The works of Mr. Thomas Brown Serious and Comical, In Prose and Verse; In four volumes. The Fourth Edition, Corrected, and much Enlarged from his Originals never before publish'd. With a key to all his Writings |
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[Soteria Ormondiana]
The same in English, upon the Recovery of the Duke of Ormond.
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 | The works of Mr. Thomas Brown |  |
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[Soteria Ormondiana] The same in English, upon the Recovery of the Duke of Ormond.
Such cruel Accents, sad Ierne, spare:Cease these untimely Sighs and needless Care,
Ormond's recover'd, who for Greatness born,
The labouring State protects and does adorn,
Ye sacred Domes, where Jove's bright Daughters dwell,
The happy Change in lasting Numbers tell.
Dublin rejoyce, than whom Apollo more
Cythæron loves not, nor the Delian Shore.
The conscious Rocks, loud Acclamations reach,
And Joys luxurious rend the Ouzie Beech.
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Applaud my Subject and approve my Verse.
Rebellious Croud, sincere Religious Foe,
Averse to Kings, and God that made them so,
Who pious Frauds, and most Religious Lyes,
With better Art than cloystered Priests devise.
What Lust of Power, or what nefarious Charms,
Ferment your Blood and boil you into Arms,
The God of War far from your Thoughts remov'd
Nor break his Slumbers with the Queen of Love,
By Heavens Command, he is to Health restor'd,
Whose prudent Councils or decisive Sword,
With gentle Calms this happy Isle shall bless,
Shall Foreign Storms and Civil Feuds suppress.
E're rising down to shade his Cheeks began
His Worth and Actions fully prov'd him Man;
His early Youth in Loyal Arms did shine,
And drove the vanquish'd Scots beyond the Tyne.
Great Pompey thus with Thoughts of Glory fir'd,
From Youth's soft Joys and Houshold Gods retir'd,
Vanquish'd Numidians by his Arms undone,
Ne'er greater Battles lost nor Romans won.
Ye tuneful Sisters, who the Ruin know,
The dismal Fate of sad Ierne show,
Your Sacred Seats by cruel Rage o'erthrown,
And Gods exil'd from Temples once their own.
Sacred to Arts Eblana, calm Retreat
Of Vertue, Science, and the Muses Seat.
Oh Shades indulgent to the Poets Dreams!
Oh Groves! oh Laurels! oh eternal Streams.
In Learning's School, young Wolves and Leopards ran
And play'd secure from the Destroyer, Man;
Say what hard Fate opprest your Reverend Fame,
Then only Ruins, and an empty Name,
Whilst Tears of Blood from pale Iverna run,
She shews her Wounds to her illustrious Son;
Conjures his Aid, and Valour early known,
By his Paternal Vertues and his own.
To assert her Right, Revenge her cruel Harms,
And free his Country by the Force of Arms,
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Consume his Soul, and thro' his Marrow run.
Once more, says he, Bellona me invites,
To Seas of Blood and execrable Sights.
Fain would my Soul the Calms of Peace have try'd,
Snatch'd to the Main by the returning Tide,
My Sword, Great Charles, and injur'd Virtue draws,
The best of Masters, and the justest Cause.
Fresh Laurels Fate does for my Brow prepare,
Tho' all Mankind oppose the Holy War;
Cæsar, to aid, and end Rebellious Strife,
He vows his Fortune, Honour, and his Life.
Presaging Fires around his Temples shine,
The Conscious Omens of a Will Divine,
As Lightning swift, or Storms of Hail and Rain,
Dreadful as Mars upon the Thracian Plain.
To Battel flies, near bright Simois Streams,
So look'd the God with such refulgent Beams,
What Toils, what Dangers must the Hero run,
What Heat endure by a too scorching Sun,
Expos'd to Death, which he disdains to shun?
The Rebel Troops, no rest his Fire allows,
Scourge of their Crimes, and violated Vows,
What various Armour spread the purple Fields,
What Colours torn, what glitt'ring Helms and Shields?
Neglected Horses range along the Plain,
Their Chariots broke, and generous Riders slain!
Not with Success alone the Hero fought,
But also Peace unto his Country brought;
That gentle Goddess did serenely smile,
And Olive Branches crown'd his finish'd Toil.
His Prudence shut fell Janus brazen Doors,
And Law and Justice to the State restores.
So blest Ierne, when Astræa Reign'd,
When Man and Beast one common Shed contain'd.
E're impious Ploughs to wound the Earth began,
And floating Pines were steer'd by daring Man.
Oh! may no Cares disturb the Hero's Life,
His happy Hours not intermixt with Strife;
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And Sorrow only by his Foes be seen.
I fear, (may Heaven avert the dire Presage)
Juverna's Fortune may embroil his Age;
Too much of War his honour'd Worth hath known,
Drawing the Sword of Justice and his own.
May Fate his Grace late from these Isles remove,
To Realms Divine, and Heaven's high Court above.
His Mind enlarg'd, and boundless as the Sky,
Shall unknown Worlds and Heaven's Recesses spy.
The fierce Emotions that disturb Mankind,
Our Hopes and Fears that shake the trembling Mind,
From thence he'll view, and with Contempt look down,
Both on the Pains and Pleasure of a Crown.
Thus after all the Toils impos'd by Fate,
By angry Gods and conscious Juno's Hate,
Divine Alcides breathes Celestial Air,
Bless'd with a Goddess ever young and fair.
| The works of Mr. Thomas Brown | |