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With hizzing ftreams of fire the air they streak,
And hurl destruction round 'em where they break,
The skies with long ascending flames are bright,
And all the fea reflects a quivering light.

Thus Etna, when in fierce eruptions broke,
Fills heav'n with aihes, and the earth with fmoke:
Here crags of broken rocks are twirl'd on high,
Here molten ftones and fcatter'd cinders fly:
Its fury reaches the remotest coast,

And ftrows the Afiatic shore with duft.

Now does the failor from the neighb'ring main
Look after Gallic towns and forts in vain ;
No more his wonted marks he can descry,
But fees a long unmea fur'd ruin lie;
Whilft, pointing to the naked coaft, he shows
His wondring mates where towns and steeples rofe,
Where crowded citizens he lately view'd,

And fingles out the place where once St. Maloes flood.
Here Ruffel's actions should my Muse require:
And would my ftrength but fecond my defire,
I'd all his boundlefs bravery rehearse,
And draw his cannons thund'ring in my verfe;
High on the deck fhould the great leader ftand,
Wrath in his look, and light'ning in his hand;
Like Homer's Hector when he flung his fire
Amidst a thousand ships, and made all Greece retire.

C 5


But who can run the British triumphs o'er, And count the flames difperft on ev'ry shore? Who can defcribe the scatter'd victory, And draw the reader on from sea to fea? Elfe who cou'd Ormond's God-like acts refuse, Ormond the theme of ev'ry Oxford Muse? Fain wou'd I here his mighty worth proclaim, Attend him in the noble chafe of fame, Through all the noife and hurry of the fight, Obferve each blow, and keep him still in fight. Oh, did our British peers thus court renown, And grace the coats their great fore-fathers won! Our arms would then triumphantly advance, Nor Henry be the laft that conquered France. What might not England hope, if fuch abroad Purchas'd their country's honour with their blood: When fuch, detain'd at home, fupport our ftate In WILLIAM'S ftead, and bear a kingdom's weight, The schemes of Gallic policy o'erthrow,

And blaft the counfels of the common foe;

Direct our armies, and distribute right,

And render our MARIA's lofs more light.
But ftop, my Muse, 'th ungrateful found forbear,
MARIA's name ftill wounds each British ear:
Each British heart MARIA ftill does wound,
And tears burft out unbidden at the found;


MARIA ftill our rifing mirth deftroys,
Darkens our triumphs, and forbids our joys:

But fee, at length, the British fhips appear!
Our NASSAU comes! and as his fleet draws near,
The rifing mafts advance, the fails grow white,
And all his pompous navy floats in fight.
Come, mighty Prince, defir'd of Britain, come!
May heav'n's propitious gales attend thee home!
Come, and let longing crowds behold that look,.
Which fuch confufion and amazement ftrook
Through Gallic hofts: but, oh! let us defcry
Mirth in thy brow, and pleasure in thy eye;
Let nothing dreadful in thy face be found,
But for a-while forget the trumpet's found;
Well pleas'd, thy people's loyalty approve,
Accept their duty, and enjoy their love.
For as when lately mov'd with fierce delight,
You plung'd amidst the tumult of the fight,
Whole heaps of dead encompafs'd you around,
And steeds o'er-turn'd lay foaming on the ground;
So crown'd with laurels now, where-e'er you go,
Around you blooming joys, and peaceful bleflings flow.

A Tran

A Tranflation of all

VIRGIL's Fourth Georgic,

Except the Story of ARISTE US.


Thereal fweets fhall next my Muse engage, And this, Mecenas, claims your patronage, Of little creatures wondrous acts I treat,


The ranks and mighty leaders of their state,
Their laws, employments, and their wars relate.
A trifling theme provokes my humble lays,
Trifling the theme, not fo the Poet's praife,
If great Apollo and the tuneful Nine

Join in the piece, and make the work divine.
First, for your bees a proper station find,

That's fenc'd about, and fhelter'd from the wind;
For winds divert them in their flight, and drive
The fwarms, when loaded homeward, from their hive.
Nor fheep, nor goats, muft pafture near their ftores,
To trample under foot the springing flowers;

Nor frifking heifers bound about the place,

To fpurn the dew-drops off, and bruife the rifing grafs;
Nor muft the lizard's painted brood appear,

Nor wood-pecks, nor the fwallow harbour near.
They waste the swarms, and as they fly along
Convey the tender morfels to their young.


Let purling ftreams, and fountains edg'd with mofs,
And shallow rills run trickling through the grafs;
Let branching olives o'er the fountain grow,
Or palm shoot up and fhade the ftreams below;
That when the youth, led by their princes, thun
The crowded hive, and fport it in the fun,
Refreshing springs may tempt 'em from the heat,
And shady coverts yield a cool retreat.

Whether the neighb'ring water ftands or runs,
Lay twigs acrofs and bridge it o'er with ftones;
That if rough storms, or fudden blafts of wind
Should dip, or fcatter thofe that lag behind,
Here they may fettle on the friendly stone,
And dry their reeking pinions at the fun.
Plant all the flow'ry banks with Lavender,
With ftore of Sav'ry fcent the fragrant air,
Let running Betony the field o'erfpread,
And fountains foak the Violet's dewy bed.

Tho' barks or plaited willows make your hive,

A narrow inlet to their cells contrive;

For colds congeal and freeze the liquors up,

And, melted down with heat, the waxen buildings drop,

The Bees, of both extremes alike afraid,

Their wax around the whiftling crannies fpread,
And fuck out clammy dews from herbs and flow'rs,
To fmear the chinks, and plaifter up the pores:


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