An ODE, presented to the KING, On his MAJESTY'S Arrival in HOLLAND, after the QUEEN's Death, 1695. "Quis defiderio fit pudor aut modus A I. T Mary's tomb (fad facred place!) The future pious, mournful fair, For her the wife and great shall mourn, Ages to come, and men unborn, Shall blefs her name, and figh her fate. · Fair Albion fhall, with faithful truft, V. But let the king dismiss his woes, VI. If preft by grief our monarch stoops, If he, whofe hand fuftain'd them, droops, VII. Embattled princes wait the chief, Whofe voice fhould rule, whofe arm fhould lead; And, in kind murmurs, chide that grief, Which hinders Europe being freed. VIII. The great example they demand Who ftill to conquest led the way; They seek that joy, which us'd to glow, When the thick fquadrons preft the foe, To give the mourning nations joy, Great fun with radiant beams destroy Thofe clouds, which keep thee from our fight. XI. Let XI. Let thy fublime meridian course See, pious king, with different strife Her beauty, in thy fofter half Bury'd and loft, fhe ought to grieve; Thou, guardian angel, fave the land Her former triumphs all are vain, Unless new trophies ftill be fought, And hoary majefty fuftain The battles which thy youth has fought. Where now is all that fearful love, Which made her hate the war's alarms? That foft excefs, with which the ftrove To keep her hero in her arms? XVII. While XVII. While ftill fhe chid the coming fpring, 'Tis chang'd; 'tis gone: fad Britain now In martial din she drowns her fighs, Go, mighty prince; let France be taught, Fierce in the battle make it known, Where death with all his darts is feen, That he can touch thy heart with none, But that which truck the beauteous queen. Belgia indulg'd her open grief, While yet her mafter was not near; With fullen pride refus'd relief, And fat obdurate in defpais. XXIII. As XXIII. As waters from her fluices, flow'd But when her anxious lord return'd, She fmiles, as William ne'er had mourn'd, That freedom which all forrows claim, Her piety itself would blame, If her regrets should weaken thine. To cure thy woe, fhe fhews thy fame : XXVII. William his country's caufe could fight, Maurice and Henry guard that right, tell: How heroes rife, how patriots fet, XXIX. The |