Poems and miscellanies selected from the writings of Miss Eliza Townsend Printed but not published |
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OCEAN.
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 | Poems and miscellanies selected from the writings of Miss Eliza Townsend |  |
139
OCEAN.
A NAVAL PRIZE ODE.
[1813.]
All hail, thou mightiest, monstrous Power!
To whom, in this tempestuous hour,
The nations bow the knee!
This hour, when Heaven's right arm hath hurled
Its thunders round a warring world,
O'er Christendom one bloody flag unfurled,
We lift our eyes to thee!
To whom, in this tempestuous hour,
The nations bow the knee!
This hour, when Heaven's right arm hath hurled
Its thunders round a warring world,
O'er Christendom one bloody flag unfurled,
We lift our eyes to thee!
Primeval Power! ere order sprung,
While yet o'er chaos darkness hung,
Thou wert; and when, in onward time,
The impious mortal stained by crime
The image of his Sire sublime;
Then, great Avenger! didst thou rise,
And swelling to the darkened skies,
Each of thy waves commissioned then
Whelmed in the worthless race of men!
While yet o'er chaos darkness hung,
Thou wert; and when, in onward time,
The impious mortal stained by crime
The image of his Sire sublime;
Then, great Avenger! didst thou rise,
And swelling to the darkened skies,
140
Whelmed in the worthless race of men!
Ocean! that venerable name,
What tongue unfaltering shall proclaim?
Here, as upon my native plain
That borders on thy wide domain,
I stand, and strive one glimpse to gain
Of half thy worth, but strive in vain.
Power! to whose hundred hands is given
To toss their foam against the face of heaven,
And, ere insulted heaven its wrath can show,
Retreat in safety to th' abyss below.
Extent! whose untold regions lie
Where man nor angel e'er could pry,
Who mantlest round this mighty globe,
As in one vast, cerulean robe.
And wealth! whose many massive heaps
Lie piled within thy cavern deeps,
Where new Peruvia's unfold
Their copious veins of liquid gold,
And other India's rise to spread
Of rival gems, thy sparkling bed.
Yet, grand and awful as thou art,
'T is ours with no foreboding heart,
To count thy glories o'er;
Descendants from that western wild,
Of heaven the latest, loveliest child,
Who safe in thy protection smiled,
Nor asked nor cared for more:
Blooming so long from all intrusion free,
And known to none but Heaven and thee;
Till he, thy chosen chieftain, came,
Genoa's boast, Iberia's shame;
(Blest, had he never ceased o'er thee to roam,
Nor found disgrace, and chains, and death at home.)
He wooed and won the peerless dame,
And gave to her his honored name.
E're since that hour, their children, we,
In weal or woe thy aid can see.
In war, thy guarding waters rose,
A fence between us and our foes;
In peace, thy stars have been our guides,
Our coursers swift thy foaming tides,
And safe have been our billowy rides,
As when some white-winged seraph glides
To haven of repose.
Far to that execrated shore,
Where ancient Carthage towered of yore,
'Twas thy supporting arms that bore
'Gainst Punic perfidy the band
Who well avenged our injured land,
And drove the crescent, bathed in blood,
To hide its blushes in the flood;
But when no effort could withstand
The wily Turk's ensnaring hand,
Snatched for themselves the lighted brand,
And, mounting in a shroud of flame,
Died to the world—to live in fame!
What tongue unfaltering shall proclaim?
Here, as upon my native plain
That borders on thy wide domain,
I stand, and strive one glimpse to gain
Of half thy worth, but strive in vain.
Power! to whose hundred hands is given
To toss their foam against the face of heaven,
And, ere insulted heaven its wrath can show,
Retreat in safety to th' abyss below.
Extent! whose untold regions lie
Where man nor angel e'er could pry,
Who mantlest round this mighty globe,
As in one vast, cerulean robe.
And wealth! whose many massive heaps
Lie piled within thy cavern deeps,
Where new Peruvia's unfold
Their copious veins of liquid gold,
And other India's rise to spread
Of rival gems, thy sparkling bed.
141
'T is ours with no foreboding heart,
To count thy glories o'er;
Descendants from that western wild,
Of heaven the latest, loveliest child,
Who safe in thy protection smiled,
Nor asked nor cared for more:
Blooming so long from all intrusion free,
And known to none but Heaven and thee;
Till he, thy chosen chieftain, came,
Genoa's boast, Iberia's shame;
(Blest, had he never ceased o'er thee to roam,
Nor found disgrace, and chains, and death at home.)
He wooed and won the peerless dame,
And gave to her his honored name.
E're since that hour, their children, we,
In weal or woe thy aid can see.
In war, thy guarding waters rose,
A fence between us and our foes;
In peace, thy stars have been our guides,
Our coursers swift thy foaming tides,
And safe have been our billowy rides,
As when some white-winged seraph glides
To haven of repose.
142
Where ancient Carthage towered of yore,
'Twas thy supporting arms that bore
'Gainst Punic perfidy the band
Who well avenged our injured land,
And drove the crescent, bathed in blood,
To hide its blushes in the flood;
But when no effort could withstand
The wily Turk's ensnaring hand,
Snatched for themselves the lighted brand,
And, mounting in a shroud of flame,
Died to the world—to live in fame!
And now, though in the recent year
That compassed our “diurnal sphere,”
Defeat, disgrace, and want, and fear,
Wherever else we look, appear;
Yet, when to thee we turn our eyes,
Some stars amid the storms arise.
Lo! twice within that little year,
Behold yon trophied barque appear,
Whose eagle, in the wat'ry field,
Twice bade the British lion yield!
Whose noble mast yet stands to tell
Its native oaks—it never fell!
And bids Defiance' loudest blast
Challenge the world to mate that mast,
For service shared, for duty done,
For danger dared, for vict'ry won!
That compassed our “diurnal sphere,”
Defeat, disgrace, and want, and fear,
Wherever else we look, appear;
Yet, when to thee we turn our eyes,
Some stars amid the storms arise.
Lo! twice within that little year,
Behold yon trophied barque appear,
143
Twice bade the British lion yield!
Whose noble mast yet stands to tell
Its native oaks—it never fell!
And bids Defiance' loudest blast
Challenge the world to mate that mast,
For service shared, for duty done,
For danger dared, for vict'ry won!
Ere, echoing round our gladdened shore,
The peal of triumph scarce was o'er,
Thou bad'st thy winds to bear again
O'er all its hills the lofty strain,
To tell them that another sail,
'Mid dark October's stormy gale,
In direst, deadliest shock, could close
With hearts as brave as Britain knows,
And in that shock prevail!
The peal of triumph scarce was o'er,
Thou bad'st thy winds to bear again
O'er all its hills the lofty strain,
To tell them that another sail,
'Mid dark October's stormy gale,
In direst, deadliest shock, could close
With hearts as brave as Britain knows,
And in that shock prevail!
We crowd not on the shuddering sight
The horrors of that awful fight;
Not ours to count the cruel scars,
And groans, and wounds of ocean wars;
Let others note how, side by side,
The virtuous and the valiant died;
Where gun 'gainst gun, encount'ring, lay
So near, they crossed each other's way!
And from the suff'ring and the slain
The life-stream mingled with the main,
Till Conquest grasped his laurelled crown,
Less as a symbol of renown
Than to conceal from sight, from thought,
Proofs of the price at which 'twas bought!
The horrors of that awful fight;
Not ours to count the cruel scars,
And groans, and wounds of ocean wars;
Let others note how, side by side,
The virtuous and the valiant died;
144
So near, they crossed each other's way!
And from the suff'ring and the slain
The life-stream mingled with the main,
Till Conquest grasped his laurelled crown,
Less as a symbol of renown
Than to conceal from sight, from thought,
Proofs of the price at which 'twas bought!
Thou, Ocean! thou, the seaman's sire!
Witness for us! while deeds like those
Approved our prowess to our foes,
Did they not, 'mid ourselves, inspire
In all the emulous desire
As well to act as to admire?
Witness, as well it may,
That one could, unattended, roam
To Albion's very channel home,
In vain but bold essay;
And could bid his cannon sound
To St. Salvador's farthest ground,
Till Andes might the shock rebound,
Of challenging the fray!
And soon, with streamers waving nigh,
On thy blue throne exalted high,
We hailed another naval son,
Graced with the gift his arm had won;
A rare and goodly gift, to greet
A country ever proud to meet
The same chivalrous chief, who bore
Rich tributes once from Barbary's shore,
As Allah's sons can tell;
But now a nobler trophy shows,
Wrested from mightier, manlier foes,
Who fought so long—so well.
Vict'ry was ours, and conflict o'er,
Found mercy had been ours before,
And kindness, from elation free,
And frank, high-minded courtesy.
In losing Peace we have not lost
That gentle grace she prizes most.
So may the goddess, when again
She re-ascends her sacred fane,
That fane, whose gates, alas! now closed,
Have stood to force and fraud exposed,
Find still upon her altar's urn
Unquenched its lambent lustre burn.
Without is all the storm and din;
The vestal flame yet lives within.
Once more, upon thy list of fame,
Ocean! inscribe another name;
Surely, we may not ask in vain
For him, who ne'er can ask again!
For him, most prized, yet pitied most—
For Lawrence, honored—Lawrence, lost!
For him, who erst the fight maintained,
And erst the conqueror's chaplet gained,
And better, nobler far,
Who sprang where battle fiercest bled,
Between the living and the dead,
And stayed the waste of war!
For him, whose virtues were declared
By enemies his sword had spared,
What time his arm humanely dared
The reeling captive to sustain,
And snatch the sinking from the main.
The life, in fight half lost before,
Was now to peril risked once more,
Till, aiding in the great emprise,
His comrades sank before his eyes.
This—this may Fame's sublimest song
In everlasting note prolong!
O, glorious end! O, death of pride!
The victors for the vanquished died!
But be the shouts of triumph o'er;
Strike the high warbling harp no more!
And let the minstrel's measure know
No tones but tones of martial woe!
O'er the slow undulating tide
Let only mournful music glide,
And but the solemn sounding oar
Awake the silence of the shore.
Let Fancy to the tufted steep
For sad sepulchral sights retire,
Where wildly o'er the moaning deep
The mermaids tear
Their golden hair
And fling it on the funeral pyre.
Such sorrows, to the patriot dear,
Befit a hero's bloody bier;
Such, Lawrence! to thy name be paid
All that can greet thy gallant shade.
O, thou! whose gen'rous arm could save
Thy fellows from an early grave,
What blessings had to him belonged
Who had a life like thine prolonged?
Witness for us! while deeds like those
Approved our prowess to our foes,
Did they not, 'mid ourselves, inspire
In all the emulous desire
As well to act as to admire?
Witness, as well it may,
That one could, unattended, roam
To Albion's very channel home,
In vain but bold essay;
And could bid his cannon sound
To St. Salvador's farthest ground,
Till Andes might the shock rebound,
Of challenging the fray!
145
On thy blue throne exalted high,
We hailed another naval son,
Graced with the gift his arm had won;
A rare and goodly gift, to greet
A country ever proud to meet
The same chivalrous chief, who bore
Rich tributes once from Barbary's shore,
As Allah's sons can tell;
But now a nobler trophy shows,
Wrested from mightier, manlier foes,
Who fought so long—so well.
Vict'ry was ours, and conflict o'er,
Found mercy had been ours before,
And kindness, from elation free,
And frank, high-minded courtesy.
In losing Peace we have not lost
That gentle grace she prizes most.
So may the goddess, when again
She re-ascends her sacred fane,
That fane, whose gates, alas! now closed,
Have stood to force and fraud exposed,
Find still upon her altar's urn
Unquenched its lambent lustre burn.
Without is all the storm and din;
The vestal flame yet lives within.
146
Ocean! inscribe another name;
Surely, we may not ask in vain
For him, who ne'er can ask again!
For him, most prized, yet pitied most—
For Lawrence, honored—Lawrence, lost!
For him, who erst the fight maintained,
And erst the conqueror's chaplet gained,
And better, nobler far,
Who sprang where battle fiercest bled,
Between the living and the dead,
And stayed the waste of war!
For him, whose virtues were declared
By enemies his sword had spared,
What time his arm humanely dared
The reeling captive to sustain,
And snatch the sinking from the main.
The life, in fight half lost before,
Was now to peril risked once more,
Till, aiding in the great emprise,
His comrades sank before his eyes.
This—this may Fame's sublimest song
In everlasting note prolong!
O, glorious end! O, death of pride!
The victors for the vanquished died!
147
Strike the high warbling harp no more!
And let the minstrel's measure know
No tones but tones of martial woe!
O'er the slow undulating tide
Let only mournful music glide,
And but the solemn sounding oar
Awake the silence of the shore.
Let Fancy to the tufted steep
For sad sepulchral sights retire,
Where wildly o'er the moaning deep
The mermaids tear
Their golden hair
And fling it on the funeral pyre.
Such sorrows, to the patriot dear,
Befit a hero's bloody bier;
Such, Lawrence! to thy name be paid
All that can greet thy gallant shade.
O, thou! whose gen'rous arm could save
Thy fellows from an early grave,
What blessings had to him belonged
Who had a life like thine prolonged?
Yet had thy parting been deferred,
Hadst thou been spared, thou hadst but heard
Thy country to thy claims demurred,
Nor paid thee for thy wounds a word.
Hadst thou been spared, thou hadst but heard
148
Nor paid thee for thy wounds a word.
Indignant shade! I see thee stand
On wild Canadia's adverse strand,
While round the night breeze moans,
And pointing with thy shadowy hand,
Thy voice exclaims, “Ungrateful land!
Thou shalt not have my bones!”
On wild Canadia's adverse strand,
While round the night breeze moans,
And pointing with thy shadowy hand,
Thy voice exclaims, “Ungrateful land!
Thou shalt not have my bones!”
Long on the saddened mind shall stay
The thought of that disastrous day,
When, with thy few brave followers round,
Thou daredst dispute th' unequal ground,
Till sunk beneath thy mortal wound;
Nor then—in the recording line
Ne'er be it said—to yield was thine;
Till reeling sense and fainting life
Withheld thee from the desp'rate strife;
Ne'er was that bloody banner down,
So lately starred with thy renown,
Long as thy arm could wield a sword,
Long as thy lips could breathe a word;
Thy deeds, thy voice, this truth revealed,
That Lawrence never knew to yield!
Naught but the final enemy
Who conquers all has conquered thee!
The thought of that disastrous day,
When, with thy few brave followers round,
Thou daredst dispute th' unequal ground,
Till sunk beneath thy mortal wound;
Nor then—in the recording line
Ne'er be it said—to yield was thine;
Till reeling sense and fainting life
Withheld thee from the desp'rate strife;
Ne'er was that bloody banner down,
So lately starred with thy renown,
149
Long as thy lips could breathe a word;
Thy deeds, thy voice, this truth revealed,
That Lawrence never knew to yield!
Naught but the final enemy
Who conquers all has conquered thee!
Yet still the tributary verse
Must flow lamenting round thy hearse;
For partial Heaven in thee combined
The sternest with the softest mind;
Seemed that thou wert but lent, to show
The rest of Ocean's race below
How all the charities might blend,
Of father, brother, husband, friend,
Till, perfecting the patriot plan,
The warrior mellowed in the man!
But, hark! E'en now what tidings swell!
Last, but not least, they speed to tell
Where Burroughs the invader spoiled,
His arms, his arts, o'erpowered and foiled,
But in the struggle fell!
Must flow lamenting round thy hearse;
For partial Heaven in thee combined
The sternest with the softest mind;
Seemed that thou wert but lent, to show
The rest of Ocean's race below
How all the charities might blend,
Of father, brother, husband, friend,
Till, perfecting the patriot plan,
The warrior mellowed in the man!
But, hark! E'en now what tidings swell!
Last, but not least, they speed to tell
Where Burroughs the invader spoiled,
His arms, his arts, o'erpowered and foiled,
But in the struggle fell!
Then be it so! An end so great
No sighs but sighs of envy wait!
What could a Roman triumph more,
Than passed his closing eyes before?
With falt'ring hand and bosom gored,
'Twas his to grasp a conq'ror's sword,
Like gallant Wolfe, well “satisfied”
In that he conquered, and he died!
No sighs but sighs of envy wait!
150
Than passed his closing eyes before?
With falt'ring hand and bosom gored,
'Twas his to grasp a conq'ror's sword,
Like gallant Wolfe, well “satisfied”
In that he conquered, and he died!
Ocean! when storms of conflict o'er,
Shall desolate our coasts no more,
But that firm race of thine shall come
To dignify a peaceful home,
O, grant that race to prove them, then,
Better as well as braver men;
Wise to forbear, in civil life,
As bold to dare in hostile strife;
For angel eyes, that turn afar
Abhorrent from the scenes of war,
Have yet beheld, with tears of joy,
Virtues which war could not destroy;
That in the hot and tempting hour
Of mad success and lawless power,
When Av'rice, Pride, Revenge, contend
For mastery in the human fiend,
Could chain these furies to their den,
And make the victors more than men!
Nor solely to the chieftain free
This might of magnanimity;
Round many an humbler head it glowed,
Through many a humbler heart it flowed;
Those who, whate'er their leaders claim,
Must fall, themselves, unknown to Fame;
Theirs the toil without the praise;
The conquest theirs, but not its bays.
Shall desolate our coasts no more,
But that firm race of thine shall come
To dignify a peaceful home,
O, grant that race to prove them, then,
Better as well as braver men;
Wise to forbear, in civil life,
As bold to dare in hostile strife;
For angel eyes, that turn afar
Abhorrent from the scenes of war,
Have yet beheld, with tears of joy,
Virtues which war could not destroy;
That in the hot and tempting hour
Of mad success and lawless power,
When Av'rice, Pride, Revenge, contend
For mastery in the human fiend,
Could chain these furies to their den,
And make the victors more than men!
151
This might of magnanimity;
Round many an humbler head it glowed,
Through many a humbler heart it flowed;
Those who, whate'er their leaders claim,
Must fall, themselves, unknown to Fame;
Theirs the toil without the praise;
The conquest theirs, but not its bays.
Then grant, great Ruler of the Main!
These virtues they may long retain;
So shall thy waters ne'er be viewed
Without a burst of gratitude;
So, when War's angry flame retires,
And ling'ring, on thy bed expires,
These, tried and purified, shall rise,
And, phœnix-like, ascend the skies.
These virtues they may long retain;
So shall thy waters ne'er be viewed
Without a burst of gratitude;
So, when War's angry flame retires,
And ling'ring, on thy bed expires,
These, tried and purified, shall rise,
And, phœnix-like, ascend the skies.
This refers to Capt. Somes and Lieutenants Wadsworth and Israel, who, seeing themselves surrounded by three gunboats in the harbor of Tripoli, on the remarkable night of August 4th, 1804, with no prospect of escape, preferred death to slavery, and putting a match to the train of the fireship Intrepid, blew the whole into the air!
| Poems and miscellanies selected from the writings of Miss Eliza Townsend | |