Philomela :: :: University of Virginia Library

We yield! we yield! the Palm, bright Maid! be thine!
How vast a Genius sparkles in each Line!
How Noble all! how Loyal! how Divine!
Sure Thou by Heaven inspir'd, art sent
To make the King's and Nation's Foes repent,
To melt each stubborn Rebel down,
Or the Almighty's hov'ring Vengeance show,
Arm'd with his glittering Spear and dreadful Bow,
And yet in a more dreadful Frown.

Ah would they hear! ah would they try
Th' exhaustless Mercy yet in Store,
From Earth's and Heaven's offended Majesty,
Both calmly ask, Why will they die?
Ah! would they yet repent, and sin no more!

II.

How bless'd, how happy we,
Could all we write one Convert make,
How gladly new Affronts could take
One Convert to dear Virtue, and dear Loyalty?
Tho' the full Crop reserv'd for Thee.
O! Virgin! touch thy Lyre:
What Fiend so stubborn to refuse
The soft, yet pow'rful Charms of thy Celestial Muse?
What gentle Thoughts will they inspire!
How will thy Voice, how will thy Hand,
Black Rebel-Legions to the Deep command!

Black Rebel-Legions murm'ring take their Flight,
And sink away to conscious Shades of everlasting Night:
While those they left, amazed stand,
And scarce believe themselves, themselves to find
Cloath'd, calm, and in a better Mind.

III.

Begin, begin, thy Noble Choice,
Great Nassau claims thy Lyre, and claims thy Voice,
All like himself the Hero shew,
Which none but Thou canst do.
At Landen paint him, Spears and Trophies round,
And Twenty thousand Deaths upon the slipp'ry Ground:
Now, now the dreadful Shock's begun,
Fierce Luxemburgh comes thund'ring on:
They charge, retreat, return and fly,
Advance, retire, kill, conquer, die!
Tell me, some God, what Gods are those
Inwrapt in Clouds of Smoke and Foes,

Who oft the tott'ring Day restore?
'Tis Nassau and Bavaria, say no more!
Nassau—that lov'd, that dreadful Name!
Bavaria! Rival of his Fame.
A Third comes close behind, who should he be?
'Tis Ormonde! mighty Ormonde! sure 'tis he:
'Tis nobly Fought, they must prevail;
Ah no, our Sins weigh down the doubtful Scale.
Ah thankless England, they engag'd for thee,
Or never could have miss'd the Victory:
With high Disdain from the moist Field they go,
And dreadfully retreat, yet face the trembling Foe.

IV.

Thus sing, bright Maid! thus and yet louder sing,
Thy God, thy King!
Cherish that Noble Flame which warms thy Breast,
And be by future Worlds admir'd and bless'd:

The present Ages short-liv'd Glories scorn,
And into wide Eternity be Born!
There chast Orinda's Soul shall meet with Thine,
More Noble, more Divine;
And in the Heav'n of Poetry for ever shine:
There All the glorious few,
To Loyalty and Virtue true,
Like Her and You.
'Tis That, 'tis That alone must make you truly Great,
Not all your Beauty equal to your Wit,
(For sure a Soul so fine
Would ne'er possess a Body less divine)
Not all Mortality so loudly boast,
Which withers soon and fades,
Can aught avail when hurry'd to the Coasts,
Where wander wide lamenting Ghosts,
And thin unbody'd Shades.
'Tis Virtue only with you goes,
And guards you thro' Ten thousand Foes;

Hold fast on That, 'twill soon direct your Flight
To endless Fame and endless Light;
If That you lose, you sink away,
And take eternal Leave of Day.
Then fly false Man, if you'd an Angel-prove,
And consecrate to Heav'n your Nobler Love.

The Society of Gentlemen who wrote the Athenian Mercury.