Jove, and mingles with the Whole;
Yet Britain is his Dwelling: Here his Chariot's plac'd,
Here are his Altars, and his Temples rais'd.
Fair Britany! the beauteous Eye
That does the Globe with Light supply:
The Head, where William takes delight
To teach the Belgick Hands to fight,
And Gallick Feet to fly.
VIII.
O Glory! how he rears his lofty HeadAbove the fabled Monarchs of the Sky,
The Counterfeits of an ill fashion'd Deity:
The gilded Titles of the Flatter'd Dead,
Whom Poets, when they lack'd a God, would frame,
Besaint some Emperour's anointed Name,
Embalm his worth, and canonize his fame.
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The glorious Off-Spring of the Fam'd NASSAWS
Scorns all the Voices and Applause,
But that which Gods and Heav'n bestow.
Whence from Thrones of solid Gold
His Smiling Ancestors behold
His glorious Toils below.
Thus they Triumphant grew,
Thus they did equal steps pursue,
Till up to lofty Honour's Airy Top they flew.
Unchristian Kings with whom they did ingage,
And Turkish Captains wept their rage.
While the soft Feathers of the downy Snow
Serv'd for a Bed and Pillow too.
In cold, in fields, in frost they often lay,
And long to Heav'n beat out their stubborn way,
And long they drudg'd, and labour'd for the Glorious Day.
IX.
William alone was left behindTo bless the rest of Human kind:
His budding Years with ripen'd Valour shone,
He had his Fathers Vertues, and his Own.
When in his Cradle the blest Infant lay,
And sacred Smiles omen'd th' Auspicious Day,
Which to th' astonish'd World should a Nassaw convey.
Nature, and Michael noblest of th' Angelick Kind,
Did their united Forces joyn
In composition of his Mind
To make it almost perfect, and almost divine.
X.
As when some Pilot would new Worlds explore,He searches every Land and Shore,
And to his Chard would add some Port unknown before.
He strikes his untir'd Bark o'er Indian Waves,
Where with rich Sand th' exundant Rivers flow,
Where Pearls from ripen'd Dew-drops grow,
And yellow Metal Suns the hollow Caves:
Or else his Keel the wintry foam does sweep,
Where Cold benums the Horrid Deep.
Fain would he cross the Frozen Sea,
Touch the last Minute of the last Degree:
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To find out a new World of Sense.
Her purest Notions in his Head she blew,
Her best Ingredients on his Heart she threw:
But when at last she could no farther go,
When she had gave him Reason, Sense and Thought,
And was to her last Thule brought,
She pin'd, because her Map could no fresh Notions show.
XI.
Michael, (for Angels often come on Earth,Are often buisy at a Heroe's Birth)
Took the Fine Piece, by Heav'ns Command,
Which Nature with imperfect Art had drest,
And with a well-directed Hand
He pencil'd out the rest.
Strong his expression, and his style divine,
Eternal Sense was couch'd in every Line:
No rough, ill shaded stroke did sully the Design.
Religion in the Centre of his Heart he drew,
(His Heart was temper'd with Celestial Dew)
Whil'st Valour, Bravery around her plac'd,
Like Guards, the lovely Virgin grac'd.
Then all the Vertues in just order ran,
Then all the parts began
To fashion-out the finish'd Man.
XII.
Wise Nature did astonish'd look,Such steps and strides his thriving Courage took,
And all her lazy Rules forsook.
Maturely Valiant in his Infancy,
He left behind the common span,
Out-leap'd the vulgar bounds of Man,
Broke from the crackling shell, and strait began to fly.
So Unaccountable Eternity above
With no respect to time does in a constant Circle move.
E'er Age had breath'd upon his Wings, he flew,
And vastly, very vastly grew.
Strange, and to all the Calendars of Time unknown!
For e'er the circling and laborious Sun
Had measur'd twice five years, he run
The Race of Alexander, and began his Own.
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XIII.
His Own was wonderful and great,At Mons he ran upon the mouth of Fate,
And from War's Deluge sav'd a sinking State.
In Him, as in the Heav'n commanded Ark,
The Families of Holland did imbark.
How did They meet Him with exalted praise?
What Elogies they sung? What Statues did they raise?
But yet they could not think Him fit
At the grave Council-board to sit,
Imputing Courage to a Youthful heat.
But when they read the Volumes of his Mind,
(Vast Tomes!) and Search'd the Closets of his Brain,
What endless Sums of Wisdom did they find?
What untouch'd Heaps of Prudence did his Head contain?
The bearded Seniors wondred to behold
A Prince, who had few Summers told,
Young without rashness, without dotage Old.
XIV.
To wait on his green fame, with a becoming Pride,Holland's foreseeing Doctors did aspire,
(Who with much toil and sweat acquire,
What niggard Nature has deny'd.)
These the mis-judging World his Masters thought,
But they knew better, and with justice styl'd
Themselves the Scholars to the Royal Child,
Ambitious not to teach, but to be taught.
For though no Venerable strokes were seen
To Silver his white Temples, or adorn his Chin,
His Tokens of Experience lay within.
Whether his pre-existing Soul
By his blest Ancestors above was taught,
From whence his Sacred Schemes were brought
To modell Kingdoms, and the World controul.
Or whether he, like Adam, at a view
The Universe and Nature knew.
His Learning was more perfect and divine,
How faithfully, how strongly was it knit!
The Tempter view'd and envy'd it,
He saw the Sceptred Knowledge with the Mitred joyn.
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XV.
So, blest Religion, teach us to adore,Like Him, thy Venerable Power;
Direct our erring Feet, and we shall ask no more:
In vain we tempt Thee with a daring Flight,
Thy Streams o'erflow our violated sight,
And drown our watring Eyes with flouds of glaring Light.
The Plummet and the Line of Reason are too weak
To fathom the deep bottom of thy Rays:
The Plummet will dissolve away,
And the scorch'd Line will break
At thy mysterious blaze,
In such a burning Sea of Day.
XVI.
IO, Triumphant William, come,Supported on the downy wings of PEACE,
Bid the loud Thunder of the Drum
And the shrill Trumpet cease.
O War, be still, and ye rough People sleep,
Lay your strip'd Arms upon the Floor,
Thee, Mars, a hundred Chains shall keep,
William shall lock the Brazen Door,
And let the rattling hinges creak no more
To fright the Sailor on the Deep,
Or echo on the Shore.
O'er silent Armour shall yok'd Fury sit,
Steel Fetters on her hands, and Shackles on her Feet:
No more let loose through the tam'd World to roam;
How will the cruel Goddess spit,
And from her Bloody Nostrils snort the scatter'd foam.
XVII.
War, like a Rain, has only laid the PrideOf mortal Dust, until the Sun appear,
And bring his chearful Army on our side,
PEACE Marching in the Front, and PLENTY in the Reer,
Plenty, which like a slighted Mistress lay
Forsaken long, and shut from every Door,
Returns at last more beautiful and gay,
Like Jove, descending in a Golden Showre.
Absence alone enhanceth much the Price
Of Things, which present we despise.
Hence, Evil Fate, with all thy hated Train,
No more to curse our Sacred Isle again.
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Nor longer hover in the British Air,
But in some Desart soil
Build her curst Nest, and damn th' unthriving Ploughman's toil.
Safe shall the Merchant travel on the Deep,
All the wide Ocean shall one Harbour be,
Each Ship, a Warehouse, it's own wealth shall keep,
Safe as the first brave Man's who try'd the Sea,
When God himself ingag'd for his Security.
But though our swelling Flood is past,
Another, yet a milder, Deluge grows,
While Heav'n is doubly kind at last,
And only now in Goodness overflows.
XVIII.
Breath, ye soft Zephyrs, on the sailing Fleet,And waft it gently to the gainful shore,
Whose Cannon, hostile now no more,
In harmless Thunder shall it's welcome greet.
And, while their Keels the foamy wave shall plow,
The Voices of the Multitude combin'd
Shall form a favourable Wind,
And smooth the surly Ocean's Brow.
The bridled North no more shall scour the Main,
No more shall battle in th' afflicted Air,
While British Trees move on the Liquid Plain,
And in their bellies the World's Treasure bear.
They come; I see the sails of hollow'd Oaks
Wave their Red Crosses o'er the furrow'd Seas,
A gentle Gale their swelling wings provokes,
And curls the surface of the watry Wilderness.
Lo! on the back of subject Thames they ride,
Some clotted Gold in yellow Vomits pour,
Some disembogue the Silver ore,
Some born upon a prosp'rous Tide
With Ceilon spices load the wealthy shore,
And Persian Silks t' adorn the beauteous Lady's Pride.
XIX.
But where, O where, shall our desiring EyeBehold the noble animating Fleet?
Hence, inauspicious Clouds, and clear the smiling Sky
To let it pass securely by
'Tis stor'd with Man's chief blessing Wine and Wit,
Let no unthinking Tempest toss or justle it.
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A Taper to direct it o'er the Sea:
On the Fair Pomp Thou art oblig'd to wait;
For though Thou didst the Grape create,
The Grape inspir'd the Bard, and he created Thee;
To build a Poet, Noble and Divine,
Nature and Love at first did joyn:
Nature the Basis laid, and Love
The stately Fabrick did improve;
But none could raise the Spire without the help of Wine.
XX.
And now be happy, Everlasting Isle,When other Kingdoms round thee shall expire,
Devour'd by the last Universal Fire.
Rise thou above the Top, and Crown the Funeral Pile;
Or else (for 'tis a pity Thou shouldst fall)
Be chang'd, as then our Bodies shall.
May Jove translate Thee to some happy Walk,
Strow sweet unfading Roses on the Ground,
The best that can in Heaven be found:
Worthy where Gods may tread, where tuneful Saints may Talk:
Thee, Chymick Angels shall refine
To the pure Sterling of fair Eden's Coyn;
Lop Thee, and prune Thee so,
Till Canoniz'd Thou shalt a Garden grow,
And with Immortal harmless Apples shine.
There shall brave William and Achilles sit
Under thy Golden Shade,
For none but Warlike Heroes made,
Their Bloody Labours to repeat:
There shall he tastful Manna eat;
There shall He reap the Harvest of Eternity:
Eternity! his just reward,
Not owing to the dreaming Bard,
But gain'd by works of Arms and solid Piety.
FINIS.
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