Quoy? feur seul aspect vous glace?
Où sont ces chefs pleins d'audace,
Jadis si prompts à marcher,
Qui devoient de la Tamise,
Et de la Drâve soûmise,

Jusqu'à Paris nous chercher ?

XV.

Cependant l'effroy redouble
Sur les remparts de Namur.
Son gouverneur qui se trouble
S'enfuit sous son dernier mur.
Déja jusques à ses portes
Je voyez monter nos cohortes,
La flame et le fer en main:
Et sur les monceaux de piques,
De corps morts, de rocs, de briques,
S'ouvrir un large chemin.

XVI.

C'en est fait. Je viens d'entendre

Sur ces rochers éperdus

Battre un signal pour se rendre :
Le feu cesse. Ils sont rendus.
Dépoüillez vôtre arrogance,
Fiers ennemis de la France,
Et desormais gracieux,
Allez à Liege, à Bruxelles,
Porter les humbles nouvelles

De Namur pris à vos yeux.

Or on the shores of Hellespont,
Or in the vallies near Scamander,
Would it not spoil his noble task,

If any foolish Phrygian there is,
Impertinent enough to ask

How far Namur may be from Paris?

XV.

Two stanzas more before we end,

Of death, pikes, rocks, arms, bricks, and fire; Leave 'em behind you, honest Friend, And with your countrymen retire. Your ode is spoilt; Namur is freed: For Dixmuyd something yet is due; So good Count Guiscard may proceed; But, Boufflers, Sir, one word with you--

XVI.

'Tis done. In sight of these commanders,
Who neither fight nor raise the siege,
The foes of France march safe thro' Flanders,
Divide to Bruxelles or to Liege.

Send, Fame, this news to Trianon,

That Boufflers may new honours gain;

He the same play by land has shown
As Tourville did upon the main.
Yet is the Marshal made a peer:

O, William! may thy arms advance,
That he may lose Dinant next year,
And so be Constable of France.

Volume I.

L

THE GARLAND.

I.

THE pride of ev'ry grove I chose,
The violet sweet and lily fair,
The dappled pink and blushing rose,
To deck my charming Chloe's hair.

II.

At morn the nymph vouchsaf'd to place
Upon her brow the various wreath;

The flow'rs less blooming than her face,
The scent less fragrant than her breath.

III.

The flow'rs she wore along the day,
And ev'ry nymph and shepherd said,
That in her hair they look'd more gay
Than glowing in their native bed.

IV.

Undrest at ev'ning, when she found

Their odours lost, their colours past, She chang'd her look, and on the ground Her garland and her eyes she cast.

V.

That eye dropt sense distinct and clear

As any Muse's tongue could speak, When from its lid a pearly tear

Ran trickling down her beauteous cheek.

VI.

Dissembling what I knew too well,
My love, my life, said I, explain
This change of humour; pr'ythee tell,
That falling tear---what does it mean?

VIT.

She sigh'd, she smil'd; and to the flow'rs Pointing, the lovely moralist said,

See, Friend, in some few fleeting hours, See yonder what a change is made.

VIII.

Ah me! the blooming pride of May
And that of Beauty are but one;
At morn both flourish bright and gay,
Both fade at ev'ning, pale, and gone.

IX.

At dawn poor Stella danc'd and sung,
The am'rous youth around her bow'd;
At night her fatal knell was rung;
I saw, and kiss'd her in her shrowd.

X:

Such as she is who dy'd to-day,

Such I, alas! may be to-morrow: Go, Damon, bid thy Muse display

The justice of thy Chloe's sorrow.

THE VICEROY.

A BALLAD,

To the tune of Lady Isabella's Tragedy: or,

cruelty.

the Stepmother's

1.

Or Nero, tyrant, petty king,
Who heretofore did reign
In fam'd Hibernia, I will sing,
And in a ditty plain.

II.

He hated was by rich and poor,
For reasons you shall here;
So ill he exercis'd his pow'r,
That he himself did fear.

IIL.

Full proud and arrogant was he,
And covetous withal;

The guilty he would still set free,
But guiltless men enthral.

IV.

He with a haughty impious nod
Would curse and dogmatize,
Not fearing either man or God;
Gold he did idolize.

This satire was justly le elled at Lord Coningsby, for his mal-adminstration when he was one of the Lords Justices of Ireland.