A Metrical History of England Or, Recollections, in Rhyme, Of some of the most prominent Features in our National Chronology, from the Landing of Julius Caesar to the Commencement of the Regency, in 1812. In Two Volumes ... By Thomas Dibdin |
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 | A Metrical History of England |  |
Who next arrests bright vict'ries smile?
HORATIO NELSON OF THE NILE:
Cent'ries to come shall hail the day
Of conquest in Aboukir Bay;
Not on the main each adverse fleet
With equal chance of conquest meet,—
But Gallia's leading warrior rides
Guarded by shelter at his back,
While Nelson, whom time, place, nor tides,
Deterr'd from once-resolv'd attack.
So plied the foe with British thunder,
So rent his phalanx line asunder,
That, scarce recover'd from surprise,
Their ships, consuming, tint the skies:
And dread explosion tells the tremb'ling shore,
The floating pride of Frenchmen is no more;
That Nelson's warlike genius rules the fight,
And conquer'd L'Orient sets in endless night.
Say, bitterest foe of British isles,
When thy best fortune on thee smiles,
Does not remembrance of that fearful night
Fill thine ambitious bosom with affright?
Did it not certainly foretell
That breasts of steel who fought so well
Would soon thy mad career appal,
As Sydney did, at Acre's Wall,
Wou'd put thy stoutest hearts to flight,
As Stewart did at Maida fight;
Wou'd drive thy hordes from Egypt's shore,
As Abercrombie, now no more,
Began to do, while those he left
Of all thy laurels thee bereft?
Did no presentiment foretell
Thine upstart glory's passing bell,
When, starting from thy tyrant reign,
In fury rose awakened Spain,
Did nothing sadly prophecy
Of Wellington and Victory?
Or didst thou never turn thine eyes
From Jaffa and thy cruelties?
To the, then little thought, bare chance
That all the pride and flow'r of France,
Led by thy sateless thirst of pow'r,
In Russian climes, should curse the hour
When thy ambition lured them forth,
To perish in the hostile North;
When millions, by thy schemes misled,
For whom?—A stranger—fought and bled.
Thou! prodigal of human blood,
Whom British senators descend to praise;
For thee and thy dire practices too good
Are even these most inexpressive lays.
HORATIO NELSON OF THE NILE:
Cent'ries to come shall hail the day
Of conquest in Aboukir Bay;
Not on the main each adverse fleet
With equal chance of conquest meet,—
But Gallia's leading warrior rides
Guarded by shelter at his back,
While Nelson, whom time, place, nor tides,
Deterr'd from once-resolv'd attack.
So plied the foe with British thunder,
So rent his phalanx line asunder,
That, scarce recover'd from surprise,
Their ships, consuming, tint the skies:
And dread explosion tells the tremb'ling shore,
The floating pride of Frenchmen is no more;
That Nelson's warlike genius rules the fight,
And conquer'd L'Orient sets in endless night.
267
When thy best fortune on thee smiles,
Does not remembrance of that fearful night
Fill thine ambitious bosom with affright?
Did it not certainly foretell
That breasts of steel who fought so well
Would soon thy mad career appal,
As Sydney did, at Acre's Wall,
Wou'd put thy stoutest hearts to flight,
As Stewart did at Maida fight;
Wou'd drive thy hordes from Egypt's shore,
As Abercrombie, now no more,
Began to do, while those he left
Of all thy laurels thee bereft?
Did no presentiment foretell
Thine upstart glory's passing bell,
When, starting from thy tyrant reign,
In fury rose awakened Spain,
Did nothing sadly prophecy
Of Wellington and Victory?
Or didst thou never turn thine eyes
From Jaffa and thy cruelties?
To the, then little thought, bare chance
That all the pride and flow'r of France,
268
In Russian climes, should curse the hour
When thy ambition lured them forth,
To perish in the hostile North;
When millions, by thy schemes misled,
For whom?—A stranger—fought and bled.
Thou! prodigal of human blood,
Whom British senators descend to praise;
For thee and thy dire practices too good
Are even these most inexpressive lays.
Nine sail of the line were taken, L'Orient of 120 guns, another ship of the line, and a frigate were burned or blew up in action; two only of the French feet escaped; their Admiral Bruyes, lost his life in the engagement; for this brilliant and most important service, our hero was created Baron Nelson of the Nile, and his Sicilian Majesty confered on him the title of Duke of Bronti.
| A Metrical History of England | |