LIX.

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

LX.

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

LXI.

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.

LXII.

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 propp'd upon the main.

LXIII.

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 godlike Fathers saw.

LXIV.

And now, as where Patroclus' body lay,

Hér Trojan chiefs advanc'd, and there the Greeks;

240

250

Ours o'er the Duke their pious wings display,
And theirs the noblest spoils of Britain seek.

LXV.

Meantime 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.

LXVI.

Straight to the Dutch he turns his dreadful prow,
More fierce th' important quarrel to decide:
Like swans, in long array his vessels show,
Whose crests advancing do the waves divide.

LXVII.

They charge, recharge, and all along the sea
They drive, and squander the huge Belgian fleet:
Berkley alone, who nearest danger lay,

Did a like fate with lost Creusa meet.

LXVIII.

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

LXIX.

In th' English fleet each ship resounds with joy,
And loud applause of their great leader's fame:
In fiery dreams the Dutch they still destroy,
And, slumb'ring, smile at the imagin'd flame,
Dryden.]

Fij

260

270

LXX.

Not so the Holland fleet, who, tir'd and done,
Stretch'd on their decks, like weary oxen lie;
Faint sweats all down their mighty members run,
(Vast bulks, which little souls but ill supply.)

. LXXI.

In dreams they fearful precipices tread,

Or, shipwreck'd, labour to some distant shore;
Or in dark churches walk among the dead;
They wake with horror, and dare sleep no more.

LXXII.

The morn they look on with unwilling eyes,
Till from their maintop joyful news they hear
Of ships, which by their mould bring new supplies,
And in their colours Belgian Lions bear.

LXXIII.

Our watchful Gen'ral had discern'd from far

280

This mighty succour, which made glad the foe:

290

He sigh'd, but like a father of the war,

His face spake hope, † while deep his sorrows flow.

LXXIV.

His wounded men he first sends off to shore,

Never till now, unwilling to obey :

They not their wounds but want of strength deplore, And think them happy who with him can stay.

His face, &c.] Spem vultu simulat, premit alto corde dolorem.

Virg.

LXXV.

Then, to the rest, "Rejoice, (said he) to day;
"In you the fortune of Great Britain lies:
"Among so brave a people you are they

299

"Whom Heav'n has chose to fight for such a prize.

LXXVI.

"If number English courages could quell,

"We should at first have shunn'd, not met our foes; "Whose num'rous sails the fearful only tell: "Courage from hearts, and not from numbers grows."

LXXVII.

He said, nor needed more to say: with haste
To their known stations cheerfully they go;
And all at once, disdaining to be last,
Solicit ev'ry gale to meet the foe.

LXXVIII.

Nor did th' encourag'd Belgians long delay,

But, bold in others, not themselves, they stood; 310
So thick, our navy scarce could steer their way,
But seem'd to wander in a moving wood,

LXXIX.

Our little fleet was now engag'd so far,

That, like the sword-fish in the whale, they forght; The combat only seem'd a civil war,

Till thro' their bowels we our passage wrought.

LXXX.

Never had valour, no, not ours, before

Done aught like this upon the land or main,

Where not to be o'ercome was to do more

Than all the conquests former kings did gain.

LXXXI.

The mighty ghosts of our great Harrys rose,
And armed Edwards look'd with anxious eyes,
To see this fleet among unequal foes,

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By which Fate promis'd them their Charles should rise.

LXXXII.

Meantime the Belgians tack upon our rear,
And raking chase-guns thro' our sterns they send;
Close by their fire-ships, like jackals, appear,
Who on their lions for the prey attend.

LXXXIII.

Silent in smoke of cannon they came on,
(Such vapours once did fiery Cacus hide)
In these the height of pleas'd revenge is shown,
Who burn contented by another's side.

LXXXIV.

Sometimes, from fighting squadrons of each fleet,
Deceiv'd themselves, or to preserve some friend,
Two grappling Ætnas on the ocean meet,
And English fires with Belgian flames contend.

LXXXV.

Now, at each tack, our little fleet grows less,
And, like maim'd fowl, swim lagging on the main;
Their greater loss their numbers scarce confess,

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While they lose cheaper than the English gain. 340