A POEM, Occasioned by His Majesty's Voyage TO HOLLAND, THE Congress at the Hague, AND Present SIEGE of MONS.  
Non enim Res Gestae Versibus Comprehendendae sunt quod longè melius Historici faciunt, sed per Ambages & Deorum Ministeria, per fabulòsum sententiarum Tormentum praecipitandus est Liber Spiritus.  Petr. Arb. 
Written by N. TATE.  
LONDON: Printed for Richard Baldwin, near the Oxford Arms Inn in, Warwick-Lane. 1691.   

A POEM Occasioned by His MAJESTY's Voyage TO HOLLAND, etc.  

ON Sacred Isis' Bank, with Cares oppressed,  
One Noon Philander laid him down to Rest;  
Where having tasted the inspiring Stream,  
His Fancy formed This Visionary DREAM.   

Down to Elysian Groves He seemed Conveyed,  
Where Souls of Heroes and their Poets Strayed:  
Where Cowley with his wont Candour smiled,  
Approached the trembling Swain, and thus his Fears beguiled.   

Zeal for the Muses, and our Britain's Peace,  
Transports Thee to these Realms without Decease.  
The Leaden Star did o'er thy Birth preside,  
And to thy Soul the wished Embrace denied  
Of Heavenly Muse, forbidden to wed her Flame,  
With aught that Jove and Mercury disclaim.  
But for Thou long hast waited on their Train,  
For Britain's Fortune throbbed with restless Pain,  
Fate grants Thee these eternal Seats to view,  
And hear our British Bards their Songs renew.   

On various Themes, immortal as our Joys,  
Each, where his Genius calls, his Muse employs.  
Some trace mysterious Nature, and proceed  
To sing the Vital Elemental Seed;  
Etherial Substance, unctuous liquid Fire,  
First Matter, through Still-changing Forms, entire.  
Life's Principle that does its Beams disperse,  
To Nourish and Cement the Universe.  

Specific Power, that through First Nature ran,  
That still preserves her Kind's as they began;  
It flourishes in Plants, and breathes in Man.   
Some sing the Ebb and Flood's mysterious Cause,  
If Moons to Seas or Seas to Moons give Laws,  
Since mutual sympathy their Courses bear,  
And to the Stars the Earth appears a Star.  
Some choose of Ocean's Bitterness to treat,  
From Beds of Salt beneath, or Solar Heat  
That drinks their Dew, and of imbittered Tides  
Repassing limpid through Earth's Sulphurous sides.  
Why Winter-Suns so swift a Circuit go?  
What makes the Steeds of Winter-nights' so slow.   

Our Nobler Muses, in Divine Abodes  
Rank pious Heroes with their Kindred Gods;  
Some our Fifth Harry and Third Edward raise,  
But who has Breath for our Third WILLIAM's Praise!   

Behold where MILTON Bow'rd in Laurel Groves,  
A Task beyond his Warring Angels moves;  
Himself a Seraph now, with sacred flame  
Draws Schemes proportioned to great WILLIAM's Pame;  
(For Commonwealths no more his Harp he strings,  
By NASSAU's Virtue Reconciled to Kings)  
Ere long the Sacred Numbers He will join,  
And bring his Hero thundering to the Boyne.  
On listening bloodless Ghosts Convulsions call,  
When he describes the Wound and Grazing Ball;  
Then make Mischance a Miracle dispense,  
And justify Suspected Providence;  
Show how our Monarch's Danger had the odds  
Of others Safety, for it proved the Gods.  
These Themes the Bard shall sing.  
The Roses Dew exhaling with his Strains,  
The Food of Ghosts throughout these happy Plains.   

Happy indeed, Philander then replied,  
Where Cowley and the tuneful Tribe reside;  
Nor yet to know great William's Deeds denied.   

The Power indulged to Souls from Bodies free,  
(The Bard rejoined) Thou shalt (astonished) see.  
A Visionary Scene thou shalt perceive,  
Of what will Doubts on after Ages leave,  
And scarce its own Spectators could believe.   

Then waved his Wand, and through th' Elysian Field  
Of EUROPE did an opening Prospect yield.   

First, let the Belgian Shore attract thine Eye,  
A distant Fleet, and open Shaloup nigh.  
Can Heaven sustain to see a slender Boat  
Charged with the Fortune of all Europe, Float?  
Our Caesar see so dangerously Embark  
The World's Restorer in so frail an Ark,  
Seven Worthies more, though safe our Caesar were,  
Too rich a Prize to be entrusted There.  
Illustrious Norfolk dignified to shine  
In Honour's Van, and grace her eldest Line.  
Ormond and Osseries resembling Heir  
Alone might challenge Providence's Care;  

Minerva's Favourite, Monmouth, Learned and Brave,  
Two Chiefs beside, who proofs of Honour gave  
In foreign Fields, and Britain came to save.   
My Dorset too his Monarch's Danger shares,  
Cleaves to his Breast for whom alone he fears.  
See where the panting Muses through the Air  
From Pindus to their Patron's aid repair,  
His Merits plead, and Setting Phoebus pray  
To own his Darling and prolong the Day.  
Thick rising Mists, of Both bereave their sight.  
Expose the slender Boat to Ice and Night.  
They rashly Curse the guiltless God's Descent,  
Nor yet had learned what his Departure meant;  
How AEol He, and Neptune first did charge,  
To calm the Deep, and leave no Wind at large;  
Till gently He next Morn the Fogs should drive,  
More welcome make th' endangered King Arrive,  
To show for what Achievements He was Born,  
Who Death and Danger in all shapes could scorn.   


From Fleet, from Shore, the anxious Crowds did gaze  
When Europe's Hope they saw no longer blaze,  
In Darkness hid, lost in an Icy Maze;   
The Fate of new-built Rome's first King they fear,  
That envious Skies had snatched him for a Star.  
They Mourn all Night, each glimmering Star appears  
A Taper lit for Their great Master's Hearse.   

With such Concern our fond first Parent viewed  
The first Day's Sun, and with fixed Eyes pursued;  
When lost in Mists, or sunk beneath the Main  
He fond judged him; so did He complain!  
Outwept the Night-Dew with distilling Eyes,  
No Hope conceived that He again would Rise.  

Where Day He lost, all wrapped in Sables deep,  
Still Westward fixed, His Looks sad Vigils keep,  
Not knowing yet the Night was made for Sleep.    

Now to the shining Hague direct your sight,  
(The Bard proceeds) not Sparta shone so bright  
When ravished Helen (Type of injured Peace)  
In Consult drew the Potentates of Greece:  
And now the Royal Congress to complete,  
Behold, like Jove, our Monarch takes His Seat.  
Each Prince some other views with silent Joy,  
And mutual Wonder does their Souls employ:  
So heavens first Stars each others Flames admired,  
But more the Sun who all their Beams inspired.  
Bavaria first to Him submits his Rays,  
And for Direction from his Influence prays,  
The Rest of Course— To Counsel they Retire.  
Here stop thy curious Search—  
What Gods Decree no Mortal must inquire:  
Suffice it that for Europe they prepare  
Saturnian Days; see where the Golden Year  
Stands ready Harnessed— Westward turn your Eye,  
And  Nero's last Convulsions Spy;  

Like Downcast Lucifer revolves his State,  
With his fallen Angels sits in Dark Debate,  
And from This Constellation bodes his Fate.    

He said, and once again his Wand did wave,  
And once again th' Elysian Prospect gave;  
The Swain, transported, kissed the Sacred Ground,  
And cast anew his ravished Eyes around;  
He saw where Swarming Souls to Lethe press  
To drink large Draughts of deep Forgetfulness;  
Amongst themselves (ah vain Desire!) at Strife,  
Ambitious to repeat the Toils of Life.  
The Myrtle Grove where Lovers once Distressed,  
Secure from Fate in wished Embraces rest:  
Of Virgin Souls the Receptacles mild,  
Who Death embraced and Tyrant's Lust beguiled:  
For Studious Minds bright Mansions set apart,  
Who Life adorned with any useful Art.   

By chance a reverend Shade of Royal Mien  
He spies, stretched Musing on a Silent Green;  
Charmed with the Figure (on his either side  
Lay Heaps of Trophies) he consults his Guide;  
Inquires the Hero's Name, for from his Face  
Seraphic Joy beamed through the Dusky Place.   

The Bard as with a sudden Rapture struck,  
A while stood Mute, at length thus (warmly) spoke.   

Most Monarches think the Regal Task is done,  
If once the Pageants can but Stuff a Throne;  

Once to the Belfry of a State can climb,  
No Wheels to move, but Image-like to Chime,  
And with an idle Sceptre strike the Time.   
But Tyrants still are worse— and stupid Frogs,  
By Cranes devoured, can call again for Logs.   

Blessed Nations who can brave RESTORERS find,  
Bold to the Foe, and to their Subjects kind!  
Who Empire but for Pious Ends receive,  
Who War for Peace, and Conquer to Relieve.  
A RACE of such Successively to Shine,  
Fate ne'er allowed but to 
* One of His Majesty's Ancestors formerly Emperor of Germany.  ADOLPHUS Line:  
'Tis his pleased Shade that Glitters in yond Vale,  
Where of his Offspring he recounts the Tale;  
Numbers their Persons, does their Conquests State,  
Their Deeds, their Sufferings, Fortunes and their Fate.  
Through long Descents of still untainted Fame,  
Even now he dwells on Present WILLIAM's Name;  
A Name that makes the unborn Years to spring  
In Fate's dark Womb, and clap their unfledged wing.  
Column of Piety, and Honour's Prop,  
Late rescued Albion's Joy, all Europe's Hope:  

Him distant Nations call with outstretched Hands,  
Like longing Ghosts on black Cocytus' Strands,  
For waftage over to our Elysian Lands.   
Last Cordial, He, to make their Hopes revive,  
And keep their Gasping Liberty alive,  
Toils he sustains, like those Alcides bore,  
And like Alcides only to Restore  
The Sick World's Rest—  
Reserved by Fate to enter Fame's last Stage,  
To Vanquish and Reform an Impious Age:  
Monsters to Quell, and clip fell Dragon's wings,  
Crowned Basilisks disarming of their Stings:  
Restores stolen Jewels to their proper Crown,  
And Scorns no less to Buy than Sell Renown.  
Unbeaten Paths direct to Honour's Heights,  
His Swords cuts out, and ne'er by Proxy Fights;  
But ever Lightning in the foremost Band,  
His Honour's Harvest reaps with his own Hand.   

But see the Skies bear down, a sudden Breeze  
With Spicy whispers wakes the Nodding Trees  
On Lethe's Bank— Now, Sweeter Notes rebound,  
'Tis Waller's Harp, I know the Melting Sound;  
The Harp that once his Sacharissa Sung,  
And Charmed your World, the Same, but here new Strung;  
Does here his Sacharissa's Praise refuse,  
To Britain's Goddess consecrates his Muse:  
Now Sings MARIA, whose Diviner Frame,  
Refines his Passion to Seraphic Flame.  

For Her he does his Rich Conceptions lay  
In Judgement deep, but when they see the Day  
Pure and Transparent as slow China's Clay;   

For her the Spangled Firmament is spread,  
For her  Cupids reap th' Elysian Mead,  
And wove eternal Chaplets for her Head.   
Day shines for Her, and let her tread the Night,  
Descending Stars shall pave her walks with Light:  

Like Cintbia let her gild the Sea with Beams,  
The slumbering Nereids starting from their Dreams,  
Shall catch at her bright Image in the Streams.   
If such her Form, what Herald shall we find  
For the Immortal Blazon of her Mind;  
The Cloister may learn Virtue from her Court,  
Her Constancy can all Extremes support;  

Secure she treads the Labyrinths of State,  
Nor servilely on Fortune's Smiles does wait,  
But Present to herself, Commands her Fate.   
Our Eagle Absent, she protects her Seat,  
Her Subject Brood from  Vultures Threat;  
So Pallas can far-warring Mars supply,  
So Juno, Jove Absenting, Rules the Sky.   

The Trumpet Sounds, our Straggling Hero's Arm,  
And to Imaginary Standards Swarm;  
Still with bright Arms, slick Steeds, their former Care,  
Delighted, and to frame fictitious War.  
Now Modern Fights, than those of former years,  
Cressey one day the Scene, the next Poitiers;  
By Lots distinguished they divide or join,  
Now represent Seneff and then the Boyn.   

See where a Visionary MONS does rise,  
Besieged, reduced to last Extremities;  
To her Relief, a Hero young as day,  
A Personated ORANGE wings his way,  
Still Leading, still instructing how to Dare,  
He Blazes in the Forehead of the War:  
Undaunted does on Breath of Cannons go,  
And Conquers by Astonishing the Foe.   

Now wrapped in Smoke I see him still perform  
Fresh Wonders, and still Lightning through the Storm;  
Through Groves of Pikes, wide wastes of Death he hews,  
O'er prostrate Crests and Shields the Foe pursues:  
Their Trenches lost, precipitating Fear  
Drives back the Front on their Astonished Rear.  
Turn Luxemberg, yield thy devoted Head,  
For Mother's Tears and Blood of Infants shed;  
Since soon or late Just Vengeance must take place,  
An honourable Destiny embrace;  
While great Nassau calls out and bids Thee stand,  
Consult thy Fame, and Perish by His Hand.  
Thou Fliest, perhaps, presaging such a Doom,  
Through slow revolving Years too soon may come,  
When Haughty Lewis shall repeat his Crime,  
And Rescued Mons Besiege a second time:  
What Fate Decrees, to bring her former Chief  
He Perseus' winged once more to her Relief;  
Or now Reserves him for a  Game,  
Even to Retrieve (if Lost) the Captive Dame,  
Let Time unfold—   

Here from his Charming Dream Philander work,  
For Shouts and pealing Bells his Slumber broke:  
The day he left so bright, he seeks in vain,  
And wonders at the Moons untimely Wain.  
Upstart now, on ISIS Bank he stood,  
And saw (or weened) the Goddess of the Flood.  
Hence, hence, she cried, long since thy Fellow Swains,  
Have litt their cheerful Bonfires through the Plains.  
From Belgia's Shore our Patron's safe Returned,  
Too long these silent Banks his Absence mourned:  
The Altar Smokes, thy Offering still delayed,  
'Tis more than time thy promised Vows were paid.   
FINIS.   

☞ A Poem occasioned by the Late Disturbances and Discontents in the State: With Reflections on the Rise and Progress of Priest-Craft.  By N. Tate.