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Extremos & quàm vellem memorare labores! Quàm vellem sævi superata pericula ponti ! Cui meritò nunc jura dabis: quam flebile fatum Tristesque illorum exequias, quos obruit æquor Immeritos, canere; at jamjain sub pondere tanto Deficio, heroemque sequor non passibus æquis. Sed fesso memoranda dies, quâ regna Britannûm Debita, quâ sacros sceptri regalis honores Accipies, cingesque aureo diademate frontem. Anglos servasti; da jura volentibus Anglis. Sie gravis Alcides humeris ingentibus olim Fulcivit patrium, quem mox possedit, Olympum. E. SMITH, Ædis Christi Alumnus.

ON THE RETURN OF

KING WILLIAM FROM IRELAND,

After the battle of the Boyne3. O INGENS Heros! O tot defuncte periclis! Ergo iterum victor nostris allaberis oris ? Atque os belligerum, torvumque in prælia numen Exuis, et blandâ componis regna quiete? Ergo iterum placidâ moderaris voce Senatum ? Oraque divinum spirant jam mitia lumen? Non sic cum trepidos ageres violentus Hibernos; Cum bello exultans fremeres, ensemque rotares Immani gyro, rubris bacchatus in arvis Invitus: (neque enim crudeles edere strages Te juvat, aut animis Ditem satiare Tuorum.) Sic olim amplexus Semeles petiisse Tonantem Fama est, terribilem nigranti fulmine et igni : Maluit hic caris accumbere mitior ulnis, Inque suam invitum trahit inscia Nympha ruinam.

Tu tamen, ô toties Wilhelmi assueta triumphis Calliope, ô nunquam Heroum non grata labori, Wilhelmi immensos iterum enumerare triumphos Incipe, et in notas iterum te attollere laudes. Ut requiem, fœdæque ingloria tædia pacis Exosus, rursusque ardens in Martia castra, Sanguineasque acies, fulgentesque ære catervas, In bellum ruit, atque iterum se misit in arma.

Gallus enim sævit, miserosque cruentus Hibernos Servitio premit, et victâ dominatur lerne. Hinc furcæ, tormenta, cruces, tractæque catenæ Horrendum strident: iterumque resurgere credas Macquirum squallentem, atque Anglo sanguine

fœdum,

Exultantem immane, et vastâ clade superbum.
O Gens lethifero nequicquam exempta veneno!
Frustra bufo tuis, et aranea cessit ab oris,
Dum pecus Ignati invisum, fœdique cuculli,
Et Monachi sanctè rotenso abdomine tardi
Vipercam inspirant animam, inficiuntque veneno.
As a git tandem Schombergus, et emicat armis,
Qui juza captivo excutiat servilia collo:
Sed frustra: securo hostis munimine valli
Aut latet, aut errat vagus, eluditque sequentem.
Augendis restat Gulielmi Celta triumphis;
Vindiciis semper Gulielmi fata reservant
Et vincia eripere, et manibus divellere nodos.
Sic frustra Atrides, frustra Telamonius heros,

Ad Trojam frustra pugnarunt mille carinæ,
Nec nisi Achilleâ funduntur Pergama dextrâ.
Ergo, Boanda, tuis splendet Gulielmus in arvis,
Magna Boanda, ipsi famâ haud cessura Mosellæ.
Ut major graditur bello, ut jam gaudia in igneis
Scintillant oculis, et toto pectore fervent !
Quantum olli jubar affulget, quæ gratia frontis
Purpurei metuenda, et non inamabilis horror!
Sic cum dimissum fertur per nubila fulmen,
Et juvat, et nimiâ perstringit lumina flammâ.
Ut volat, ut longè primus rapidum insilit alveum!
Turbine quo præceps cunctantem tendit in hostem!
Dum vastas strages et multa cadavera passim
Amnis purpureo latè devolvit in alveo:
Dum pergenti obstat moles immensa suorum,
Et torpet misto concretum sanguine Flumen.
Pergit atrox Heros; frustra olli tempora circum
Spicula mille canunt, luduntque in vertice flammæ:
Frustra bastatæ acies obstant, firmæque phalanges;
Frustra acres Celtæ: furit Ille, atque impiger

hostes

Et fugat, et sternit, totoque agit agmina campo. Versus retro hostis trepidè fugit, inque paludes, Torpentesque lacus cæno, horrendosque recessus Dumorum; et cæci prodest injuria Cæli.

Attamen ô, non sic fausto movet alite bellum Schombergus; non sic nobis favet alea Martis. Occidit heu! Schombergus iniqui crimine Cœli; Non illum vernans circum sua tempora laurus Conservat, non arcet inevitabile fulmen.

At nunc ad Cælum fugit, et pede sidera calcat,
Spectat et Heroes, ipse et spectandus ab illis.
Hunc dicet veniens ætas, serique nepotes,
Et quicunque Anglum audierint rugire Leonem.
Cœpit enim rugire, et janjam ad moenia victor
Caletana fremit trux, Dunkirkumque reposcit.
Cresseas iterum lauros magnique tropæs
Henrici repetit: media Lodoicus in aulâ
Jamdudum tremit, et Gulielmi ad nomina pallet.
EDM. SMITH, Ædis Chr. Alumn.

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SINCE our Isis silently deplores

The bard who spread her fame to distant shores;
Since nobler pens their mournful lays suspend,
My honest zeal, if not my verse, commend,
Forgive the poet, and approve the friend.
Your care had long his fleeting life restrain'd,
One table fed you, and one bed contain'd ;`
For his dear sake long restless nights you bore,
While rattling coughs his heaving vessels tore,
Much was his pain, but your affliction more.
Oh! had no summons from the noisy gown
Call'd thee, unwilling, to the nauseous town,
Thy love had o'er the dull disease prevail'd,
Thy mirth had cur'd where baffled physic fail'd;
But since the will of Heaven his fate decreed,

3 From the Academiæ Oxoniensis Gratulatio pro exoptato serenissimi Regis Guilielmo ex Ili-To thy kind care my worthless lines succeed; bernia reditu. Oxoniæ, è Theatro Sheldoniano. Fruitless our hopes, though pious our essays, Anno Dom. 1690. Yours to preserve a friend, and mine to praise.

Oh! might I paint him in Miltonian verse, With strains like those he sung on Glo'ster's herse;

But with the meaner tribe I'm forc'd to chime,
And, wanting strength to rise, descend to rhyme.
With other fire his glorious Blenheim shines,
And all the battle thunders in his lines;

His nervous verse great Boileau's strength tran-
scends,

And France to Philips, as to Churchill, bends.
Oh, various bard, you all our powers control,
You now disturb, and now divert the soul:
Milton and Butler in thy Muse combine,
Above the last thy manly beauties shine;
For as I've seen, when rival wits contend,
One gayly charge, one gravely wise defend,
This on quick turns and points in vain relies,
This with a look demure, and steady eyes,
With dry rebukes, or sneering praise, replies:
So thy grave lines extort a juster smile,
Reach Butler's fancy, but surpass his style;
He speaks Scarron's low phrase in humble strains,
In thee the solemn air of great Cervantes reigns.
What sound ng lines his abject themes express!
What shining words the pompous Shilling dress!
There, there my cell, immortal made, outvies
The frailer piles which o'er its ruins rise.
In her best light the Comic Muse appears,
When she, with borrow'd pride, the buskin wears.
So when nurse Nokes, to act young Ammon tries,
With shambling legs, long chin, and foolish eyes;
With dangling hands he strokes th' imperial robe;
And, with a cuckold's air, commands the globe;
The pomp and sound the whole buffoon display'd,
And Ammon's son more mirth than Gomez made.
Forgive, dear shade, the scene my folly draws,
Thy strains divert the grief thy ashes cause;
When Orpheus sings, the ghosts no more complain,
But, in his lulling music, lose their pain:
So charm the sallies of thy Georgic Muse,
So calm our sorrows, and our joys infuse;
Here rural notes a gentle mirth inspire,
Here lofty lines the kindling reader fire,
Like that fair tree you praise, the poem charms,
Cools like the fruit, or like the juice it warms.
Blest clime, which Vaga's fruitful streams im-
Etruria's envy, and her Cosmo's love; [prove,
Redstreak he quaffs beneath the Chiant vine,
Gives Tuscan yearly for thy Scudmore's wine,
And ev❜n his Tasso would exchange for thine.
Rise, rise, Roscoramon, see the Blenheim Muse
The dull constraint of monkish rhyme refuse;
See, o'er the Alps his towering pinions soar,
Where never English poet reach'd before:
See mighty Cosmo's counsellor and friend,
By turns on Cosmo and the bard attend;
Rich in the coins and busts of ancient Rome,
In him he brings a nobler treasure home;
In them he views her gods, and domes design'd,
In him the soul of Rome, and Virgil's mighty mind:
To him for ease retires from toils of state,
Not half so proud to govern, as translate.

Tyrannic rhyme, that cramps to equal chime
The gay, the soft, the florid, and sublime;
Some say this chain the doubtful sense decides,
Confines the fancy, and the judgement guides;~
I'm sure in needless bonds it pocts ties,
Procrustes like, the ax or wheel applies,
To lop the mangled sense, or stretch it into size:
At best a crutch, that lifts the weak along,
Supports the feeble, but retards the strong;
And the chance thoughts, when govern'd by the
close,

Oft rise to fustian, or descend to prose.
Your judgement, Philips, rul'd with steady sway,
You us'd no curbing rhyme, the Muse to stay,
To stop her fury, or direct her way.
Thee on the wing thy uncheck'd vigour bore,
To wanton freely, or securely soar.

So the stretch'd cord the shackle-dancer tries,
As prone to fall, as impotent to rise;
When freed he moves, the sturdy cable bends,
He mounts with pleasure, and secure descends;
Now dropping seems to strike the distant ground,
Now high in air his quivering feet rebound.

Rail on, ye triflers, who to Will's repair
For new lampoons, fresh cant, or modish air;
Rail on at Milton's son, who, wisely bold,
Rejects new phrases, and resumes the old :
Thus Chaucer lives in younger Spenser's strains,
In Maro's page reviving Ennius reigns;
The ancient words the majesty complete,
And make the poem venerably great:
So when the queen in royal habit's drest,
Old mystic emblems grace th' imperial vest,
And in Eliza's robes all Anna stands confest.
A haughty bard, to fame by volumes rais'd
At Dick's, and Batson's, and through Smithfield,
prais'd,

Cries out aloud-" Bold Oxford bard, forbear
With rugged numbers to torment my ear;
Yet not like thee the heavy critic soars,
But paints in fustian, or in turn deplores ;
With Bunyan's style prophanes heroic songs,
To the tenth page lean homilies prolongs;
For far-fetch'd rhymes makes puzzled angels strain,
And in low prose dull Lucifer complain;
His envions Muse, by native dulness curst,
Damns the best poems, and contrives the worst.

Beyond his praise or blame thy works prevail
Complete, where Dryden and thy Milton fail;
Great Milton's wing on lower themes subsides,.
And Dryden oft in rhyme his weakness hides;
You ne'er with jingling words deceive the ear,
And yet, on humble subjects, great appear.
Thrice happy youth, whom noble Isis crowns!
Whom Blackmore censures, and Godolphin owns?
So on the tuneful Margarita's tongue

The listening nymphs and ravish'd heroes hung:
But cits and fops the heaven-born music blame,
And bawl, and hiss, and damn her into fame;
Like her sweet voice, is thy harmonious song,
As high, as sweet, as easy, and as strong.

Oh! had relenting Heaven prolong'd his days,
The towering bard had sung in nobler lays,
How the last trumpet wakes the lazy dead,
How saints aloft the cross triumphant spread;
How opening Heavens their happy regions show;
And yawning gulphs with flaming vengeance glow;
And saints rejoice above, and sinners howl below:

Our Spenser, first by Pisan poets taught,
To us their tales, their style, and numbers brought.
To follow ours, now Tuscan bards descend,
From Philips borrow, though to Spenser lend,
Like Philips too the yoke of rhyme disdain;
They first on English bards impos'd the chain,
First by an English bard from rhyme their free-Well might he sing the day he could not fear,

dom gain.

And paint the glories he was sure to wear.

[rides,

Oh best of friends, will ne'er the silent urn To our just vows the hapless youth return? Must he no more divert the tedious day? Nor sparkling thoughts in antique words convey? No more to harmless irony descend, To noisy fools a grave attention lend, Nor merry tales with learn'd quotations blend? No more in false pathetic phrase complain Of Delia's wit, her charms, and her disdain ? Who now shall godlike Anna's fame diffuse? Must she, when most she merits, want a Muse? Who now our Twysden's glorious fate shall tell; How lov'd he liv'd, and how deplor'd he fell? How, while the troubled elements around, Earth, water, air, the stunning din resound; Through streams of smoke, and adverse fire, he While every shot is levell'd at his sides? How, while the fainting Dutch remotely fire, And the fam'd Eugene's iron troops retire, In the first front, amidst a slaughter'd pile, High on the mound he dy'd near great Argyle. Whom shall I find unbiass'd in dispute, Eager to learn, unwilling to confute! To whom the labours of my soul disclose, Reveal my pleasure, or discharge my vows! Oh! in that heavenly youth for ever ends The best of sons, of brothers, and of friends. He sacred Friendship's strictest laws obey'd, Yet more by Conscience than by Friendship sway'd; Against himself his gratitude maintain'd, By favours past, not future prospects gain'd: Not nicely choosing, though by all desir'd, Though learn'd, not vain; and humble, though Candid to all, but to himself severe, In humour pliant, as in life austere. A wise content his even soul secur'd,

[admir'd:

By want not shaken, nor by wealth allur'd.
To all sincere, though earnest to commend,
Could praise a rival, or condemn a friend.
To him old Greece and Rome were fully known,
Their tongues, their spirits, and their styles, his

own:

Pleas'd the least steps of famous men to view,
Our authors' works, and lives, and souls, he knew;
Paid to the learn'd and great the same esteem,
The one his pattern, and the one his theme:
With equal judgment his capacious mind
Warm Pindar's rage, and Euclid's reason join'd.
Judicious physic's noble art to gain

All drugs and plants explor'd, alas, in vain!
The drugs and plants their drooping master fail'd,
Nor goodness now, nor learning aught avail'd;
Yet to the bard his Churchill's soul they gave,
And made him scorn the life they could not save:
Else could he bear unmov'd, the fatal guest,
The weight that all his fainting limbs opprest,
The coughs that struggled from his weary breast?
Could he unmov'd approaching death sustain ?
Its slow advances, and its racking pain?
Could he serene his weeping friends survey,
In his last hours his easy wit display,
Like the rich fruit he sings, delicious in decay?
Once on thy friends look down, lamented
shade,

And view the honours to thy ashes paid;
Some thy lov'd dust in Parian stones enshrine,
Others immortal epitaphs design,

With wit, and strength, that only yields to thine:
Ev'n I, though slow to touch the painful string,
Awake from slumber, and attempt to sing.

Thee, Philips, thee despairing Vaga mourns,
And gentle Isis soft complaints returns;
Dormer laments amidst the war's alarms,
And Cecil weeps in beauteous Tufton's arms:
Thee, on the Po, kind Somerset deplores,
And ev'n that charming scene his grief restores:
He to thy loss each mournful air applies,
Mindful of thee on huge Taburnus lies,
But most at Virgil's tomb his swelling sorrows rise.
But you, his darling friends, lament no more,
Display his fame, and not his fate deplore;
And let no tears from erring pity flow,
For one that's blest above, immortaliz❜d below.

CHARLETTUS PERCIVALLO SUO.
HORA dum nondum sonuit secunda,
Nec puer nigras tepefecit undas,
Acer ad notos calamus labores

Sponte recurrit.
Quid priùs nostris potiúsve chartis
Illinam? Cuinam vigil ante noctem
Sole depulsam redeunte Scriptor
Mitto salutem?

Tu meis chartis, bone Percivalle,
Unicè dignus; tibi pectus implet
Non minor nostro novitatis ardor;
Tu quoque Scriptor."
Detulit rumor (mihi multa defert
Rumor) in sylvis modo te dedisse
Furibus prædam, mediumque belli ima
pune stetisse.
Saucius num vivit adhuc Caballus
Anne? Ierneis potiora Gazis,
An, tua vitâ Tibi chariora,

Scripta supersunt?
Cui legis nostras, relegisque chartas?
Cui meam laudas generositatem?
Quem meis verbis, mea nescientem,
Mane salutas.

PERCIVALLUS CHARLETTO suo.
QUALIS ambabus capiendus ulnis
Limen attingit tibi gratus hospes
Quum sacras primum subit aut relinquit
Isidis arces,

Qualis exultat tibi pars mamillæ
Læva, quùm cantu propriore strident
Missiles, et jam moneant adesse
Cornua, chartas,
Tale per nostrum jecur et medullas
Gaudium fluxit, simul ac reclusis
Vinculis vidi benè literati

Nomen amici,
Obvios fures, uti fama verax
Rettulit, sensi pavidus tremensque;
Sed fui, sumque, excipias timorem,
Cætera sospes.

Scire si sylvam cupias pericli
Consciam, et tristes nemoris tenebras,
Consulas lentè tabulas parantem
Te duce Colum.

Flebilis legi miseranda docti

Fata pictoris, sed & hôc iniqua
Damna consolor, superest perempto
Rixone Wildgoose.

Scribe Securus, quid agit Senatus
Quid Caput stertit grave Lambethanum,
guid Comes Guildford, quid habent novorum
Dawksque Dyerque.

Me meus, quondam tuus, è popinis
Jenny jam visit, lacrimansque narrat,
Dum molit fucos, subito peremptum
Funere Rixon.

Narrat (avertat Deus inquit omen)
Hospitem notæ periisse Mitræ;
Narrat immersam prope limen urbis
Flumine cymbam.

Narratat portis meus Hinton astat,
Nuncius Pricket redit, avocat me
Sherwin, & scribendæ aliò requirunt
Mille tabellæ.

Quæ tamen metram mulier labantem
Fulciet? munus vetulæ parentis,
Anna præstabit, nisi fors lerni
Hospita Cygni,

Lætus accepi celeres vigere
Pricketi plantas, simùl ambulanti
Plaudo Sherwino, pueroque Davo
Mitto salutem.

Jenny, post Hinton, comitum tuorum
Primus, ante omnes mihi gratulandus,
Qui tibi totus vacat, & vacabit,
Nec vetat Uxor.

Hæc ego lusi properante Musâ
Lesbia vatis numeros secutus;
Si novi quid sit, meliùs docebit
Sermo pedestris.
P. S.
Cœnitant mecum Comites lernæ,
Multa qui de te memorant culullos
Inter, & palli, vice literarum,

Crus tibi mittunt.

POCOCKI U S♦.

DUM cæde tellus luxuriat Ducum,
Meum POCOCKI barbiton exigis,
Manésque Musam fastuosam
Sollicitant pretiosiores.
Alter virentum prorurat agmina
Sonora Thracum, donáque Phillidi
Agat puellas, heu decoris

Virginibus nimis invidenti,
Te nuda Virtus, te Fidei pius
Ardor serendæ, sanctaque Veritas
Per saxa, per pontum, per hostes
Præcipitant Asiæ misertum:
Cohors catenis quà pia stridulis
Gemunt onusti, vel sude trans sinum
Luctantur actâ, pendulíve

Sanguineis trepidant in uncis.
Sentis ut edunt sibila, ut ardui
Micant dracones, tigris ut horridos
Intorquet ungues, ejulátque

In madido crocodilus antro Vides lacunæ sulphure lividos Ardere fluctus, quà stetit impiæ Moles Gomorrhæ mox procella Hausta rubra, pluviísque flammiş: Quòd ista tellus si similes tibi Si fortè denos nutrierat Viros,

4 See Dr. Johnson's Life of Smith,

Adhuc stetisset, nec vibrato

Dextra Dei tonuisset igne.
Quin nunc requiris tecta virentia
Nini ferocis, nunc Babel arduum,
Immane opus, crescentibúsque
Vertice sideribus propinquum.
Nequicquam: Amici disparibus sonis
Eludit aures nescius artifex,
Linguásque miratur recentes
In patriis peregrinus oris.
Vestitur hinc tot sermo coloribus,
Quot tu, Pococki, dissimilis tui
Orator effers, quot vicissim

Te memores celebrare gaudent.
Hi non tacebunt quo Syriam senex
Percurrit æstu raptus, ut arcibus
Non jam superbis, & verendis
Indoluit Solimæ ruinis.

Quis corda pulsans tunc pavor hauserat
Dolor quis arsit non sine gaudio,
Cum busta Christi provolutus
Ambiguis lacrymis rigaret!
Sacratur arbos multa Pocockio,
Locósque monstrans inquiet accola.
Hæc quercus Hoseam supinum,

Hæc Britonem recreavit ornus.
Hic audierunt gens venerabilem
Ebræa Mosen, inde Pocockium

Non ore, non annis minorem,

Atque suam didicere linguam. Ac sicut albens perpetuâ nive Simul favillas, & cineres sinu Eructat ardenti, & pruinis

Contiguas rotat Etna flammas; Sic te trementem, te nive candidum Mens intus urget, mens agit ignea Sequi reluctantem Ioëlem

Per tonitru, aëreásque nubes Annon pavescis, dum tuba pallidum Ciet Sionem, dum tremulum polo Caligat astrum, atque incubanti

Terra nigrans tegitur sub umbrâ? Quod agmen! heu quæ turma sequacibus Tremenda flammis ! quis strepitantium Flictus rotarum est! O Pococki Egregie, O animose Vatis Interpres abstrusi, O simili ferè Correpte flammâ, te, quot imagine Crucis notantur, te, subacto

Christicolæ gravis Ottomannus Gemens requirit, te Babylonii Narrant poëtæ, te pharetris Arabs Plorat revulsis, & fragosos

Jam gravior ferit horror agros. Quà Gesta nondum cognita Cæsaris, Qui nec Matronis scripta, Pocockius Ploratur ingens, & dolenda Nestoreæ brevitas senecta.

ODE

FOR THE YEAR 1705.

JANUS, did ever to thy wondering eyes, So bright a scene of triumph rise? Did ever Greece or Rome such laurels wear, As crown'd the last auspicious year? When first at Blenheim Anne her ensigns spread, And Marlborough to the field the shouting squadrons led

In vain the hills and streams oppose,
In vain the hollow ground in faithless hillocks rose.
To the rough Danube's winding shore,
His shatter'd foes the conquering hero bore.
They see with staring haggard eyes
The rapid torrent roll, the foaming billows rise;
Amaz'd, aghast, they turn, but find,
In Marlborough's arms, a surer fate behind.
Now his red sword aloft impends,
Now on their shrinking heads descends:
Wild and distracted with their fears,

They justling plunge amidst the sounding deeps:
The flood away the struggling squadrons sweeps,
And men, and arms, and horses, whirling bears.
The frighted Danube to the sea retreats,
The Danube soon the flying ocean meets,
Flying the thunder of great Anna's fleets.
Rooke on the seas asserts her sway,
Flames o'er the trembling ocean play,
And clouds of smoke involve the day.
Affrighted Europe hears the cannons roar,
And Afric echoes from its distant shore.
The French, unequal in the fight,
In force superior, take their flight.
Factions in vain the hero's worth decry,
In vain the vanquish'd triumph, while they fly.

Now, Janus, with a future view,
The glories of her reign survey,

Which shall o'er France her arms display,
And kingdoms now her own subdue.
Lewis, for oppression born;
Lewis, in his turn, shall mourn,
While his conquer'd happy swains,
Shall hug their easy wish'd-for chains.
Others, enslav'd by victory,
Their subjects, as their foes, oppress;
Anna conquers but to free,
And governs but to bless.

ODES.

ORMOND'S glory, Marlborough's arms,
All the mouths of Fame employ ;
And th' applauding world around
Echoes back the pleasing sound:
Their courage warms;
Their conduct charms;

Yet the universal joy
Feels a sensible alloy !

Mighty George, the senate's care,
The people's love, great Anna's prayer!
While the stroke of Fate we dread
Impending o'er thy sacred head,

The British youth for thee submit to fear,
For her the dames in cloudy grief appear!
Let the noise of war and joy
Rend again the trembling sky;

5 This Ode and that which follows it were published anonymously at the time when they were written, and are now ascribed to Mr. Smith on the authority of a note in MS. by one of his contemporaries. See the Select Collection of Miscellany Poems, 1780. Vol. IV. p. 62. N.

6 George prince of Denmark, husband to the queen. N.

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