ON THE CONQUEST OF NAMUR.  
A Pindaric ODE, Humbly Inscribed To His Most SACRED and Victorious MAJESTY.  
By Mr. THO. YALDEN.  
LONDON: Printed for jacob Tonson, and the Iudge's-Head near the Inner-Temple-Gate in Fleetstreet, M DC XCV.   

ON THE Conquest of Namur, A PINDARIC ODE.  

(I.)  
ONce more, my Muse, resume thy Lyre!  
Of Heroes, Arms, and lofty Triumphs sing:  
Strike, boldly strike th' unpractised String;  
'Tis WILLIAM's Acts my soaring Thoughts inspire,  
And animate my Breast with nobler Fire.  
My daring Hand the willing Lyre obeys,  
Untaught it sounds the Hero's Praise:  
Each tuneful String repeats the Victor's Name,  
And echoes back the loud Applause of Fame.  
No longer, Muse, the blessed MARIA mourn,  
With Trophies now her brighter Shrine adorn:  
Now sing her Hero's Fame in lofty Strains,  
Worthy the captive Maze, and Namur's vanquished Plains.   

(2.)  
Nature ne'er brought a fierce Destroyer forth,  
Of that portentous size and growth:  
But still to poice the Balance of the Age,  
She introduced a Hero on the Stage.  
Injurious Lewis like a Torrent grows,  
A rapid Torrent that the Bank overflows,  
And robs our Western World of its repose;  
In vain th' Imperial Eagle stops his course,  
In vain Confederate Arms oppose:  
On you (Great Prince) th' infested Nations wait,  
And from your Sword attend a milder Fate.   

(3.)  
The injured Belgians WILLIAM's aid implore,  
A numerous Army wastes their Shore:  
Embark, my Muse, upon the British Fleet,  
And on the ready Hero wait.  
He flies, like jove to meet the Theban Dame,  
When armed with Lightning's pointed flame,  
And in his hand th' avenging Thunder bore:  
The terror of his Ensigns still confess his Power.  
Quick of Dispatch, preventing Fear,  
As Cowards cautious, bolder than Despair:  
Silent, yet swift as Light, his active Soul  
Reaches at once the Barriers and the distant Goal.   

(4.)  
What Labour will the Hero choose!  
What Action worthy of a Muse!  
T'employ the hundred busy Tongues of Fame,  
And make her hundred Mouths too few to found his Name.  
Namur's the Goal in Honour's Race,  
Tempting the Prize, but fatal is the Chase:  
At once a lovely and amazing Sight,  
Striking the Eye with Terror and Delight.  
Founded on Rocks the Imperial Fortress stands,  
And all around the distant Plain commands:  
Beauty and Strength their utmost Force impart,  
'Tis wrought by Nature and improved with Art;  
An awful Pile! immovable as Fate.  
Fixed like the solid Rock that proudly bears its Weight.  
A thousand brazen Mouths the Walls surround,  
That vomit Flames, with fatal Fury wound:  
Death shines with Terror through each smoking Cloud,  
Like Lightning swift, and as the Thunder loud.  
Not the famed Colchean Fleece could boast,  
So dread a Guard, so terrible an Host:  
NASSAU attempts a nobler Enterprise,  
The Danger's more, and richer is the Prize;  
Alone his Arms can such a Power engage;  
Destroy with fiercer Flames, and Thunder back their Rage.   

(5.)  
Why are the rapid Sambres Streams so slow!  
The tardy Maze forgets to flow:  
Their lagging Waves upon the Turret's gaze,  
Proud to reflect their Namur's awful Face;  
Whilst to th' astonished Shores they tell,  
Those wondrous Walls are inaccessible.  
The lofty Ilium Towers for Beauty famed,  
And sacred Walls, tho' raised by Hands divine,  
Tho' mercenary Gods her Turrets framed,  
In Strength and Form inferior were to thine;  
Walls, that nor Grecian Arms, nor Arts could gain,  
And the divine Achilles stormed in vain.  
Your greater Arms, NASSAU, were then unknown,  
Where e'er your bellowing Engines shake,  
Where e'er your more destructive Bombs are thrown,  
Nature and Art in vain Resistance make,  
Nor durst the Powers that built defend their shattered Town.   

(6.)  
Two rival Arms now possess the Field,  
In all the horrid Pomp of War:  
With shining Arms and brighter Heroes far,  
Tho' both with different Looks, and different Passions filled.  
Betwixt both Hosts the Stake of Honour lies,  
The Object that employs their Arms and Eyes,  
How to defend, or how to gain the Prize.  
The Britain's are a warlike Race,  
In Arms expert, and famed for Arts in Peace:  
Your matchless Deeds, NASSAU, they imitate,  
Like you they Death pursue, and rush on certain Fate.  
Not all the bellowing Engines of the War,  
Amidst the Storm can British minds affright:  
Nor Sulphurs blasting Flames deter,  
That glare through Clouds of Smoke with horrid Light;  
Tho' Bullets there descend in scalding Showers,  
And those the Cannon spare, the ambushed Flame devours.   

(7.)  
In fatal Caverns now the teeming Earth  
Labours with a destructive Birth:  
The loud Volcanos stretch their flaming jaws,  
And every dreadful Blast a Host destroys;  
This Wreck of War the upper Regions Share,  
Whilst Arms, and Men, and Rocks lie scattered in the Air.  
Yet Death in every Form the Britain's face,  
And march with an undaunted Pace:  
Their faithless Steps to various Ruins lead,  
They walk in Sepulchers, on Graves they tread;  
Whilst Rocks and Mountains rooted from the Ground,  
Inter the Hosts they slay, are Tombs to those they wound.   

(8.)  
With horrid Groans distorted Nature's rent,  
Loud as the Peals that shake the Firmament:  
Whilst roaring Ordinance confirm the Sound,  
And mimic Thunder bellows under Ground.  
Thus on Trinacria's mournful Shores,  
With Ruin big the raging AEtna roars:  
The rising Smoke obscures the darkened Sky,  
Whilst high as Heaven its flaming Entrails fly;  
Mountains and Rocks its Fury hurls around,  
Spreading with Ruins o'er the desolate Ground.   

(9)  
Whence spring those flowing Rays of Light!  
That pierce through Wars obscurer Night?  
Or does the suppliant Flag display  
Its cheerful Beams of white?  
See! like the Phosphorus of Peace,  
The Shades retire before those sacred Rays,  
Which introduce the bright victorious Day.  
The Trumpets interceding Voice I hear,  
Now soft and tuned unto the Ear:  
The Drums in gentler Parlays beat,  
The Drums and Trumpets both entreat;  
Whilst Wars Alarms are charmed with music's Voice,  
And all the bloody Scene of Death withdraws.  
Famed Boufflers self consents to fear,  
Even Boufflers dreads the British Thunderer:  
He sues for Mercy whilst he feels his Power,  
And with a trembling Hand subscribes him Conqueror.   

(10.)  
And here your Worthys shall your Triumphs grace,  
In War your Guard, your Ornaments in Peace:  
Heroes are WILLIAM's, and the Muse's Care,  
Partake their Labours, and their Laurels share.  
Let willing Fame her Trumpet sound,  
Great Ormond's Name shall all her Breath employ,  
And fill the echoing Shores with joy:  
Whilst each officious Wind conveys the Sound,  
And wafts it all th' attentive World around.  
In bloody Camps He early gained Renown,  
Early the distant Goal of Honour won:  
What Toils, what Labours has the Hero bore?  
Not the famed Ossory encountered more:  
Of whom the Belgic Plains such wonders tell,  
Who lived so loved, and so lamented fell.  
Triumphant Prince! Thou Patron of the Muse,  
Unwearyed Thee she sings, thy Acts with Wonder views:  
Renowned in War! thy Rhedecinas Pride!  
Thou dost o'er Wit, and glorious Camp's preside;  
To Thee the Care of Arms and Arts belong,  
Whose Fame shall live to Ages in Heroic Song.   

(11.)  
For all thy Victories in War,  
You, valiant Cutts, th' officious Muse's crown,  
For you triumphant Wreaths prepare,  
Immortal as your Fame, and fair as your Renown.  
Well did you execute your great Command,  
And scatter Deaths with a destructive Hand:  
What Wonders did your Sword perform,  
When urging on the fatal Storm,  
Undaunted, undismayed!  
Up to the Walls enclosed with Flames you led,  
And overlooked the Works on mighty Heaps of dead.  
In you the Hero and the Poet meet,  
Your Sword is fatal, but your Numbers sweet,  
When in MARIA's Praise your Lyre was strung,  
You charmed the heavenly Nymph to whom you sung.  
Oh Honour! more than all thy Bays,  
Than all the Trophies Fame and Conquest raise,  
To've charmed MARIA's Breast, and gained MARIA's Praise.   

(12.)  
Indulge one grateful Labour more, my Muse,  
A Subject Friendship bids thee choose:  
Let Codrington's loved Name inspire thy thought,  
With such a Warmth and Vigour as he fought:  
In vain thou dost of Arms and Triumphs sing,  
Unless he crowns thy Verse, and tunes thy sounding String.  
Victorious youth! your Charwell's greatest pride,  
Whom glorious Arms, and learned Arts divide:  
Whilst imitating great NASSAU you fight,  
His Person guard, and conquer in his sight:  
Too swift for Fame your early Triumphs grow,  
And Groves of Laurel shade your youthful Brow.  
In you the Muses and the Graces join,  
The glorious Palm, and deathless Laurels thine:  
Like Phoebus' self your charming Muse hath sung,  
Like his your warlike Bow and tuneful Lyre is strung.   

(13.)  
But who, famed WILLIAM's Valour dares express,  
No Muse can soar so high, nor Fancy paint,  
Each Image will appear too faint:  
Too weak the Pencil's Art, and all the Power of Verse.  
How calm he looked, and how serene!  
Amidst the bloody Labours of the Field:  
Unmoved he views the Bullets round him fly,  
And Dangers move with Horror by;  
Whilst judgement swayed his nobler Rage within,  
And his presaging Brow with Hopes of Conquest smiled.  
His cheerful Looks a gayer dress put on,  
His Eyes with decent Fury shone:  
Dangers but served to heighten every Grace,  
And add an awful Terror to the Hero's Face.   

(14.)  
Where e'er in Arms the great NASSAU appears,  
The Extreme of Action's there:  
Himself the thickest Danger shares,  
Himself th' informing Soul that animates the War.  
Heroes of old in wondrous Armour fought,  
By some immortal Artist wrought:  
Achilles Arms, and Ajaxs sevenfold Shield,  
Were Proof against the Dangers of the Field.  
But greater WILLIAM dares his Breast expose  
Unarmed, ungarded, to his Foes:  
A thousand Deaths and Ruins round him fled,  
But durst not violate his Sacred Head;  
For Angels guard the Prince's Life and Throne,  
Who for his Empire's Safety thus neglects his own.  
Had he in Ages past the Sceptre swayed,  
When Sacred Rites were unto Heroes paid:  
His Statue had on every Altar stood,  
His Court a Temple been, his greater Self a God.   

(15.)  
Now tune thy Lyre, my Muse, now raise thy Voice,  
Let Albion hear, her distant Shores rejoice:  
Thy Solemn Paeans now prepare,  
Sweet as the Hymns that filled the Air,  
When Phoebus' Self returned the Python's Conqueror.  
When every Grove, with a triumphant Song,  
Confessed the Victor as he passed along:  
Whilst with the Trophies every Hill was crowned,  
And every echoing Vale dispersed his Fame around.  
As loud the British Shores their Voices raise,  
And thus united sing the Godlike WILLIAM's Praise.  
What the famed Merlin's sacred Verse of Old,  
And Nostradam's prophetic Lines foretell:  
To thee, oh happy Albion's, shown,  
And, in NASSAU, the Promise is outdone.  
Behold a Prince indulgent Heaven has sent,  
Thy boundless Wishes to content:  
A Prophet great indeed, whose powerful Hand,  
Shall vanquish Hosts of Plagues, and heal the groaning Land.   

(16.)  
The great NASSAU now leads thy Armies forth,  
And shows the World the British worth:  
Beneath his Conduct they securely fight,  
Their Cloud by Day, their guardian Flame by Night.  
His Bounty too shall every Bard inspire,  
Reward their Labours, and protect their Lyre:  
For Poets are to warlike Princes dear,  
And they are valiant WILLIAM's Care;  
His Victories instruct them how to write,  
WILLIAM's the glorious Theme and Patron of their Wit.   
FINIS.