This careful husband had been long away,
Whom his chaste wife and little children mourn;
Who on their fingers learn'd to tell the day
On which their father promis'd to return.

Such are the proud designs of human kind,
And so we suffer shipwreck every where!
Alas! what port can such a pilot find,

Who in the night of fate must blindly steer?

The undistinguish'd seeds of good and ill

Heav'n in his bosom from our knowledge hides And draws them in contempt of human skill, Which oft, for friends, mistaken foes provides.

Let Munster's prelate ever be accurst,

In whom we seek the German faith in vain : Alas! that he should teach the English first, That fraud and avarice in the church could reign!

Happy, who never trust a stranger's will,

Whose friendship's in his interest understood! Since money giv'n but tempts him to be ill, When power is too remote to make him good.

Till now, alone the mighty nations strove;
The rest, at gaze, without the lists did stand:
And threatening France, plac'd like a painted Jove,
Kept idle thunder in his lifted hand.

That eunuch-guardian of rich Holland's trade, Who envies us what he wants pow'r to' enjoy; Whose noiseful valour does no foe invade,

And weak assistance will his friends destroy.

Offended that we fought without his leave,

He takes this time his secret hate to show: Which Charles does with a mind so calm receive, As one that neither seeks nor shuns his foe.

With France, to aid the Dutch, the Danes unite; France as their tyrant, Denmark as their slave: But when with one three nations join to fight, They silently confess that one more brave.

Lewis had chas'd the English from his shore;

But Charles the French as subjects does invite: Would Heav'n for each some Solomon restore, Who, by their mercy, may decide their right.

Were subjects so but only by their choice,

And not from birth did forc'd dominion take; Our prince alone would have the public voice, And all his neighbours' realms would deserts [make.

He without fear a dangerous war pursues,

Which without rashness he began before. As honour made him first the danger choose: So still he makes it good on virtue's score.

The doubled charge his subjects' love supplies,
Who in that bounty to themselves are kind :
So glad Egyptians see their Nilus rise,

And in his plenty their abundance find.

With equal pow'r he does two chiefs create,

Two such, as each seem'd worthiest when alone; Each able to sustain a nation's fate,

Since both had found a greater in their own..

Both great in courage, conduct, and in fame,
Yet neither envious of the other's praise;
Their duty, faith, and interest to the same,

Like mighty partners equally they raise.

The Prince long time had courted Fortune's love,
But once possess'd did absolutely reign:
Thus with their Amazons the heroes strove,
And conquer'd first those beauties they would gain.

The Duke beheld, like Scipio, with disdain,

That Carthage, which he ruin'd, rise once more; And shook aloft the fasces of the main,

To fright those slaves with what they felt before.

Together to the watry camp they haste,

Whom matrons passing to their children show : Infants' first vows for them to Heav'n are cast, And future people bless them as they go.

With them no riotous pomp, nor Asian train,
To' infect a navy with their gaudy fears;
To make slow fights, and victories but vain;
But war, severely, like itself, appears.

Diffusive of themselves, where'er they pass,
They make that warmth in others they expect:
Their valour works like bodies on a glass,
And does its image on their men project.

Our fleet divides, and straight the Dutch appear
In number, and a fam'd commander, bold;
The narrow seas can scarce their navy bear,
Or crowded vessels can their soldiers hold.
YOL. L.

F

The Duke, less numerous, but in courage more,
On wings of all the winds to combat flies:
His murdering guns a loud defiance roar,

And bloody crosses on his flag-staffs rise.

Both furl their sails, and strip them for the fight;.
Their folded sheets dismiss the useless air:
The' Elean plains could boast no nobler sight,
When struggling champions did their bodies bare.

Borne each by other in a distant line,

The sea-built forts in dreadful order move:
So vast the noise, as if not fleets did join,
But lands unfix'd, and floating nations strove.

Now pass'd, on either side they nimbly tack;
Both strive to intercept and guide the wind:
And in its eye more closely they come back,
To finish all the deaths they left behind.

On high-rais'd decks the haughty Belgians ride,
Beneath whose shade our humble frigates go:
Such port the elephant bears, and so defied
By the rhinoceros, her unequal foe.

And as the built, so different is the fight;
Their mounting shot is on our sails design'd:
Deep in their hulls our deadly bullets light,
And through the yielding planks a passage find.

Our dreaded Admiral from far they threat,

Whose batter'd rigging their whole war receives: All bare, like some old oak which tempests beat, He stands, and sees below his scatter'd leaves.

Heroes of old, when wounded, shelter sought; But he, who meets all danger with disdain, E'en in their face his ship to anchor brought, And, steeple-high, stood prop'd upon the main. At this excess of courage, all amaz'd,

The foremost of his foes a while withdraw: With such respect in enter'd Rome they gaz'd, Who on high chairs the god-like fathers saw.

And now, as where Patroclus' body lay, [Greeks;
Here Trojan chiefs advanc'd, and there the
Ours o'er the Duke their pious wings display,
And theirs the noblest spoils of Britain seek.

Mean time his busy mariners he hastes,

His shatter'd sails with rigging to restore; And willing pines ascend his broken masts, Whose lofty heads rise higher than before.

Straight to the Dutch he turns his dreadful prow, More fierce the important quarrel to decide: Like swans, in long array his vessels show,

Whose crests, advancing, do the waves divide.

They charge, re-charge, and all along the sea
They drive, and squander the huge Belgian fleet:
Berkeley' alone, who nearest danger lay,
Did a like fate with lost Creüsa meet.

The night comes on, we eager to pursue
The combat still, and they asham'd to leave;
Till the last streaks of dying day withdrew,
And doubtful moonlight did our rage deceive.

Sir Charles Berkeley, Earl of Falmouth.