On the Ever to be Lamented Death of the
Most MAGNANIMOUS and ILLUSTRIOUS PRINCE,
CHARLES LEOPOLD
DUKE of LORRAINE,
General of the Imperial Army;
Who Died suddenly, April the Eighth 1690.
|
HEark! heark! What dismal Noise is this I hear?
|
What mournful Clangor is't doth pierce mine Ear?
|
Fame, who had all her Trumpets taught to sound
|
Her General's Praise, with which the Air around
|
The spacious Globe so often did rebound;
|
Who'd learnt the Joyful Echos to repeat
|
The Mighty Vict'ries of Lorrain the Great,
|
And had instructed every Charming Grove
|
To sing his Conquests, 'stead of softer Love;
|
Had gather'd all her Breath, loud to proclaim
|
Th' approaching Triumphs of the next Campaine:
|
'S if Thunder-struck! at once her Pipes are mute,
|
The merry Haut-boys, and shrill-throated Flute,
|
The Stately Kettle, and Reviving Drum,
|
Th' Harmonious Trumpet, All, at once, are Dumb!
|
Dumb! to those Notes which Martial Heat did stir,
|
And all their Levets chang'd to mournful Murr:
|
Astonish't Heros drop their sinking Arms,
|
And Europe staggers at the dread Alarms.
|
The Glorious LORRAINE, Theme of all their Praise!
|
The Glorious LORRAINE, who to Life could raise
|
A Sinking Empire; To Fresh Youth restore
|
The Roman Eagle, almost spent before;
|
The Glorious LORRAINE did her Strength renew,
|
Warm'd with His Heat, She to fresh Vict'ries flew;
|
Eclipst the Turkish Moon by Her high Flight,
|
And with her Sable Plumes obscur'd her Borrow'd Light.
|
Arm'd with His Courage, She whole Regions tore
|
From the Proud Sultan; forc'd him to restore
|
Her Ravag'd Cities to her Ancient Sway:
|
Made trembling Bashaws her Great Chief obey,
|
As if New Conquests grew with every Day.
|
The Glorious LORRAINE taught th' Imperial Arms
|
To baffle Fate; Before him flew whole Swarms
|
Of Haughty Infidels, who oppos'd in vain
|
That Arm which sow'd whole Countries with their Slain.
|
But who th' Immortal Laurel shall transfer
|
From Budas Walls, to grace His Sepulcher?
|
Buda! That single Word sums all Renown;
|
A Matchless Bashaw, and a Matchless Town;
|
Rise, Mighty Waller, Right the Heroe here,
|
The Theme's too Great for my poor Muse to bear.
|
He that Great LORRAINEs Vict'ries would rehearse,
|
Must fill vast Volumes, not confine t' a Verse;
|
At's Conq'ring Feet the prostrate Vifiers fall,
|
Their Gasping Empire dreads the General.
|
Vanquisht Seraskiers with their Legions run;
|
Like Caesar, where he came, the Day he won.
|
Here we must rest, whilst thou, my Muse, dost tell
|
His Swords Exploits 'gainst a greater Infidel.
|
Leave the proud Banks of Danows famous Stream,
|
Loaden with Trophies of the Generals Fame;
|
And to the Fertile Rhine let's now advance,
|
And view the Pannick Fear he brought on France;
|
That worser Turk, Tyrannick Monster, who
|
Conscious, of plotting Europes Overthrow,
|
'Twas now high time, his Injur'd Neighbours call,
|
To come t' Account with their Great General:
|
Lorraine he stole 'gainst all pretence of Law,
|
And Ravag'd Orange from the Brave Nassaw,
|
Encroacht on Spain, endeavoured to tear
|
Th' Imperial Lawrel, on his Brows to wear
|
Augustuss Power, and with Sword and Fire
|
Beyond his Bounds to stretch his Lewd Desire;
|
Till he had Planted utter Desolation,
|
And made his Neighbours like his Abject Nation:
|
The Glorious LORRAINs chose to Check his Pride,
|
And force the Monster in his Cave to hide:
|
His well-taught Troops disdain the Monsieurs Arms.
|
Monsieur, who Trembles at the Great Alarms:
|
Monsieur, who ne'er durst meet this Prince in Field,
|
Poysons, and Pistols more than's Sword have kill'd;
|
Inglorious Arts! Scorn'd by the Great and Brave,
|
They seek not Man's Destruction, but to Save.
|
In three Months time Monsieur had felt so much
|
The Courage of th' Allies, 'twas time to touch
|
On some Design might spoil the Next Campaine,
|
And lay the dreaded General of Almaine:
|
The Fortune of his Sword he justly Fears,
|
And the Large Reckoning for old Arrears:
|
'Tis done! The Mighty HERO that had Broke
|
The Insulting Power of the Turkish Yoake,
|
Made the more Barbarous Frenchman Fear his Sword,
|
Which daily Reapt more Lawrels for its Lord.
|
The Empires Hope, the Darling of the League,
|
Is fallen; not by Arms, but by Intrigue!
|
Where were ye all ye Powers that attend
|
On Virtuous Men, and are the HEROs Friend?
|
Could no Kind Genius Rescue from his Fate
|
The mighty Conqueror, and prolong his Date?
|
But as Great Allexander, fell before,
|
Loaden with Triumphs! So, whom We deplore:
|
Whose Fate, not th' Empire, but all Europe Mourn;
|
And shall on France the Treacherous Fact Return.
|
You most Illustrious Hero's which survive
|
The Valiant LORRAINE, keep still alive
|
His Unmatcht Courage, Conduct, Constancy,
|
And bear his Name up to Posterity.
|
May th' August Emperour, a New General find,
|
Matching the Bravery of his Arm, and Mind:
|
And the Leagu'd Princes such success Acquire
|
As bears Proportion with their Just Desire.
|
May You French Lillies with Your Lawrels twine,
|
And Victory with all Your Armies Join,
|
'Till humbled Lewis find his Treasons Vain;
|
And LORRAINs Fortune to outlive LORRAINE.
|
|
|
|
|
|