No more his wonted marks he can descry, But sees a long unmeasured ruin lie; Whilst, pointing to the naked coast, he shows His wondering mates where towns and steeples rose, Where crowded citizens he lately view'd, And singles out the place where once St Maloes stood. Here Russel's actions should my Muse require; And, would my strength but second my desire, _170 I'd all his boundless bravery rehearse, And draw his cannons thundering in my verse: High on the deck should the great leader stand, Wrath in his look, and lightning in his hand; Like Homer's Hector, when he flung his fire Amidst a thousand ships, and made all Greece retire. But who can run the British triumphs o'er, And count the flames dispersed on every shore? Who can describe the scattered victory, And draw the reader on from sea to sea? _180 Else who could Ormond's godlike acts refuse, Ormond the theme of every Oxford Muse? Fain would I here his mighty worth proclaim, Attend him in the noble chase of fame, Through all the noise and hurry of the fight, Observe each blow, and keep him still in sight. Oh, did our British peers thus court renown, And grace the coats their great forefathers won, Our arms would then triumphantly advance, Nor Henry be the last that conquered France! _190 What might not England hope, if such abroad Purchased their country's honour with their blood: When such, detained at home, support our state In William's stead, and bear a kingdom's weight, The schemes of Gallic policy o'erthrow, And blast the counsels of the common foe; Direct our armies, and distribute right, And render our Maria's loss more light. But stop, my Muse, the ungrateful sound forbear, Maria's name still wounds each British ear: _200 Each British heart Maria still does wound, And tears burst out unbidden at the sound; Maria still our rising mirth destroys, Darkens our triumphs, and forbids our joys. But see, at length, the British ships appear! Our Nassau comes! and, as his fleet draws near, The rising masts advance, the sails grow white, And all his pompous navy floats in sight. Come, mighty prince, desired of Britain, come! May heaven's propitious gales attend thee home! _210 Come, and let longing crowds behold that look Which such confusion and amazement strook Through Gallic hosts: but, oh! let us descry Mirth in thy brow, and pleasure in thy eye; Let nothing dreadful in thy face be found; But for awhile forget the trumpet's sound; Well-pleased, thy people's loyalty approve, Accept their duty, and enjoy their love. For as, when lately moved with fierce delight, You plunged amidst the tumult of the fight, _220 Whole heaps of dead encompassed you around, And steeds o'erturned lay foaming on the ground: So crowned with laurels now, where'er you go, Around you blooming joys and peaceful blessings flow. A TRANSLATION OF ALL VIRGIL'S FOURTH GEORGIC,