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CLASS THE SEVENTH.
THE SPANISH SUCCESSION.
BY THE REV. SAMUEL COBB, M. d.
The Muse, who taught the Theban swan
To stretch his silver wings, and soar
She, queen of numbers, who could raise
As might with envied Cowley vie,
When listening to his lays, Old smiling Janus blest the new-born century;
Now from her airy bower descends, (Not always the companion of the great)
To honor things of meaner state,
And to my song attentive bends. Vol. XV.,
As Cytherea's feign'd to fly
Some favorite of mortal race,
And each ambrosial grace.
She calls me with a voice, that would excel
The Orphean, could the golden lyre
And charming tongue again conspire
Me, through untrodden air.
Like Virgil's Fame, she flies
Where'er Nassovian arms command,
There views the desert aether round, a place Where nothing lives, the blue, expanded space;
There sees the stars, which rule the night, Which in the sky, like a republic, sway
With scatter'd and imperfect light,
Whose beams more happily unite In the great monarch of the day.
Not all the rolling lamps above will dare
Nor can the united wit of man below,
With all his fondness and pretence
Such universal rays bestow
And take Religion's injured part,
Descending from Olympus, to the aid
Of the wrong'd priest, and ravish'd maid, When the vindictive quiver on his shoulders hung, And from his silver bow the poison’d arrow rung.
Fond Agamemnon! to provoke
Of thee in Stygian groves complain!
The pious virgin to detain,
Wrongs to revenge, and succour the distress'd,
William was always nigh,
At the soft warning of a sigh,
Oppression trembled at his sight,
Soon as that hydra, Faction, rose,
She saw, and stagger'd at his dazzling shine, Nor durst her multiplying heads oppose
To virtue so divine.
As ancient Jove is said to do,
To bellow under Aetna, where,
Above he shakes th' eternal snow,
In vain he tosses fire, in vain
He bites his adamantine chain,
Dorset, sagacious Halifax, and those
This dark enigma can disclose;
And with Lyncean eye,
Ten thousand giants are no odds to Jove.
When Charles, like a Gustavus rose
Mow'd his victorious way.
Lay dismember'd on the plain;
Nor stops the Northern worthy here,
Swiftly he urges on his fiery career.
So early Charles pursues