Had you by dull succession gain'd your crown, (Cowards are monarchs by that title made,) Part of your merit Chance would call her own, And half your virtues had been lost in shade. But now your worth its just reward shall have: What trophies and what triumphs are your due! Who could so well a dying nation save, At once deserve a crown, and gain it too. You saw how near we were to ruin brought, You saw th'impetuous torrent rolling on; And timely on the coming danger thought, Which we could neither obviate nor shun. Britannia stripp'd of her sole guard, the laws, Ready to fall Rome's bloody sacrifice; You straight stepp'd in, and from the monster's jaws Did bravely snatch the lovely, helpless prize. Nor this is all; as glorious is the care To preserve conquests, as at first to gain: In this your virtue claims a double share, Which, what it bravely won, does well maintain. Your arm has now your rightful title show'd, An arm on which all Europe's hopes depend, To which they look as to some guardian God, That must their doubtful liberty defend. Amazed, thy action at the Boyne we see! When Schomberg started at the vast design: The boundless glory all redounds to thee, The impulse, the fight, th'event, were wholly thine. The brave attempt does all our foes disarm; You need but now give orders and command, Your name shall the remaining work perform, And spare the labour of your conquering hand. France does in vain her feeble arts apply, To interrupt the fortune of your course: Your influence does the vain attacks defy Of secret malice, or of open force. Boldly we hence the brave commencement date Of glorious deeds, that must all tongues employ; William's the pledge and earnest given by fate, Of England's glory, and her lasting joy. ODE TO THE ATHENIAN SOCIETY[1] _Moor Park, Feb._ 14, 1691. I As when the deluge first began to fall, That mighty ebb never to flow again, When this huge body's moisture was so great, It quite o'ercame the vital heat; That mountain which was highest, first of all Appear'd above the universal main, To bless the primitive sailor's weary sight; And 'twas perhaps Parnassus, if in height It be as great as 'tis in fame, And nigh to Heaven as is its name; So, after the inundation of a war, When learning's little household did embark, With her world's fruitful system, in her sacred ark, At the first ebb of noise and fears, Philosophy's exalted head appears; And the Dove-Muse will now no longer stay, But plumes her silver wings, and flies away; And now a laurel wreath she brings from far, To crown the happy conqueror, To show the flood begins to cease, And brings the dear reward of victory and peace. II