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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NELSON's FUNERAL.
Who shall describe what Britain felt,
In grateful sorrow while she knelt,
Grateful for laurels proudly won,
Convuls'd with sorrow for her son;
And mark! to shed the patriot tear
O'er him whose victory cost so dear:
Behold a mighty nation throng,
And see the sad procession slowly moves along;
To paint it, wou'd it were my lot
To hold the pen of Wizard Scott,
So might I sing each plaided chief
Who led the pomp of that day's grief;
Of solemn dirges might I tell,
Which on the ear lugubrious swell;
While tristful pipers fling around
The coronach's impressive sound,
And fancy's whispering minstrelsy,
Recals the Bards “Och Hone a Rie!”
So might I sing each gallant band,
Defenders of our envied land,
Who erst in many a well-fought field
Had forc'd the Gallic standard yield;
And now in battle's dread array,
Add awful lustre to the day.
Next, speaking closely to the heart,
What pleasure might the Muse impart
If those she sung, the gallant brave,
Who on the late impurpled wave
Had shared the dangers of that day,
Which snatch'd our naval hope away.
The sons of Albion, with revering eye,
Beheld the mild, yet daring, host pass by,
Whose iron sinews to its destin'd aim
Had dragg'd each mouth which dealt the dreadful flame
Of Britain's indignation.—I have said
Whose iron sinews, but whose manly hearts,
The battle over, soft as infant love,
Wept, with no common tears, their father slain.
Much had the “pomp and circumstance of war”
Impress'd the gazing thousands, and the bands
Of England's champions who, with martial step,
Preceded, challenged grateful reverence;
But when, in costume unadorned, yet neat,
The warriors of the main, with downcast eye
And carriage unassuming, pass'd along,
What British youth, whate'er his noble rank,
Whate'er the splendid fortunes he might own,
But (were he truly British) wou'd have given
All, in exchange, to have been one of those
Who, side by side with Nelson, had appal'd,
Each in himself a lion, those proud souls
Who had most rashly dared to threat the soil
Which gave such feeling and such valour birth!
Not one of this bold train who meekly pass'd,
But for some merit in the day of days
Had been distinguished. Dare the Sacred Band,
Which from his northern perils help'd escort
The high-prais'd Emperor of Gaul, assume
A parallel with these?—But hold, my muse!
Let no commixture sully the great name
Which, tamely treated as it is, demands
From its intrinsic grandeur, pure applause.
“Peace to the heroes' souls! their bodies die,
“Their fames shall ever live in memory!”
The gallant Strachan, in their forced reteat,
Captured the poor remains of Gallia's fleet.
Our Aberga'ny, to the sea a prize,
Still on the rocky shore of Portland lies.
Austria to France submits, from Presburg's towers,
Peace is proclaimed between the adverse powers.
This year we lose the Brother of our King;
This year another loss we grieve to sing,
Cornwallis great and good, on Indian soil,
Closes a life of patriotic toil.
And scarce another year its course began,
'Ere Pitt, illustrious, unequalled man!
Pitt, Napoleon's eyesore, scourge of Gaul,
Pitt, victim of his virtues, doom'd to fall,
From libel-stain'd malignity retired,
Sigh'd for his much-lov'd country, and expired!
“Statesman, yet friend to truth,” thy spirit now
From blissful realms beholds opposers bow
To thy true patriotic policy,
Source of each heart inspiring victory;
That, conquering Wellington! for wakened Spain,
And Lusitania, it is thine to gain
The persevering plans to Pitt we owe,
Which since have laid Gaul's schemes of conquest low.
Pitt's fire of opposition to a chief,
Whose grasping rage for conquest pass'd belief,
Spreading through frozen regions of the North,
Have driven that merciless invader forth,
Who, when in height of power we saw him sit,
No Briton flatter'd but the foes of Pitt!
In grateful sorrow while she knelt,
Grateful for laurels proudly won,
Convuls'd with sorrow for her son;
And mark! to shed the patriot tear
O'er him whose victory cost so dear:
Behold a mighty nation throng,
And see the sad procession slowly moves along;
To paint it, wou'd it were my lot
To hold the pen of Wizard Scott,
So might I sing each plaided chief
Who led the pomp of that day's grief;
Of solemn dirges might I tell,
Which on the ear lugubrious swell;
While tristful pipers fling around
The coronach's impressive sound,
And fancy's whispering minstrelsy,
Recals the Bards “Och Hone a Rie!”
283
Defenders of our envied land,
Who erst in many a well-fought field
Had forc'd the Gallic standard yield;
And now in battle's dread array,
Add awful lustre to the day.
Next, speaking closely to the heart,
What pleasure might the Muse impart
If those she sung, the gallant brave,
Who on the late impurpled wave
Had shared the dangers of that day,
Which snatch'd our naval hope away.
The sons of Albion, with revering eye,
Beheld the mild, yet daring, host pass by,
Whose iron sinews to its destin'd aim
Had dragg'd each mouth which dealt the dreadful flame
Of Britain's indignation.—I have said
Whose iron sinews, but whose manly hearts,
The battle over, soft as infant love,
Wept, with no common tears, their father slain.
Much had the “pomp and circumstance of war”
Impress'd the gazing thousands, and the bands
Of England's champions who, with martial step,
284
But when, in costume unadorned, yet neat,
The warriors of the main, with downcast eye
And carriage unassuming, pass'd along,
What British youth, whate'er his noble rank,
Whate'er the splendid fortunes he might own,
But (were he truly British) wou'd have given
All, in exchange, to have been one of those
Who, side by side with Nelson, had appal'd,
Each in himself a lion, those proud souls
Who had most rashly dared to threat the soil
Which gave such feeling and such valour birth!
Not one of this bold train who meekly pass'd,
But for some merit in the day of days
Had been distinguished. Dare the Sacred Band,
Which from his northern perils help'd escort
The high-prais'd Emperor of Gaul, assume
A parallel with these?—But hold, my muse!
Let no commixture sully the great name
Which, tamely treated as it is, demands
From its intrinsic grandeur, pure applause.
“Peace to the heroes' souls! their bodies die,
“Their fames shall ever live in memory!”
285
Captured the poor remains of Gallia's fleet.
Our Aberga'ny, to the sea a prize,
Still on the rocky shore of Portland lies.
Austria to France submits, from Presburg's towers,
Peace is proclaimed between the adverse powers.
This year we lose the Brother of our King;
This year another loss we grieve to sing,
Cornwallis great and good, on Indian soil,
Closes a life of patriotic toil.
And scarce another year its course began,
'Ere Pitt, illustrious, unequalled man!
Pitt, Napoleon's eyesore, scourge of Gaul,
Pitt, victim of his virtues, doom'd to fall,
From libel-stain'd malignity retired,
Sigh'd for his much-lov'd country, and expired!
“Statesman, yet friend to truth,” thy spirit now
From blissful realms beholds opposers bow
286
Source of each heart inspiring victory;
That, conquering Wellington! for wakened Spain,
And Lusitania, it is thine to gain
The persevering plans to Pitt we owe,
Which since have laid Gaul's schemes of conquest low.
Pitt's fire of opposition to a chief,
Whose grasping rage for conquest pass'd belief,
Spreading through frozen regions of the North,
Have driven that merciless invader forth,
Who, when in height of power we saw him sit,
No Briton flatter'd but the foes of Pitt!
Now all the Talents (great applause!)
Come in;—then, past a doubt,
The nation's saved!! Not yet, because
The Talents all—go out.
Thus Fortune's fickle will disposes
Of ministerial beds of roses.
Come in;—then, past a doubt,
The nation's saved!! Not yet, because
The Talents all—go out.
Thus Fortune's fickle will disposes
Of ministerial beds of roses.
Was't not enough to see, by fate's fell blow,
Cornwallis, Nelson, Pitt, at once laid low;
But our remaining stay, our senate's pride,
Fox, shou'd so soon in death be placed beside
The man, who equally his country's friend,
By diff'rent means pursued the same good end.
Par Fratrum nobile, tho' long opposed,
Yet each his life with highest honours closed;
Each, when subsided popular acclaim,
Will rank in Britain's love with equal fame:
Each now looks down from worlds beyond the grave,
On that lov'd country each aspir'd to save;
And, were return permitted, hand in hand,
Wou'd Union's blessings point to Briton's land.
Cornwallis, Nelson, Pitt, at once laid low;
287
Fox, shou'd so soon in death be placed beside
The man, who equally his country's friend,
By diff'rent means pursued the same good end.
Par Fratrum nobile, tho' long opposed,
Yet each his life with highest honours closed;
Each, when subsided popular acclaim,
Will rank in Britain's love with equal fame:
Each now looks down from worlds beyond the grave,
On that lov'd country each aspir'd to save;
And, were return permitted, hand in hand,
Wou'd Union's blessings point to Briton's land.
Fox had succeeded to the Statesman's throne,
Which Pitt's demise made vacant; when his own
Open'd the country's wounds—Tierney and Grey,
Holland, and Sidmouth, bore co-equal sway.
Which Pitt's demise made vacant; when his own
Open'd the country's wounds—Tierney and Grey,
Holland, and Sidmouth, bore co-equal sway.
Popham, and Baird, and Duckworth tell the foe
More tales like those we told them long ago.
Defective Prussia, most unlike a Prince
To England acted;—once that's ever since,
The step she has regretted, which may prove
The moral consequence of Gallia's love.
More tales like those we told them long ago.
288
To England acted;—once that's ever since,
The step she has regretted, which may prove
The moral consequence of Gallia's love.
Melville's acquittal; and, (we ought to thank
A deed which brought a million to the Bank).
The capture of Buenos Ayres, tells
That British spirit still in Britain dwells.
From Maida's plains another laurel springs,
('Twas wormwood to the Emperor of Kings),
The chosen of th' imperial squadrons meet
The British bayonet—their swift retreat
Proclaims beyond the pow'r of words,
That Gallic threats are sharper than their swords.
Sicilia welcomes Stewart and his band,
As saviours of an innovated land.
A deed which brought a million to the Bank).
The capture of Buenos Ayres, tells
That British spirit still in Britain dwells.
From Maida's plains another laurel springs,
('Twas wormwood to the Emperor of Kings),
The chosen of th' imperial squadrons meet
The British bayonet—their swift retreat
Proclaims beyond the pow'r of words,
That Gallic threats are sharper than their swords.
Sicilia welcomes Stewart and his band,
As saviours of an innovated land.
Perceval takes the reins, and next we speak
Of what the Leopard and the Chesapeake
Produced to satisfy the fell desire
Of those who wou'd promote dissensions ire.
America, may mutual sense of right
Our present boken friendship re-unite!
At Buenos Ayres, and on the Turkish coast,
We're free to own, we hadn't much to boast;
In Egypt, measure of mischance to fill,
We, certainly, were less successful still.
Ill fated Copenhagen once more knows
Of warfare (to her dwellings brought) the woes.
The Slave Trade, to Humanity's encrease,
By pre-arrangements mention'd, now must cease;
Louis of France, (the cause each good man grieves,)
Our isle, with hospitable arms receives;
The sov'reign's sister joyful meets once more
Th' unequal'd comforts of her native shore.
Of what the Leopard and the Chesapeake
Produced to satisfy the fell desire
Of those who wou'd promote dissensions ire.
America, may mutual sense of right
Our present boken friendship re-unite!
289
We're free to own, we hadn't much to boast;
In Egypt, measure of mischance to fill,
We, certainly, were less successful still.
Ill fated Copenhagen once more knows
Of warfare (to her dwellings brought) the woes.
The Slave Trade, to Humanity's encrease,
By pre-arrangements mention'd, now must cease;
Louis of France, (the cause each good man grieves,)
Our isle, with hospitable arms receives;
The sov'reign's sister joyful meets once more
Th' unequal'd comforts of her native shore.
Lured by Napoleon's promised grace,
The Spanish monarch quits his place,
And Bayonne witnesses the cheat,
Which threw Spain under an usurper's feet.
'Till Britain, arbitress of Europe's good,
Expends for Spain her treasures and her blood!
Dupont and Moncey, with Duhesme, first find
The awful efforts of Iberia's mind;
Baylen, Valentia, Sarragossa prove
How People prize the liberty they love.
Of new made king, august Madrid,
Was in a mighty hurry rid;
“A cut-purse,” as we somewhere else have read,
“Of realms and empire,” not upon his head
He wore the “precious diadem,” they say,
But “in his pocket” bore the prize away.
At Cintra's bargain, millions justly scoff,
And thought Junot came much too cheaply off;
And so he did, when Vimiera's fight,
(Disgrace of France, and Britain's proud delight,)
Had taught the arrogant, intruding, elves,
Who felt not others sorrows, for themselves
To feel and fear:—but subsequent event,
By Heav'n, in aid of British valour, sent;
Has richly equipois'd the gen'rous fault,
Which British liberality had made.
The 'whelming force of Napoleon's arms
Gave Usurpation's cause a transient hour
Blood-red and dark; when, lo! a dawn of light
“Walk'd o'er the hills” of Spanish liberty.
The germ of glory which has since illumed
A generous nation struggling for her rights;
And, while lamented Moore with honor fell,
Did Wellesley fashion deeds which future days
With doubtful retrospection will regard,
As passing far that boundary of truth
Which faithful history may ne'er exceed,
Gambier and Cochrane teach the fleet of France
That even their own harbours ill secure
The objects of a British tar's attack.
The Russian's too, by Hankey's valour find,
(Hankey! who purchased victory with life,)
What Spartan courage animates the souls
Of English seamen in Old England's cause.
The Spanish monarch quits his place,
And Bayonne witnesses the cheat,
Which threw Spain under an usurper's feet.
290
Expends for Spain her treasures and her blood!
Dupont and Moncey, with Duhesme, first find
The awful efforts of Iberia's mind;
Baylen, Valentia, Sarragossa prove
How People prize the liberty they love.
Of new made king, august Madrid,
Was in a mighty hurry rid;
“A cut-purse,” as we somewhere else have read,
“Of realms and empire,” not upon his head
He wore the “precious diadem,” they say,
But “in his pocket” bore the prize away.
At Cintra's bargain, millions justly scoff,
And thought Junot came much too cheaply off;
And so he did, when Vimiera's fight,
(Disgrace of France, and Britain's proud delight,)
Had taught the arrogant, intruding, elves,
Who felt not others sorrows, for themselves
To feel and fear:—but subsequent event,
By Heav'n, in aid of British valour, sent;
Has richly equipois'd the gen'rous fault,
Which British liberality had made.
The 'whelming force of Napoleon's arms
Gave Usurpation's cause a transient hour
291
“Walk'd o'er the hills” of Spanish liberty.
The germ of glory which has since illumed
A generous nation struggling for her rights;
And, while lamented Moore with honor fell,
Did Wellesley fashion deeds which future days
With doubtful retrospection will regard,
As passing far that boundary of truth
Which faithful history may ne'er exceed,
Gambier and Cochrane teach the fleet of France
That even their own harbours ill secure
The objects of a British tar's attack.
The Russian's too, by Hankey's valour find,
(Hankey! who purchased victory with life,)
What Spartan courage animates the souls
Of English seamen in Old England's cause.
292
Three captured first rates, frigates two,
And twenty transports eke,
In Rosas' Bay, the worth, true blue,
Of Collingwood bespeak.
And twenty transports eke,
In Rosas' Bay, the worth, true blue,
Of Collingwood bespeak.
Great bustle for a sad event,
By Ministers is made;
And those who were to Walch'ren sent
At home had better staid.
By Ministers is made;
And those who were to Walch'ren sent
At home had better staid.
'Twere best the consequence to pass,
Since sorrow will not save
The gallant lads who found, alas!
A pestilential grave.
Since sorrow will not save
The gallant lads who found, alas!
A pestilential grave.
For credit's sake too, we omit,
How disappointment cruel
Made Ministers, in angry fit,
Go forth and fight a duel.
How disappointment cruel
Made Ministers, in angry fit,
Go forth and fight a duel.
293
But while the people full of ire
These degradations see,
A nobler subject shall inspire
My humble Muse and me.
These degradations see,
A nobler subject shall inspire
My humble Muse and me.
George, (whom no Minister's mistake
His people's warm regard can shake,)
Enters the Fiftieth Year that he
Had ruled the sons of liberty;
Who now forgetting party rout,
Of Whig or Tory, In or Out,
Unite in general Jubilee.
His people's warm regard can shake,)
Enters the Fiftieth Year that he
Had ruled the sons of liberty;
Who now forgetting party rout,
Of Whig or Tory, In or Out,
Unite in general Jubilee.
The sons of Britain, and the British fair,
In public thanksgiving repair,
To Him who, from his throne on high,
Rules king's and subject's destiny.
The naked cloathed, the debtor freed,
The hungry fed, and many a deed
Of brotherly affection see,
Grace Britain's year of Jubilee.
In public thanksgiving repair,
To Him who, from his throne on high,
Rules king's and subject's destiny.
The naked cloathed, the debtor freed,
The hungry fed, and many a deed
Of brotherly affection see,
Grace Britain's year of Jubilee.
And when the festive day was ended,
And Sol to Thetis' lap descended,
What blaze of artificial light
Succeeded to illume the night!
And Sol to Thetis' lap descended,
What blaze of artificial light
Succeeded to illume the night!
294
With patriot motto, gay design,
Victorious emblem, all the nine
Descended in united glee,
“To celebrate the Jubilee.”
Victorious emblem, all the nine
Descended in united glee,
“To celebrate the Jubilee.”
May Time on softest pinion move,
Nor urge the gently rolling sand;
That years to come our King may prove
Lord of all hearts in Albion's land;
And Britons long united be
As at our gen'ral Jubilee!
Nor urge the gently rolling sand;
That years to come our King may prove
Lord of all hearts in Albion's land;
And Britons long united be
As at our gen'ral Jubilee!
Another glorious theme demands
Congratulory lays,
While grateful home and distant lands
Re-echo Wellesley's praise.
Congratulory lays,
While grateful home and distant lands
Re-echo Wellesley's praise.
To Britain from a distant shore,
Fame-wafted comes-the battles roar,
And Gallia's eagle ceas'd to soar
Where British valour reigns;
Fame-wafted comes-the battles roar,
And Gallia's eagle ceas'd to soar
Where British valour reigns;
295
Where Wellington his flag unfurl'd
For Lusitania; Spain; the World!
On Talavera's plains.
For Lusitania; Spain; the World!
On Talavera's plains.
Alas for Austria, whose descending star
Yields where the Corsican directs the war;
Be patient Muse, succeeding happier times
Shall subjects yield for more enliv'ning rhymes
Than these, which tell that Austria, forced to fight
For the existence of her ev'ry right,
Fails in all efforts, and, perforce, receives
Such peace as conquering France most proudly gives.
The days of Wilkes Sir Francis' days renew,
And peaceful citizens his conduct rue;
Blood stains our streets, and British subjects die
Victims of party pertinacity.
Yields where the Corsican directs the war;
Be patient Muse, succeeding happier times
Shall subjects yield for more enliv'ning rhymes
Than these, which tell that Austria, forced to fight
For the existence of her ev'ry right,
Fails in all efforts, and, perforce, receives
Such peace as conquering France most proudly gives.
296
And peaceful citizens his conduct rue;
Blood stains our streets, and British subjects die
Victims of party pertinacity.
Assassination in it's direst shape
Attacks the King's fifth son; the Duke's escape,
By Providence directed, claims our praise;
The self-devoted murd'rer ends his days
By the same hand which aim'd the felon knife
Against his unsuspecting master's life.
Attacks the King's fifth son; the Duke's escape,
By Providence directed, claims our praise;
The self-devoted murd'rer ends his days
By the same hand which aim'd the felon knife
Against his unsuspecting master's life.
For more of eulogy our warriors' call,
Amboyna, and the isle of Bourbon fall
To British conquerors;—Busaco's field,
And Massena's retreat fresh laurels yield.
Amboyna, and the isle of Bourbon fall
To British conquerors;—Busaco's field,
And Massena's retreat fresh laurels yield.
297
Amelia, youngest of our royal fair,
Releas'd from sublunary pain and care;
Leaves, inconsolable, the best of sires,
Whose fortitude beneath the blow expires:
And hence the present source of England's grief,
And hence our sad despair of wish'd relief.
In mournful absence of the regal mind,
The cares of state are to the Prince consign'd;
The Prince accepts, in hopes a year may bring
Joy to himself, to us, and to our King;
The year elaps'd, our hopes alone remain,
And still suspended is our father's reign,
'Tis our's to bend, whatever Heav'n decrees,
And Heav'n, which far above our wishes sees,
Will, (let us with due resignation trust,)
For England's good dispose,—submit we must.
The Regent in his delegated power
Confirm'd, remains; and may his ev'ry hour
Of government on British hearts improve,
And gain, with England's duty, England's love.
Releas'd from sublunary pain and care;
Leaves, inconsolable, the best of sires,
Whose fortitude beneath the blow expires:
And hence the present source of England's grief,
And hence our sad despair of wish'd relief.
In mournful absence of the regal mind,
The cares of state are to the Prince consign'd;
The Prince accepts, in hopes a year may bring
Joy to himself, to us, and to our King;
The year elaps'd, our hopes alone remain,
And still suspended is our father's reign,
'Tis our's to bend, whatever Heav'n decrees,
And Heav'n, which far above our wishes sees,
Will, (let us with due resignation trust,)
For England's good dispose,—submit we must.
The Regent in his delegated power
Confirm'd, remains; and may his ev'ry hour
Of government on British hearts improve,
And gain, with England's duty, England's love.
We've said that Massena retreated;
We've told you Victor was defeated
By Graham, —a new laurel leaf
Almeida yields the British chief;
Scarce ten days more, and Beresford obtains
A glorious day on Albuera's plains.
There happen'd too, the self-same day,
(Much we regret 'tis our's to say),
An action, which will long be felt,
'Twixt President and little Belt.
May mutual kind consideration
Find influence with either nation,
And strife between us be no other
Than which is truest friend and brother.
Barry, at sea, the French annoys,
A fort and three “tall ships destroys.”
The Barham, a stout British sev'nty-four,
Founders near Corsica; to England's flag
Batavia falls. —A comet's brilliant track
Illumes the air, “importing change of times;”
The Spanish war a various fortune proves;
“Bellona's bridegroom” bravely stems the tide
Of each event, and turns it to success.
Cuidad Rodrigo to the leader's name
A title adds, nor less of fame
We've told you Victor was defeated
By Graham, —a new laurel leaf
Almeida yields the British chief;
298
A glorious day on Albuera's plains.
There happen'd too, the self-same day,
(Much we regret 'tis our's to say),
An action, which will long be felt,
'Twixt President and little Belt.
May mutual kind consideration
Find influence with either nation,
And strife between us be no other
Than which is truest friend and brother.
Barry, at sea, the French annoys,
A fort and three “tall ships destroys.”
The Barham, a stout British sev'nty-four,
Founders near Corsica; to England's flag
Batavia falls. —A comet's brilliant track
Illumes the air, “importing change of times;”
The Spanish war a various fortune proves;
“Bellona's bridegroom” bravely stems the tide
Of each event, and turns it to success.
Cuidad Rodrigo to the leader's name
A title adds, nor less of fame
299
Badajoz to his martial genius owes:
While at Almarez, on Iberia's foes,
Hill points Britannia's thunder.—Sad disgrace
Blends with domestic story,—time nor place
Protects from murder's unexampled deed,
At once the parent, wife, and infant bleed.
While at Almarez, on Iberia's foes,
Hill points Britannia's thunder.—Sad disgrace
Blends with domestic story,—time nor place
Protects from murder's unexampled deed,
At once the parent, wife, and infant bleed.
The solemn senate no asylum yields,
Nor Perceval from sanguine fury shields;
There, unprotected by the sacred walls,
Assassination's virtuous victim falls.
Nor Perceval from sanguine fury shields;
There, unprotected by the sacred walls,
Assassination's virtuous victim falls.
From tristful subjects turn the tearful eye,
To, once more, Wellington and victory!
Before his better genius Marmont flies,
And Paris journals teem, of course, with lies.
To, once more, Wellington and victory!
Before his better genius Marmont flies,
And Paris journals teem, of course, with lies.
To conquer Russia Bonaparte assumes,
And his high full-fledg'd eagle moults her plumes,
Flies back quite stripp'd of each victorious feather,
All which, France says, is owing—to the weather.
If true effects and causes you'd explore,
The Petersburgh gazette will tell you more.
Reader, while thus we've trudg'd together,
Through ups and downs, in various weather;
I've tried, with small success I fear,
The unembellished path to cheer.
I've painted Aborigines
Worse than they did their arms and knees;
Of Roman Chiefs, and Saxon wiles,
I've sung in hope to gain your smiles.
Of kingdoms and what monarchs kept them,
'Till Egbert join'd in uno septem;
Of Ethelwulph, and good Saint Austin,
Who love and politics were lost in;
Of Ethelbert and Ethelbald,
Which two were but one sov'reign call'd.
Of Ethelred, and, (England's pride,)
He who the minstrels calling tried;
Anticipation wont be long,
To guess that Alfred gilds the song;
The song which next essay'd to sing
Of Elder Edward, and the King.
Athelstan who, or mem'ry fails,
Fought much in Ireland and in Wales;
And pious Edmund basely slain,
By Leolf; then came Edred's reign,
When England triumph'd o'er the Dane.
Speaking of Edwy we lamented,
That he by Dunstan was tormented;
Edgar was mention'd more at large,
Rowed by eight princes in a barge.
Of Martyr'd Edward's tale we boast,
Because it introduced a ghost:
(In modern day no work of merit
Can otherwise go off with spirit.)
For Second Ethelred you felt,
When forced to pay (that bore) Danegelt;
We might have brought ye next a Swain,
But his can scarce be call'd a reign.
Canute and Ethelred again,
Not long your notice cou'd obtain,
Before came Edmund Ironside,
He and Canute the land divide.
I think we named among the worst
Of sov'reigns, Harold, styled the first;
Saint Edward, who abhorr'd the Devil,
Destroy'd Danegelt and cured the evil;
O'er hapless Harold's fate I wept,
While you, perhaps, my readers, slept;
Which I presume in turn to do
While singing Norman Bill's curfew.
Next, fancy, in new forest walking,
Of Redhair'd William sets us talking;
Harry the First, I think, we found,
Died worth a hundred thousand pound;
His daughter Maude and nephew Stephen
Found things at odds, which death made even.
(If not, we somewhere have misreckon'd,)
And enter Harry named the Second;
Fair Rosamond we here must pass,
Although a most delightful lass;
And give a glance of recollection,
To Cœur de Lion, whose protection
Aided so much the martial cross,
It caused John Bull no little loss.
Now Arthur's woes, (by uncle John
Most villainously put upon);
We sadly sung, and still more grave,
Told ye some stories of a cave,
(As deep as Tunnel bored at Highgate,)
Cut underneath the town of Reigate;
Where Magna Charta darkly plotted,
Was there, as since, of course much blotted.
Then you some trivial matters heard
About King Henry the third;
Edward, who caus'd his foes great losses,
And for his wife built many crosses;
Gave to the Welch their native prince,
Edward the Second;—you were since
Inform'd this Second Edward fell,
And a Third Edward bore the bell,
Who with his Sable Son o'ercame
All co-mates in the road of fame.
With pens impartial we disclosed
How Second Richard was deposed;
Doom'd to see all his hopes miscarry,
In favour of our Fourth King Harry.
The Muse's task wou'd ne'er be done,
(Talking of that King Harry's son,)
If she again to tell wou'd deign
The glory of Fifth Harry's reign;
Enough for her with tears to wail
O'er Sixth King Henry's mournful tale.
We sung of Edward, (number four,)
And his penchant for Mistress Shore;
We shudder'd at the fiend who slew
Fifth Edward and his brother.—Do
Admit, dear reader, that our pen
Murder'd—the story—o'er again.
If at Third Richard we have storm'd,
Our lines were, like the man, deform'd;
And then we own'd no strains were ruder
Than those which told of Harry Tudor.
Eighth Harry's reign includes the lives
Of Wolsey and his master's wives;
Sixth Edward and his early worth,
And Mary's much lamented birth,
Succeeded are by feeble lays
Which aim'd to sing Eliza's praise.
On James the First we spent some breath,
And sigh'd, indignant, o'er the death
Of murder'd Charles;—wish'd Butler's pen
To lash the puritannic den
Of thieves, with Cromwell and his crew
Who, Judas like, their master slew.
You'll find some few convivial lays
To picture Charles the Second's days:
Of Second James the Muse has rated
The theme so low—she abdicated.
Some giddy joy the Bard may plead,
While celebrating Runnimede;
The Bill of Rights, and England's law
Restored by Mary and Nassau.
Perhaps with too much haste we ran
O'er Marlb'ro's deeds, and good Queen Anne;
When Brunswick coming to our aid,
A most delightful finish made;
Or, “rather,” says some critical effusion!
“Made a most lame and impotent conclusion.”
And his high full-fledg'd eagle moults her plumes,
Flies back quite stripp'd of each victorious feather,
All which, France says, is owing—to the weather.
If true effects and causes you'd explore,
The Petersburgh gazette will tell you more.
300
Through ups and downs, in various weather;
I've tried, with small success I fear,
The unembellished path to cheer.
I've painted Aborigines
Worse than they did their arms and knees;
Of Roman Chiefs, and Saxon wiles,
I've sung in hope to gain your smiles.
Of kingdoms and what monarchs kept them,
'Till Egbert join'd in uno septem;
Of Ethelwulph, and good Saint Austin,
Who love and politics were lost in;
Of Ethelbert and Ethelbald,
Which two were but one sov'reign call'd.
Of Ethelred, and, (England's pride,)
He who the minstrels calling tried;
Anticipation wont be long,
To guess that Alfred gilds the song;
The song which next essay'd to sing
Of Elder Edward, and the King.
Athelstan who, or mem'ry fails,
Fought much in Ireland and in Wales;
And pious Edmund basely slain,
By Leolf; then came Edred's reign,
When England triumph'd o'er the Dane.
301
That he by Dunstan was tormented;
Edgar was mention'd more at large,
Rowed by eight princes in a barge.
Of Martyr'd Edward's tale we boast,
Because it introduced a ghost:
(In modern day no work of merit
Can otherwise go off with spirit.)
For Second Ethelred you felt,
When forced to pay (that bore) Danegelt;
We might have brought ye next a Swain,
But his can scarce be call'd a reign.
Canute and Ethelred again,
Not long your notice cou'd obtain,
Before came Edmund Ironside,
He and Canute the land divide.
I think we named among the worst
Of sov'reigns, Harold, styled the first;
Saint Edward, who abhorr'd the Devil,
Destroy'd Danegelt and cured the evil;
O'er hapless Harold's fate I wept,
While you, perhaps, my readers, slept;
Which I presume in turn to do
While singing Norman Bill's curfew.
302
Of Redhair'd William sets us talking;
Harry the First, I think, we found,
Died worth a hundred thousand pound;
His daughter Maude and nephew Stephen
Found things at odds, which death made even.
(If not, we somewhere have misreckon'd,)
And enter Harry named the Second;
Fair Rosamond we here must pass,
Although a most delightful lass;
And give a glance of recollection,
To Cœur de Lion, whose protection
Aided so much the martial cross,
It caused John Bull no little loss.
Now Arthur's woes, (by uncle John
Most villainously put upon);
We sadly sung, and still more grave,
Told ye some stories of a cave,
(As deep as Tunnel bored at Highgate,)
Cut underneath the town of Reigate;
Where Magna Charta darkly plotted,
Was there, as since, of course much blotted.
Then you some trivial matters heard
About King Henry the third;
303
And for his wife built many crosses;
Gave to the Welch their native prince,
Edward the Second;—you were since
Inform'd this Second Edward fell,
And a Third Edward bore the bell,
Who with his Sable Son o'ercame
All co-mates in the road of fame.
With pens impartial we disclosed
How Second Richard was deposed;
Doom'd to see all his hopes miscarry,
In favour of our Fourth King Harry.
The Muse's task wou'd ne'er be done,
(Talking of that King Harry's son,)
If she again to tell wou'd deign
The glory of Fifth Harry's reign;
Enough for her with tears to wail
O'er Sixth King Henry's mournful tale.
We sung of Edward, (number four,)
And his penchant for Mistress Shore;
We shudder'd at the fiend who slew
Fifth Edward and his brother.—Do
Admit, dear reader, that our pen
Murder'd—the story—o'er again.
304
Our lines were, like the man, deform'd;
And then we own'd no strains were ruder
Than those which told of Harry Tudor.
Eighth Harry's reign includes the lives
Of Wolsey and his master's wives;
Sixth Edward and his early worth,
And Mary's much lamented birth,
Succeeded are by feeble lays
Which aim'd to sing Eliza's praise.
On James the First we spent some breath,
And sigh'd, indignant, o'er the death
Of murder'd Charles;—wish'd Butler's pen
To lash the puritannic den
Of thieves, with Cromwell and his crew
Who, Judas like, their master slew.
You'll find some few convivial lays
To picture Charles the Second's days:
Of Second James the Muse has rated
The theme so low—she abdicated.
Some giddy joy the Bard may plead,
While celebrating Runnimede;
The Bill of Rights, and England's law
Restored by Mary and Nassau.
305
O'er Marlb'ro's deeds, and good Queen Anne;
When Brunswick coming to our aid,
A most delightful finish made;
Or, “rather,” says some critical effusion!
“Made a most lame and impotent conclusion.”
Reader, adieu, confess my task
May somewhat of indulgence ask;
And since no fable aids the Muse,
Who may not here her subjects chuse,
But rough or smooth, plain truths rehearse,
Whether or no they suit her verse:
Your better humour will supply
My wishes, where the stream ran dry,
And Pegasus forgot to fly.
Adieu! for dulness pardon me,
And yawning I'll forgive in thee.
May somewhat of indulgence ask;
And since no fable aids the Muse,
Who may not here her subjects chuse,
But rough or smooth, plain truths rehearse,
Whether or no they suit her verse:
Your better humour will supply
My wishes, where the stream ran dry,
And Pegasus forgot to fly.
Adieu! for dulness pardon me,
And yawning I'll forgive in thee.
Sir Richard Strachan, with an equal force, captured one 80 and three 74 gun French ships, which had escaped from the battle of Trafalgar. The Abergavenny Indiaman foundered off Portland this year.
The Cape of Good Hope surrendered to General Baird and Sir Home Popham; Admiral Duckworth captured three line of battle ships, and destroyed two others, near St. Domingo.
Eighteen ships of the line, fifteen frigates, six smaller vessels, and twenty-five gunboats, were given up to the British armament which was sent to bombard Copenhagen.
General Savary, while persuading the King of Spain to go to Bayonne, once went so far as to say, “I will suffer my head to be cut off, if, within a quarter of an hour after your majesty's arrival, the Emperor shall not have recognised you as King of Spain and the Indies;”—notwithstanding this, he was told, after dining with the Usurper, that none of the Bourbon family could be permitted to reign.
Lords Gambier and Cochrane attacked the French fleet in Basque Roads, when one ship of 120 guns, five of 74, and two frigates, were driven on shore, and afterwards totally destroyed, or rendered useless; one of 80, two of 74, and one of 50, with three frigates, were burnt, either by the assailants or their own crews.
Lieutenant Hankey, (who was killed in the action) with the boats of four ships, attacked a strong flotilla of Russian gunboats, which were supposed to be impregnably stationed in Pensacola bay; they were, however, not only taken or destroyed, but a most valuable convoy captured with them.
It had long been rumoured that the members of the British Cabinet by no means agreed among themselves; and the failure of the Expedition against Walcheren encreased their disputes to so high a degree, that a public appeal to the pistol took place between two ministers holding the highest official situations in the state: they fired twice, and one of the combatants receiving a wound in the thigh, the affair terminated.
The enemy were beaten across the Alberche, with the loss of twenty pieces of cannon, and nearly 10,000 men, killed and wounded, among the former were Generals Larive and Malot, among the latter, Generals Sebastiani and Boulet. The loss of the British was proportionably severe, amounting to 6000 killed, wounded, and missing.
The insulting conduct of the French Court subsequent to the treaty of Presburgh, compelled the Emperor Francis to unsheath the sword. The capture of Vienna, and the battle of Wagram, decided the campaign against him. The heroic Tirolese were also subjugated; their glorious leader, Hoffer, murdered in military form; and the Austrian Emperor obliged to accept the terms imposed by his merciful and macnanimous conqueror.
Three people were killed and many wounded, in consequence of the tumultuous proceedings which followed the refusal of Sir Francis Burdett to submit to the authority of the British Senate.
In the isle of Rhe, also, a most gallant action was performed by the boats of the Armide, Cadmus, Monkey, and Daring, under Lieutenant Roberts, who captured and destroyed seventeen vessels. Many other brilliant exploits likewise signalized our marine.
| A Metrical History of England | |