 | War |  |
[WAR: BOOK I.]
Ye patriots sage; who plann'd the deep designsOf war: 'midst which Britannia dreadful shines;
(On whom she leans, with great exulting glow;
Where'er you point, she strikes the wasting blow;)
Ye mighty warriors! terrors of the world!
By whom, at land, and sea, our thunder's hurl'd)
To you this book is sent, with filial fear;
Craves fost'ring smiles; and begs paternal care.
You, who like David's worthies, round the throne
Of mighty George, form a tremendous zone!
From you the transports flow! 'tis you inspire!
As blust'ring winds to flame blow latent fire!
From you I caught the great resistless glow!
Whilst you dealt veng'ance on th' insulting foe!
Whilst you, on land, the pride of Gaul restrain!
Or sweep victorious o'er the swelling main!
2
With ardour wing'd! pursues you to the fight!
So few in years, my life, (without esteem;)
I have no patron for the glorious theme;
Oh! prop the cause of honour! fame! and truth!
Cherish the sallies of unripen'd youth!
Since from your deeds, the growing theme must rise;
Accept the tribute due, and deign to patronize.
When I at first poetic ardour knew,
And big with martial themes my bosom grew!
From pregnant fancy, (fired by warlike worth)
My rising thoughts prepar'd to sally forth
In years a child, in litt'rature more young;
With secret transport on the theme I hung!
I heard much talk of Dettingen's fam'd fight,
Where Lewis bow'd beneath the lion's might.
Grown more mature, (a manly age attain'd)
The strong impressions on my mind remain'd.
I wish'd a day like that, to grace my pen,
When George the second fought at Dettingen;
Whose presence banish'd all desponding dread,
And thro' the ranks an emulation spread:
Whilst brave Augustus, from his royal Sire,
Caught the great flame, and burn'd with martial fire;
Methought I trod the glorious sanguin'd way;
When Cumberland pierc'd thro' the French array!
Sometimes I view'd intrepid Ligonier!
Plunging thro' deaths! and void of grov'ling fear!
George stood like Jove amidst a thunder-storm;
Like bolts & light'nings these the Gallic ranks deform.
The triumphs and the terrors of the fight,
Rose to my view, and play'd across my sight.
Quick thro' the chase my flying fancy sped,
When gens d'armes, and main corps, in pannic fled.
Headlong they drove! afraid to stop for breath!
Rush'd thro' the Rhine, and plung'd to watry death!
Colours deserted; 'mongst the wounded lie;
And Gallic standards wear a purple dye:
Guns, pikes, spontoons, in wild disorder spread,
Promiscuous lie among the num'rous dead:
Drums, horses, chiefs, riv'd helms, & spouting brains!
Breastplates and loathsome carnage load the plains.
So the fam'd field of Dettingen appear'd,
With Gallic troops bestrew'd, with Gallic blood besmear'd.
Just as I reach'd the years to mark me man,
The present war to burn a fresh began;
Design'd, no doubt, by strong resistless fate,
To fling proud Gallic from her high estate.
When Wolfe and Amherst, with Britannia's host,
Descended on Cape Breton's hostile coast;
Now first my heart conceiv'd the great design,
Whilst these two heroes mightily combine
To sink or burn the fleet, and raze the walls,
Of Louisbourg, with Britain's bombs and balls.
When Maloe's fleets, in English flames expir'd;
The burning news my teeming fancy fir'd;
I trac'd prince Edward close to Cherburg's wall,
And saw the pride of France before him fall:
My raptur'd bosom, big with pleasure grew;
When Boscawen oppos'd, and beat De Clue.
Who shrank, o'erpow'r'd from his impetuous fire,
And left his Ocean in the flames t'expire;
But oh! who can the wond'rous, glow disclose,
When Hawke (by tars esteemed) beat Britain's foes?
Whilst he with rapid flight to conquest flew,
Constans tranfix'd, devoid of courage grew;
He led the van, the rear, and center run;
And England's fire devour'd the Royal Sun !
As in his soul, who clasps the yielding fair,
The mighty transports roll beyond compare,
My joys rush'd in like a tumultous flood;
The pond'rous pleasure trill'd along my blood:
When certain news arriv'd to glad our land,
(Which shall unparallel'd for ages stand)
Our troops had giv'n the num'rous Gauls a check,
And Townshend had possession of Quebec;
Like rocks, amid the fight, our warriors stood;
Death conquer'd Wolfe! but Wolfe Quebec subdu'd:
All these events, and more, my breast inspir'd;
By warmth unknown before my soul was fir'd:
To sing th' exploits Britannia's sons have done,
What wonders they've perform'd, what mighty battles won:
Can I, whilst they victorious onward roll,
In nervous thund'ring diction trace the whole?
Who can the wond'rous worthy task perform?
Speak as they fight, or write as when they storm?
The task, the toils of Hercules exceeds;
Phæton as well might drive Apollo's steeds:
Now for old Homer's flight, and Homer's fire;
Come Homer's soul, and all my soul inspire:
Thy strong conceptions with my fancy blend,
Like thine, the task is war! like thine the theme must end!
Oh! might a portion now of Whitehead's skills!
Or Mason's fire, my glowing bosom fill:
Might Johnson's genius in may soul preside,
Direct, suggest, and my invention guide:
The slacken'd reins to fancy's flight I'd give,
And in immortal lines each hero's name should live!
But fate denies what reason bids me ask;
Youth immatur'd, must grapple with the task:
A pond'rous task, but 'tis a glorious aim;
My fancy's fir'd amid the warlike theme.
And as the clangor of the trumpet's sound
Makes the fierce horse with fury paw the ground;
A gen'rous ardour trills along his veins;
To glory's goal he scours the sanguin'd plains:
So I, well pleas'd, fair honour's call obey,
Sing Britain's triumph, and the Gaul's dismay,
Of Providence and Britain's happy state,
By heav'n preserv'd from black impending fate;
This be my theme, this be my sweet employ;
To sing the strain with great enrapt'ring joy.
Clio! Urania! guide me thro' the whole;
And with cœlestial ardours fill my soul
In nervous diction, teach my tongue to sing,
Great George, victorious, Britain's much lov'd King.
To tell how Edward, Brunswick's grandson, fought;
And Howe, and Marlb'rough, Britain's vengeance brought
Round Maloe's walls, mute guns & troops in fright;
Whilst fleets ascend in air, 'midst blazing night!
Set Wolfe, Hawke, Amherst, Boscawen, to view;
Speak all their worth, and give them honour due:
With Schomberg, Rogers, Johnson, greatly fam'd,
Let Monckton, Townshend, Keppel, Clive, be nam'd.
3
To trace the sons of Scotland through the war:
Display the prowess of that martial race;
And in true light their matchless valour place.
Bring ev'ry British hero on the stage,
By patriot ardour fired, and manly rage,
Who dar'd in Britain's cause against the foe t'engage.
Rouze me to trace 'em thro' each fierce alarm!
With martial sentiments, my bosom warm!
Teach me to sing, their dread voracious frowns,
In flaming death! thro' Gallic troops, and towns!
Oh! give me ardour! such as well may fit
The fortitude, and eloquence of Pitt,
His name, a place, most worthily may claim,
To aggrandize the pleasing warlike theme;
That Pitt! Which Gallic lines cou'd never sound!
Greatly capacious! wond'rously profound!
Where Lewis, and his politicks are drown'd!
There all his treasures of the torrid Zone,
With northern furs, forts, settlements, are thrown!
There sunk Quebec, to grand destruction down!
A vast exulting glow, my bosom warms!
For heav'n, propitious, prospers Britain's arms!
And mighty Fred'rick's name, the quadrate league alarms!
George fills the throne, and governs well these lands;
Next him, with manly soul, great Pitt commands;
And on a Legge well fix'd, most firmly stands!
So many giant-like, of late have rose,
And dealt with patriot zeal, 'gainst Gaul their blows!
Have acted like the hand of mighty fate,
To prop the throne, and save the British state!
As stands the man, o'erwhelm'd with dazzling light,
The oculist have just restor'd to sight:
Around he looks, absorp'd in dear amaze!
And new born bliss, midst bright Apollo's blaze:
With glorious transports: wonders he surveys,
His Maker's Hand, Omnipotent, displays:
So view I Royal George, with conquest crown'd,
Whilst throngs of heroes brave; his throne surround,
In pleasing joy; and grand reflection drown'd;
Homer, his great Achilles much extoll'd,
And in the list of fame, a few inroll'd;
Express'd a grand luxuriance of thought,
When he each hero into action brought;
And with heroic skill, the great narration wrought.
But had he liv'd in George the Second's days,
A deathless monument of fame to raise
For ev'ry hero we in Britain find,
The task would grow too great for Homer's mind.
All, cannot with distinguish'd merit shine,
Cohorts must throng, in one great pleasing line;
And fleets, in compass of a single page,
Attack, repel, and quell the hostile rage.
When first th' unwelcome news to us was known,
The Gallic thunder fell on Portmahon;
As mourns the mother (fond,) her offspring's cries,
Who craves her aid, from threat'ning danger flies,
Marternal doubts, and ardent wishes rise.
So mourn'd each Britain true, Minorca's fate,
Approaching near, and imminently great;
At length, the thund'ring news reach'd Britain's coast,
Our squadron fled, and Portmahon was lost;
Reports came thick, the French prepar'd to land,
And ravage England, with a mighty hand;
Their threat'ning troops, to fancy strong appear'd,
And sighs, and pray'rs, and sad portents were heard!
Gallia, with conquest flush'd! pronounc'd our doom,
And England seem'd involv'd in horrid gloom!
(As children with a bugbear tail are scar'd,
So we, of fleets, and troops, affrighted heard!
E'en like the sun, forth bursting from a cloud,
(With lightning stor'd, and stormy tempest loud;)
To glad the traveller in lonely ways,
And shed around, his sweet all-cheering blaze,
Now Pitt arose, to glad our mournful isle,
Dispell'd the gloom, and made Britannia smile!
The scandal of the nation soon was raz'd,
Th' insulting foe retir'd, transfix'd! amaz'd!
Before his eloquence, black perfidy was chas'd!
He plann'd the war; and practis'd martial schemes;
And waken'd Lewis from his conq'ring dreams.
The Gallic thunder fell on Portmahon;
As mourns the mother (fond,) her offspring's cries,
Who craves her aid, from threat'ning danger flies,
Marternal doubts, and ardent wishes rise.
So mourn'd each Britain true, Minorca's fate,
Approaching near, and imminently great;
At length, the thund'ring news reach'd Britain's coast,
Our squadron fled, and Portmahon was lost;
Reports came thick, the French prepar'd to land,
And ravage England, with a mighty hand;
Their threat'ning troops, to fancy strong appear'd,
And sighs, and pray'rs, and sad portents were heard!
Gallia, with conquest flush'd! pronounc'd our doom,
And England seem'd involv'd in horrid gloom!
(As children with a bugbear tail are scar'd,
So we, of fleets, and troops, affrighted heard!
E'en like the sun, forth bursting from a cloud,
(With lightning stor'd, and stormy tempest loud;)
To glad the traveller in lonely ways,
And shed around, his sweet all-cheering blaze,
Now Pitt arose, to glad our mournful isle,
Dispell'd the gloom, and made Britannia smile!
The scandal of the nation soon was raz'd,
Th' insulting foe retir'd, transfix'd! amaz'd!
Before his eloquence, black perfidy was chas'd!
He plann'd the war; and practis'd martial schemes;
And waken'd Lewis from his conq'ring dreams.
Now like a lion rousing from his den,
(To meet the dogs, and animating men;)
Who sees his cub lie sprawling on the ground,
Whom hungry dogs, most greedily surround:
He shakes his mane, and from his wrathful eyes,
Indignant fire, in dreadful glances flies;
Horrid he roars; and swings his mighty tail,
For grand revenge, prepares both tooth and nail;
Foaming, he views the lacerated spoil;
(Hunters, and dogs, and horses, back recoil;)
So England rous'd, on fell revenge inclin'd:
'Gainst Maloes, Cherburg, Louisbourg design'd;
As if one soul did ev'ry Briton fire,
All rush to arms, and burn with wrathful ire;
Now o'er the main, our fleets assert our right,
Round Britain's standard, with a stern delight;
Troops throng on troops, and wish the rumour'd fight,
With free-born rage, all animated stand,
At danger spurn, and dare the foe to land:
Wives, children, laws, and liberty's sweet charms,
With threefold ardour ev'ry bosom warms;
Now Watson, Sayer, Barrington arose,
Rous'd in the storm; and crush'd Britannia's foes;
Clive, Marsh, and Mason, Draper, Koppel, Moore,
To Africa, and India, veng'ance bore;
These, with more brave commanders thither sail'd,
With mighty hand, against our foes prevail'd.
Like hurricanes, and earthquakes, forc'd their way,
Made nations bend, and own great George's sway;
Reliev'd Madrass, repair'd its batter'd wall;
Triumphant seiz'd on swarthy Senegal;
Their cannon shook devoted hostile ground,
And scatter'd deaths, 'mongst faithless tribes around;
They stood transfix'd! their vital blood ran cold;
Whilst England's storms, o'er towns, and ramparts roll'd;
Houses, and walls, from their foundations stray'd,
And pil'd in smoaking waste, o'erwhelm'd the blasted dead;
Granada now, St. Martin's, Guadaloup,
Beneath Britannia's might, submissive stoop,
Marigalante, Surat, Chandernagore,
Calcutta trembled, whilst Clive's thunders roar;
Clive; by whose might, Chandernagore was raz'd,
Before whom twice, the Nabob fled amaz'd;
Clive; whose impetuous war, bore down his foes;
Clive; who made Nabobs; Nabobs could depose;
This adds a lustre to great Brunswick's throne,
His gen'ral does, what conqu'ring Rome has done.
Victorious oft; for battle greatly fam'd;
By Africans, The never to be conquer'd nam'd;
(Tho' with more ships, by thousands better man'd,
Enough to make pale fear itself to stand;)
Thrice fled D'Ache, when dreaded Pocock came,
'Midst English tars, and sheets of British flame.
(To meet the dogs, and animating men;)
Who sees his cub lie sprawling on the ground,
Whom hungry dogs, most greedily surround:
He shakes his mane, and from his wrathful eyes,
Indignant fire, in dreadful glances flies;
Horrid he roars; and swings his mighty tail,
For grand revenge, prepares both tooth and nail;
Foaming, he views the lacerated spoil;
(Hunters, and dogs, and horses, back recoil;)
So England rous'd, on fell revenge inclin'd:
'Gainst Maloes, Cherburg, Louisbourg design'd;
As if one soul did ev'ry Briton fire,
All rush to arms, and burn with wrathful ire;
Now o'er the main, our fleets assert our right,
Round Britain's standard, with a stern delight;
Troops throng on troops, and wish the rumour'd fight,
With free-born rage, all animated stand,
At danger spurn, and dare the foe to land:
Wives, children, laws, and liberty's sweet charms,
With threefold ardour ev'ry bosom warms;
Now Watson, Sayer, Barrington arose,
Rous'd in the storm; and crush'd Britannia's foes;
Clive, Marsh, and Mason, Draper, Koppel, Moore,
To Africa, and India, veng'ance bore;
These, with more brave commanders thither sail'd,
With mighty hand, against our foes prevail'd.
Like hurricanes, and earthquakes, forc'd their way,
Made nations bend, and own great George's sway;
Reliev'd Madrass, repair'd its batter'd wall;
Triumphant seiz'd on swarthy Senegal;
Their cannon shook devoted hostile ground,
And scatter'd deaths, 'mongst faithless tribes around;
They stood transfix'd! their vital blood ran cold;
Whilst England's storms, o'er towns, and ramparts roll'd;
Houses, and walls, from their foundations stray'd,
And pil'd in smoaking waste, o'erwhelm'd the blasted dead;
Granada now, St. Martin's, Guadaloup,
Beneath Britannia's might, submissive stoop,
Marigalante, Surat, Chandernagore,
Calcutta trembled, whilst Clive's thunders roar;
4
Before whom twice, the Nabob fled amaz'd;
Clive; whose impetuous war, bore down his foes;
Clive; who made Nabobs; Nabobs could depose;
This adds a lustre to great Brunswick's throne,
His gen'ral does, what conqu'ring Rome has done.
Victorious oft; for battle greatly fam'd;
By Africans, The never to be conquer'd nam'd;
(Tho' with more ships, by thousands better man'd,
Enough to make pale fear itself to stand;)
Thrice fled D'Ache, when dreaded Pocock came,
'Midst English tars, and sheets of British flame.
Now English worthies, on the continent,
Made Indian-French, and savages repent
Their cruel, Black, infernal, scalping rage,
Not daring with our free-born troops to engage;
They fought in fear, or fled in foul disgrace,
As tim'rous deers, when angry lions chase.
Made Indian-French, and savages repent
Their cruel, Black, infernal, scalping rage,
Not daring with our free-born troops to engage;
They fought in fear, or fled in foul disgrace,
As tim'rous deers, when angry lions chase.
Not satiate so, on ampler veng'ance bent,
Against Cape Breton, England's fleet is sent.
Behold, they come; off Louisbourg appear;
Their coming strikes with an amazing fear;
Pale tremor fills French forts, and troops, and towns,
And scalping crews, for angry Britain frowns;
And like Briareus with an hundred hands,
She seiz'd on African, and Indian lands,
And pour'd around, her brave victorious bands,
Onward they roll'd, like an o'erwhelming flood;
And delug'd Gallic lands, in Gallic blood;
Against Cape Breton, England's fleet is sent.
Behold, they come; off Louisbourg appear;
Their coming strikes with an amazing fear;
Pale tremor fills French forts, and troops, and towns,
And scalping crews, for angry Britain frowns;
And like Briareus with an hundred hands,
She seiz'd on African, and Indian lands,
And pour'd around, her brave victorious bands,
Onward they roll'd, like an o'erwhelming flood;
And delug'd Gallic lands, in Gallic blood;
The French invasion now, is fear'd no more,
Our troops prepar'd to tread the Gallic shore:
On ev'ry side, their angry blows they dealt,
St. Maloes first, their vengeful fury felt;
(The French flat bottom'd policy repaid,
Heav'n sent the Prussian Hero to their aid.)
There, before Britain's troops, by Marlb'rough led,
On friendly ground, the tim'rous Frenchmen fled,
Whilst under covert of St. Maloe's wall,
Whole fleets of ships, an easy conquest fall.
Six scores their number, (needless are their names,)
A prey, to Britain's dread voracious flames;
As from on high, the tow'ring eagles ken
The serpent's brood, before the female's den;
Downward they souse, and seize the scaly prey,
In griping talons, safely born away.
(They mock the mother's hiss, with gen'rous scorn,
Aloft in air, the venom'd brood is born;
So Howe, and Marlb'rough, jointly sped their way,
And boldly seiz'd upon the Gallic prey;
Greatly resolv'd, the neighb'ring forts they dare,
Whilst hostile wealth evaporates in air;
Our troops prepar'd to tread the Gallic shore:
On ev'ry side, their angry blows they dealt,
St. Maloes first, their vengeful fury felt;
(The French flat bottom'd policy repaid,
Heav'n sent the Prussian Hero to their aid.)
There, before Britain's troops, by Marlb'rough led,
On friendly ground, the tim'rous Frenchmen fled,
Whilst under covert of St. Maloe's wall,
Whole fleets of ships, an easy conquest fall.
Six scores their number, (needless are their names,)
A prey, to Britain's dread voracious flames;
As from on high, the tow'ring eagles ken
The serpent's brood, before the female's den;
Downward they souse, and seize the scaly prey,
In griping talons, safely born away.
(They mock the mother's hiss, with gen'rous scorn,
Aloft in air, the venom'd brood is born;
So Howe, and Marlb'rough, jointly sped their way,
And boldly seiz'd upon the Gallic prey;
Greatly resolv'd, the neighb'ring forts they dare,
Whilst hostile wealth evaporates in air;
Calcutta, and Chandernagore, were taken by Gen. Clive, the Nabob was twice defeated by him; and Jaffier Ali Cawn made Nabob. The people in that country, gave him a name which in their language signifies The never to be conquer'd.
The Romans would often depose one king, and raise another, General Clive deposed the Nabob, and raised another to that dignity.
Stretch'd off, and on, upon the swelling sea
It pleas'd the hand of heav'n to interpose,
And send on Britain's fleet its stormy woes;
'Cause Louisbourg, as yet, not ripe for fate,
Must be preserved to a longer date.
A heavy gale, at first, the fleet divides,
The rolling waves, dash'd hard against their sides;
A tempest next, with fury uncontroul'd,
High o'er their decks, the surging billows roll'd;
The foaming ocean madly round 'em rag'd;
A hurricane, the British fleet engag'd;
Each ship was now in danger to be lost,
The storm urg'd hard, upon the hostile coast;
Still grew more strong, and louder than before,
And forc'd our fleet upon the Gallic shore.
No longer now, they cou'd the fury brave
Of wind, and ev'ry pond'rous dashing wave;
Towards the shore, in grand confusion ride;
Born on the back of the tumultuous tide.
As vapours vanish in the spacious air,
The angry winds, the spreading canvas tear;
Halliards, and stays give way, like burning tow;
Yards, topmasts, blocks, a pond'rous burden grow;
With crashing noise, come trumbling down below;
Wave, after wave, rolls over the quarter-deck,
Sweeps fore and aft, and threats each ship with wreck:
Amid the waves they plunge; again they rise
On watry hills, and seem to greet the skies;
High o'er the windward side, proud billows come,
To leeward roll, in froth, and briny foam;
Each tumbling ship, now sallies as she glides,
And in the ocean dips her lofty sides;
Lan-yards, main-shrouds, and chain-plates go to wreck,
The lower masts, are shorten'd to the deck;
And from their breechings, heavy cannons break;
To stop the guns, hammocks are quickly slung;
And now, the heavy unstay'd boltsprit's sprung;
A damp, now chills the boldest seaman's soul,
As they drive on, and in the tempest roll;
The danger now, seems greater than before,
For just a-lee, behold the Gallic shore;
Captains, lieutenants, boatswains, vainly rave,
In vain, the hardy tars, the tempest brave;
The ship's impell'd by each impetuous wave;
Amid the tempest, human speech is drown'd,
From stem, to stern, nought but confusion's found;
Whilst some, (perhaps) are floating on the sea,
Wash'd from the decks, or blown with yards away.
Anchors, are now the only hope that's found,
Yet oft, they furrow up the faithless ground.
The Tilbury, no longer can sustain
The rough assault of the tempestous main:
Her cables part, whilst angry tempests roar
And like a horse unbribled, leaps on shore;
There soon became a dismal shatter'd wreck,
The massy beams, and solid timbers break;
Bolts, trunnels, staples, knees, and all give way,
The floating ruin spreads the surging sea;
High o'er the ship, the foaming tempest laves;
And British seamen sink in wat'ry graves;
Powder, design'd in thunder to displode,
Sinks down, oppress'd with an aquatic load,
Is now expended on the Gallic shore,
In other noise, than when loud cannons roar.
5
Of all their fears, the English squadron eas'd:
The foaming surges, wear a smoother form,
God nodded peace; and silent grew the storm;
Half wreck'd; dismasted; in a dismal sort;
Our fleet soon anchor'd in a friendly port;
From whence to England, back again they plough,
And Britons mourn'd the stormy overthrow.
Still, like a loaded thunder-cloud from far,
Great Britain growl'd revenge, and flaming war;
England, still ruminates, to gallia's dread,
On veng'ance stern, and ruin widely spread;
Minorca's fall, for great reprisals cries;
She views Cape-Breton with revengeful eyes;
So storm'd Achilles, his Patroclus lost,
And ey'd great Hector mid the Trojan host.
He grasp'd his spear; he pois'd his pond'rous shield;
Compleatly arm'd, again, he took the field;
His teeth he gnash'd, and with a mortal frown,
Thin'd Trojan ranks, and mow'd their warriors down.
Beneath his blows, the tim'rous Dardans yield,
And godlike Hector, breathless loads the field.
Great Britain growl'd revenge, and flaming war;
England, still ruminates, to gallia's dread,
On veng'ance stern, and ruin widely spread;
Minorca's fall, for great reprisals cries;
She views Cape-Breton with revengeful eyes;
So storm'd Achilles, his Patroclus lost,
And ey'd great Hector mid the Trojan host.
He grasp'd his spear; he pois'd his pond'rous shield;
Compleatly arm'd, again, he took the field;
His teeth he gnash'd, and with a mortal frown,
Thin'd Trojan ranks, and mow'd their warriors down.
Beneath his blows, the tim'rous Dardans yield,
And godlike Hector, breathless loads the field.
At length, the wish'd-for spring, once more appear'd,
And Boscawen, the British banners rear'd:
The glad'ning news, with pleasure fill'd each mind,
Great George, a second northern was design'd;
English, Hibernians, Scotchmen, now are shipt,
With all accoutrements for war equipt;
With brazen mortars, whence the bombs are flung,
And congregating fleets together throng:
The pond'rous batt'ring guns are put on board,
With barr'd, and round shot, ships are largely stor'd;
With bombs, tents, horses, (fit to draw the car,)
And all the apparatus of the war;
With loads of sooty grain, to fling the bombs from far;
Our fleets refitted, o'er the billows ride;
(The dread of France; and Britain's naval pride;)
Widely they spread, upon the swelling sea,
And thro' the western ocean spread their way;
The dreadful pomp, of threatning war display;
Heav'n smil'd th' assent, and back they ne'er return'd,
Till batter'd Louisbourg, in flaming ruin mourn'd;
Behold they come, with friendly squadrons meet,
Retard, and intercept the Gallic fleet:
Widely they stretch along the hostile coast,
Not long, e'er Lewis mourns this island lost.
A council's call'd, where measures they propose,
Where best to land, where most annoy the foes;
Brave Boscawen, (like Ithaca's sage king,)
The hinge, on whom, the grand design must swing,
Wisely forsaw, (and ponder'd in his mind,)
Unless our troops, unanimous combin'd,
The whole design might soon abortive prove,
As that, where Moab , Seir, and Ammon strove.
First discontent, next martial anger burn'd,
Each drew his sword, against his ally turn'd;
England too oft, the like mishap hath mourn'd;
But Boscawen, of large and gen'rous soul;
So well projected, and contriv'd the whole,
That English, Scotchmen, and Hibernians bear
Of fame, and danger both, an equal share.
To his sage conduct we may chiefly owe,
The French repuls'd, with rapid overthrow;
Now all prepar'd (the landing place in view,)
For sev'ral days, a blust'ring tempest blew:
Which for that space, the bold attempt retards;
But Providence, the British frigates guards;
For tho' they rode full near the hostile shore,
And Gallic cannon, with incessant roar,
And tho' brisk fire from mortars was maintain'd,
Small was the loss, or damage they sustain'd;
And Boscawen, the British banners rear'd:
The glad'ning news, with pleasure fill'd each mind,
Great George, a second northern was design'd;
English, Hibernians, Scotchmen, now are shipt,
With all accoutrements for war equipt;
With brazen mortars, whence the bombs are flung,
And congregating fleets together throng:
The pond'rous batt'ring guns are put on board,
With barr'd, and round shot, ships are largely stor'd;
With bombs, tents, horses, (fit to draw the car,)
And all the apparatus of the war;
With loads of sooty grain, to fling the bombs from far;
Our fleets refitted, o'er the billows ride;
(The dread of France; and Britain's naval pride;)
Widely they spread, upon the swelling sea,
And thro' the western ocean spread their way;
The dreadful pomp, of threatning war display;
Heav'n smil'd th' assent, and back they ne'er return'd,
Till batter'd Louisbourg, in flaming ruin mourn'd;
Behold they come, with friendly squadrons meet,
Retard, and intercept the Gallic fleet:
Widely they stretch along the hostile coast,
Not long, e'er Lewis mourns this island lost.
A council's call'd, where measures they propose,
Where best to land, where most annoy the foes;
Brave Boscawen, (like Ithaca's sage king,)
The hinge, on whom, the grand design must swing,
Wisely forsaw, (and ponder'd in his mind,)
Unless our troops, unanimous combin'd,
The whole design might soon abortive prove,
As that, where Moab , Seir, and Ammon strove.
First discontent, next martial anger burn'd,
Each drew his sword, against his ally turn'd;
England too oft, the like mishap hath mourn'd;
But Boscawen, of large and gen'rous soul;
So well projected, and contriv'd the whole,
That English, Scotchmen, and Hibernians bear
Of fame, and danger both, an equal share.
To his sage conduct we may chiefly owe,
The French repuls'd, with rapid overthrow;
Now all prepar'd (the landing place in view,)
For sev'ral days, a blust'ring tempest blew:
Which for that space, the bold attempt retards;
But Providence, the British frigates guards;
For tho' they rode full near the hostile shore,
And Gallic cannon, with incessant roar,
And tho' brisk fire from mortars was maintain'd,
Small was the loss, or damage they sustain'd;
Again, the wind, and waters, ceas'd to rage,
And now, the fleet, and troops, prepare t'engage;
Now line of battle ships approach the shore,
And nearer still, the lesser frigates roar;
Against th' opposing foes, a dreadful bar;
Whilst transports quick refund the living war;
Tumult; and noise; and slaughter; quick ensu'd,
And men, and boats, are dash'd upon the flood;
Cannons incessant roar, and bullets rend,
Down thro' the air, the countless bombs descend;
And sulph'rous flames, and clouds of smoke arise,
Whilst from French infantry, the leaden bullet flies,
Mean while, our frigates, cannons, mortars ply;
And bombs, and balls, in deadly volleys fly.
Amherst, and Wolfe, proceed, serene, sedate,
As if themselves had turn'd the hinge of fate.
By them inspir'd, our infantry soon grew
With ardour warm, and to the battle flew;
Bore all before 'em, like the swelling main,
The French could not their mighty charge sustain;
Expanding sheets of vapours cloud the day,
Whilst boats to land (with speed,) pursue their way.
See; see; the crimson blood, brave Bailly stains;
The (glancing) leaden death, hath pierc'd his brains;
The manly Cuthbert's merit well is known,
Who fondly cry'd, my Bailly; dear, you're gone;
Oh; sad; there stopp'd the amicable breath;
Brave Cuthbert felt the dashing iron death;
The fatal bullet, through his body came;
And drown'd in blood, the glowing friendly flame.
From Scottish warriors, tears of anger flow;
Their bosoms glow'd with pond'rous martial woe;
For Cuthbert oft, and Bailly, brav'd the foe.
Both, oft were seen in battles to engage;
Oft fac'd grim death, when cloath'd in Gallic rage.
Ill fated warriors; thus to fall before
Your luckless boat, had reach'd the destin'd shore;
Oh, that you'd liv'd to tread the hostile plain,
Till thousands by your gallant Scotchmen slain;
Their furious blows had felt, and dropp'd around,
And you had scap'd without your mortal wound;
Small cause shall Frenchmen have, your deaths to boast
When once your troops shall firmly tread their coast;
With angry courage fir'd, and gen'rous wrath,
They'll glut the grave, and satiate greedy death;
And now, the fleet, and troops, prepare t'engage;
Now line of battle ships approach the shore,
And nearer still, the lesser frigates roar;
Against th' opposing foes, a dreadful bar;
Whilst transports quick refund the living war;
Tumult; and noise; and slaughter; quick ensu'd,
And men, and boats, are dash'd upon the flood;
Cannons incessant roar, and bullets rend,
Down thro' the air, the countless bombs descend;
And sulph'rous flames, and clouds of smoke arise,
Whilst from French infantry, the leaden bullet flies,
Mean while, our frigates, cannons, mortars ply;
And bombs, and balls, in deadly volleys fly.
Amherst, and Wolfe, proceed, serene, sedate,
As if themselves had turn'd the hinge of fate.
By them inspir'd, our infantry soon grew
With ardour warm, and to the battle flew;
Bore all before 'em, like the swelling main,
The French could not their mighty charge sustain;
Expanding sheets of vapours cloud the day,
Whilst boats to land (with speed,) pursue their way.
See; see; the crimson blood, brave Bailly stains;
The (glancing) leaden death, hath pierc'd his brains;
The manly Cuthbert's merit well is known,
Who fondly cry'd, my Bailly; dear, you're gone;
Oh; sad; there stopp'd the amicable breath;
Brave Cuthbert felt the dashing iron death;
The fatal bullet, through his body came;
And drown'd in blood, the glowing friendly flame.
From Scottish warriors, tears of anger flow;
Their bosoms glow'd with pond'rous martial woe;
For Cuthbert oft, and Bailly, brav'd the foe.
Both, oft were seen in battles to engage;
Oft fac'd grim death, when cloath'd in Gallic rage.
Ill fated warriors; thus to fall before
Your luckless boat, had reach'd the destin'd shore;
Oh, that you'd liv'd to tread the hostile plain,
Till thousands by your gallant Scotchmen slain;
Their furious blows had felt, and dropp'd around,
And you had scap'd without your mortal wound;
Small cause shall Frenchmen have, your deaths to boast
When once your troops shall firmly tread their coast;
With angry courage fir'd, and gen'rous wrath,
They'll glut the grave, and satiate greedy death;
As when the thunder of the mighty Jove,
Is hurl'd from heav'n's strong battlements above;
The loud artill'ry in a dreadful form,
Comes rolling on, amid a pitchy storm;
The direful fragors of th' Æthereal store,
Rattle aloft, with dread, terrific roar:
Lightnings, and bolts, before the growl proceed,
To strike destin'd mark, with rapid fury speed;
So under covert of sulphureous smoke,
Which from the British fleet in thunder broke;
First flew the bolts, t' intimidate the Gauls,
To dash the mud banks, or cemented walls.
Next Scotia's troops to battle sally'd forth,
And Louisbourg confess'd their northern worth;
From clouds of smoke they burst like lightning's blaze,
And struck th' opposing foe with grand amaze;
Few deaths they sent, of iron, or of lead,
But o'er the hostile lines they boldly tread;
And as they march, they death and danger spread.
To closest fight their cohort quickly runs,
And scorns to battle with the distant guns:
They strike the blow, that stops the hostile breath,
And load the foe with storms of steely death;
See; where the sons of Scotland force their way,
With Rangers join'd, in dreadful disarray;
Sustain'd by infantry, array'd in order strong;
Amherst, and Wolfe, who urg'd the landing war along:
They fire, advance, and charge, and to the battle throng.
And comet like, their broad bright swords appear,
Death's in their front, and terror in their rear;
As fierce Achilles, (thunderbolt of war,)
Broke Trojan ranks in his resistless carr;
On rush'd his myrmidons, with faulchions rear'd,
Of troops thick throng'd, the ground was quickly clear'd.
So before, Wolfe, and Amherst, Frenchmen fled,
Their troops advancing struck a mortal dread;
(The tim'rous living stumbled o'er the dead;)
From flank, to flank, the glitt'ring danger shines,
And war's dread havock, marks their spreading lines;
They wave their swords, anticipate the fight,
And strong reblaze the glitt'ring rays of light:
From man to man, they catch the gen'rous glow;
A stupid languor seizes on the foe:
They stand transfix'd; the burnish'd ruin dread;
Thro' Gallia's troops a pannic terror spread;
As when amid the gloom of darkest night,
The transient glances of Tartarean light,
Attack a lonely person with surprize;
And fancy'd fiends in millions round him rise;
Mutely transfix'd, all resolution sleeps,
A chilly damp thro' all his vitals creeps,
A sweating tremor shakes him to the ground,
Amid the tumult all reflection's drown'd.
So as their lines the Caledonians cross'd,
The Frenchmen quick resisting ardour lost:
No longer felt the great heroic glow,
Such as the three united nations know:
Beneath their pond'rous blows, the French troops reel,
Depress'd, & drown'd, 'midst show'rs of northern steel,
Our troops (resolv'd,) no dangers cou'd controul,
Tho' high on shore, the foaming billows roll:
Tho' thousands there (entrench'd,) the beach command;
And guns, and mortars, throng'd the hostile strand:
Headed by Wolfe, they plunge into the flood,
And wade to Louisbourg through Gallic blood;
Where English, Scotch, and bold Hibernians storm,
How strong the triple union they can form;
The threefold pow'rs their gallantry display,
Like powder, shot, and fire impetuous force their way;
Is hurl'd from heav'n's strong battlements above;
The loud artill'ry in a dreadful form,
Comes rolling on, amid a pitchy storm;
6
Rattle aloft, with dread, terrific roar:
Lightnings, and bolts, before the growl proceed,
To strike destin'd mark, with rapid fury speed;
So under covert of sulphureous smoke,
Which from the British fleet in thunder broke;
First flew the bolts, t' intimidate the Gauls,
To dash the mud banks, or cemented walls.
Next Scotia's troops to battle sally'd forth,
And Louisbourg confess'd their northern worth;
From clouds of smoke they burst like lightning's blaze,
And struck th' opposing foe with grand amaze;
Few deaths they sent, of iron, or of lead,
But o'er the hostile lines they boldly tread;
And as they march, they death and danger spread.
To closest fight their cohort quickly runs,
And scorns to battle with the distant guns:
They strike the blow, that stops the hostile breath,
And load the foe with storms of steely death;
See; where the sons of Scotland force their way,
With Rangers join'd, in dreadful disarray;
Sustain'd by infantry, array'd in order strong;
Amherst, and Wolfe, who urg'd the landing war along:
They fire, advance, and charge, and to the battle throng.
And comet like, their broad bright swords appear,
Death's in their front, and terror in their rear;
As fierce Achilles, (thunderbolt of war,)
Broke Trojan ranks in his resistless carr;
On rush'd his myrmidons, with faulchions rear'd,
Of troops thick throng'd, the ground was quickly clear'd.
So before, Wolfe, and Amherst, Frenchmen fled,
Their troops advancing struck a mortal dread;
(The tim'rous living stumbled o'er the dead;)
From flank, to flank, the glitt'ring danger shines,
And war's dread havock, marks their spreading lines;
They wave their swords, anticipate the fight,
And strong reblaze the glitt'ring rays of light:
From man to man, they catch the gen'rous glow;
A stupid languor seizes on the foe:
They stand transfix'd; the burnish'd ruin dread;
Thro' Gallia's troops a pannic terror spread;
As when amid the gloom of darkest night,
The transient glances of Tartarean light,
Attack a lonely person with surprize;
And fancy'd fiends in millions round him rise;
Mutely transfix'd, all resolution sleeps,
A chilly damp thro' all his vitals creeps,
A sweating tremor shakes him to the ground,
Amid the tumult all reflection's drown'd.
So as their lines the Caledonians cross'd,
The Frenchmen quick resisting ardour lost:
No longer felt the great heroic glow,
Such as the three united nations know:
Beneath their pond'rous blows, the French troops reel,
Depress'd, & drown'd, 'midst show'rs of northern steel,
Our troops (resolv'd,) no dangers cou'd controul,
Tho' high on shore, the foaming billows roll:
Tho' thousands there (entrench'd,) the beach command;
And guns, and mortars, throng'd the hostile strand:
Headed by Wolfe, they plunge into the flood,
And wade to Louisbourg through Gallic blood;
Where English, Scotch, and bold Hibernians storm,
How strong the triple union they can form;
The threefold pow'rs their gallantry display,
Like powder, shot, and fire impetuous force their way;
With circumspection now the ground's survey'd,
From whence artilleries may best be play'd;
And heavy batt'ring guns are dragg'd around,
Advancing engineers work under ground:
Large and small batt'ries, (cover'd from the sight,)
Are plann'd, and form'd, midst silence of the night.
The platforms next, with utmost speed they form,
From whence to roll Great-Britain's thunder storm;
Incentive match, and bombs, are thither brought,
And magazines, with dormant thunder fraught;
Till wak'd by fire, then dashing bolts are thrown,
To raze the wall of thick cemented stone:
Mortars are plac'd, from whose infernal wombs,
Ejecting powder sends the murd'ring bombs.
From whence artilleries may best be play'd;
And heavy batt'ring guns are dragg'd around,
Advancing engineers work under ground:
Large and small batt'ries, (cover'd from the sight,)
Are plann'd, and form'd, midst silence of the night.
The platforms next, with utmost speed they form,
From whence to roll Great-Britain's thunder storm;
Incentive match, and bombs, are thither brought,
And magazines, with dormant thunder fraught;
Till wak'd by fire, then dashing bolts are thrown,
To raze the wall of thick cemented stone:
Mortars are plac'd, from whose infernal wombs,
Ejecting powder sends the murd'ring bombs.
Now every thing against the hour prepar'd
The masks are dropp'd, the British greeting's heard.
Towards the ramparts infantries advance,
Defiance thunders from the forts of France:
The loud explosion rages more and more,
Deep throated guns, and brazen mortars roar:
In undulating air, long hangs the sound,
And flame, and sulph'rous vapours spread around.
As from Mount Etna, and Vesuvius rise,
Thunders, and flames, whilst vapours cloud the skies:
Like these vulcanoes in convulsive rage,
The British troops, and Gallic forts engage.
Advancing corps of infantries gain ground,
The cohorn, fasoine batt'ries play around.
Wolfe well deserves his dread voracious name,
Spreads ruin round, or wide devouring flame;
Around the town he roams, conceal'd in night;
Intent on Gallic prey, maintains the fight;
The silenc'd light-house-batt'ry, owns his might:
Soon grows more dreadful, than it was before;
Inspir'd by Wolfe, and British troops to roar;
Wolfe, on the Island fort, his battle pours;
Incessant, sends, his thund'ring, iron show'rs;
Whilst Amherst, on the town, and grand-fort plays
(On Gallic troops, desponding terrors seize;)
Against the island fort, Wolfe's bosom burns;
His rapid storm, their thunder overturns;
Dash'd by his balls, obstructing ramparts drop;
They even plough, the deep foundations up;
Before his battle, adverse strength is born;
Pomelions, nuts, and muzzles, off are torn;
His fierce assault, the hostile platform feels,
Bestrew'd with useless guns, and broken wheels;
The mould'ring breaches, wide, and wider spread;
Rammers, and sponges, lie among the dead;
Descending bombs, most dreadfully displode;
With ruin'd walls, the shiver'd platforms load;
The fort's defendants, now for shelter fly,
For undistinguish'd, lo, the rampiers lie'
Subverted guns, with wheels aloft display'd,
Among the piles of rubbish, too are laid;
And dreadful devastation widely spread;
Disploded shells, and shot, together throng;
And mortars, from their brazen bases flung;
A prospect odd; of iron; brass; and lead;
Of stones; and mangled bodies of the dead;
Fathers, to future sons, shall this report;
So, fought brave Wolfe; so look'd, the island fort;
By Boscawen, and Hardy, (both) inspir'd,
See, British tars, to deeds of wonder fir'd;
They leave their lofty ships upon the sea;
Destin'd for Louisbourg, they speed their way,
As hungry wolves, will nightly roam for prey;
No whit dismay'd, thro' dangers on they came;
Midst gloom, and shot, and shells, & sulph'rous flame;
Toward the Gallic thunder storms they bend;
With speed alert, their lofty sides ascend;
And from the engineers, the dashing bolts they rend;
Descending Frenchmen, soon their quarters leave,
The cutlass, and the naval pole-ax, cleave;
Not one survives, to wail the hundreds dead;
But carnage great, and total death is spread;
Prudent, in British flame, most fiercely glow'd;
But Bienfaicant they sav'd, and from the harbour tow'd.
So hungry wolves, attack the tim'rous sheep,
In lonely cots, and o'er the fences leap;
Eager, they seize, upon the fleecy prey;
Tear; kill; and drag, whate'er they please away.
The masks are dropp'd, the British greeting's heard.
Towards the ramparts infantries advance,
Defiance thunders from the forts of France:
The loud explosion rages more and more,
Deep throated guns, and brazen mortars roar:
In undulating air, long hangs the sound,
And flame, and sulph'rous vapours spread around.
As from Mount Etna, and Vesuvius rise,
Thunders, and flames, whilst vapours cloud the skies:
Like these vulcanoes in convulsive rage,
The British troops, and Gallic forts engage.
Advancing corps of infantries gain ground,
The cohorn, fasoine batt'ries play around.
Wolfe well deserves his dread voracious name,
Spreads ruin round, or wide devouring flame;
Around the town he roams, conceal'd in night;
Intent on Gallic prey, maintains the fight;
The silenc'd light-house-batt'ry, owns his might:
Soon grows more dreadful, than it was before;
Inspir'd by Wolfe, and British troops to roar;
Wolfe, on the Island fort, his battle pours;
Incessant, sends, his thund'ring, iron show'rs;
Whilst Amherst, on the town, and grand-fort plays
(On Gallic troops, desponding terrors seize;)
Against the island fort, Wolfe's bosom burns;
His rapid storm, their thunder overturns;
Dash'd by his balls, obstructing ramparts drop;
They even plough, the deep foundations up;
Before his battle, adverse strength is born;
Pomelions, nuts, and muzzles, off are torn;
His fierce assault, the hostile platform feels,
Bestrew'd with useless guns, and broken wheels;
The mould'ring breaches, wide, and wider spread;
Rammers, and sponges, lie among the dead;
Descending bombs, most dreadfully displode;
With ruin'd walls, the shiver'd platforms load;
The fort's defendants, now for shelter fly,
For undistinguish'd, lo, the rampiers lie'
Subverted guns, with wheels aloft display'd,
Among the piles of rubbish, too are laid;
And dreadful devastation widely spread;
Disploded shells, and shot, together throng;
And mortars, from their brazen bases flung;
A prospect odd; of iron; brass; and lead;
Of stones; and mangled bodies of the dead;
Fathers, to future sons, shall this report;
So, fought brave Wolfe; so look'd, the island fort;
7
See, British tars, to deeds of wonder fir'd;
They leave their lofty ships upon the sea;
Destin'd for Louisbourg, they speed their way,
As hungry wolves, will nightly roam for prey;
No whit dismay'd, thro' dangers on they came;
Midst gloom, and shot, and shells, & sulph'rous flame;
Toward the Gallic thunder storms they bend;
With speed alert, their lofty sides ascend;
And from the engineers, the dashing bolts they rend;
Descending Frenchmen, soon their quarters leave,
The cutlass, and the naval pole-ax, cleave;
Not one survives, to wail the hundreds dead;
But carnage great, and total death is spread;
Prudent, in British flame, most fiercely glow'd;
But Bienfaicant they sav'd, and from the harbour tow'd.
So hungry wolves, attack the tim'rous sheep,
In lonely cots, and o'er the fences leap;
Eager, they seize, upon the fleecy prey;
Tear; kill; and drag, whate'er they please away.
With ardent balls, brave Wolfe, their fleet doth vex;
Or drops his bombs, upon their open decks;
They sink, or vanish, in sulph'rous blaze;
And with new horrors Louisbourg amaze;
As from the bestowing engine of the skies,
The thunderbolt, and riving light'ning flies;
They rend the knotty oaks, and tear the ground;
And spread a desolating ruin round;
So Wolfe and Amherst, emulous advance,
To waste the troops, and raze the forts of France;
Amherst sends various deaths among the foe;
The troops, and tars, with gen'rous courage glow;
The town, and grand-fort, little respite know;
See, Wolfe, inspires, and spurs his martial pow'rs;
With roar destruction, Louisbourg devours;
Wolfe, plows by night, with caution to survey,
How batt'ring guns, and British mortars play;
Oft looks on Louisbourg, with threat'ning frown;
And show'rs his shot, and shells, upon the town;
Amherst, and Wolfe, full forty days assail
The town, and forts, resolved to prevail.
As oft are known, the meteors of the sky,
With burning tails, descending from on high,
To dash thro houses, quick in ashes lain,
Though oaks are riv'd, and frighted mortals slain:
As they displode, with dreadful thund'ring sound,
And tear, and furrow up, the neighb'ring ground;
Their tow'ring bombs, descending from on high,
With dread commission; to the town they fly;
The crashing roofs give way; they dash to ground;
Displode; and scatter dust, and deaths, around;
Spread devastation wide, thro' all the place;
And lofty domes, to deep foundations raze;
So, flaming Louisbourg, their fury feels;
From English bombs, proceed these various ills;
Men; women; children; welter in their gore;
Shrieks; groans; and flames; mortars; and cannons roar;
With dread confussion, fill the Gallic shore;
Drucoul, no longer, can the fight maintain;
Tho' greatly brave; yet here, his brav'ry's vain;
Tho' wond'rous strong the place, it cannot shield
His troops from death; behold the rampiers yield;
For Wolfe and Amherst, with a thund'ring frown;
Shake the grand fort; and fire the neighb'ring town;
Aloft, great George's banners, were uprear'd;
Brave Boscawen, into the harbour steer'd.
The dreadful scene is chang'd, they hear no more,
The dying groans, nor guns, nor mortars roar,
And slaughter ceases, on the Gallic shore;
The British cannon roar'd, in harmless sort,
When Louisbourg became a friendly port;
Heav'n; hear my prayer; preserve it as our own;
Till Gallic foes, our faithful friends are grown;
Or drops his bombs, upon their open decks;
They sink, or vanish, in sulph'rous blaze;
And with new horrors Louisbourg amaze;
As from the bestowing engine of the skies,
The thunderbolt, and riving light'ning flies;
They rend the knotty oaks, and tear the ground;
And spread a desolating ruin round;
So Wolfe and Amherst, emulous advance,
To waste the troops, and raze the forts of France;
Amherst sends various deaths among the foe;
The troops, and tars, with gen'rous courage glow;
The town, and grand-fort, little respite know;
See, Wolfe, inspires, and spurs his martial pow'rs;
With roar destruction, Louisbourg devours;
Wolfe, plows by night, with caution to survey,
How batt'ring guns, and British mortars play;
Oft looks on Louisbourg, with threat'ning frown;
And show'rs his shot, and shells, upon the town;
Amherst, and Wolfe, full forty days assail
The town, and forts, resolved to prevail.
As oft are known, the meteors of the sky,
With burning tails, descending from on high,
To dash thro houses, quick in ashes lain,
Though oaks are riv'd, and frighted mortals slain:
As they displode, with dreadful thund'ring sound,
And tear, and furrow up, the neighb'ring ground;
Their tow'ring bombs, descending from on high,
With dread commission; to the town they fly;
The crashing roofs give way; they dash to ground;
Displode; and scatter dust, and deaths, around;
Spread devastation wide, thro' all the place;
And lofty domes, to deep foundations raze;
So, flaming Louisbourg, their fury feels;
From English bombs, proceed these various ills;
Men; women; children; welter in their gore;
Shrieks; groans; and flames; mortars; and cannons roar;
With dread confussion, fill the Gallic shore;
Drucoul, no longer, can the fight maintain;
Tho' greatly brave; yet here, his brav'ry's vain;
Tho' wond'rous strong the place, it cannot shield
His troops from death; behold the rampiers yield;
For Wolfe and Amherst, with a thund'ring frown;
Shake the grand fort; and fire the neighb'ring town;
Aloft, great George's banners, were uprear'd;
Brave Boscawen, into the harbour steer'd.
The dreadful scene is chang'd, they hear no more,
The dying groans, nor guns, nor mortars roar,
And slaughter ceases, on the Gallic shore;
The British cannon roar'd, in harmless sort,
When Louisbourg became a friendly port;
Heav'n; hear my prayer; preserve it as our own;
Till Gallic foes, our faithful friends are grown;
Amen.
Ulysses, king of Ithaca, was a Grecian king and warrior, at the siege of Troy, and much renown d for his sagacity, and skill in carrying on a warlike scheme.
Tis said in scripture, when the children of Moab, Ammon, and Mount Seir, came against Israel, a dissention arose among the troops, they drew their swords, attached, and destroyed one another; and by that means, defeated their own designs against the coast of Israel.
Advis'd some spies, shou'd Hector's camp explore,
The sage Ulysses, and neice Diomed,
Thro' Trojan guards, and gloom, and dangers speed.
Amherst, and Wolfe, like these, were wisely chose,
For foreign war, against perfidious foes.
Wisdom, and valour, with united force;
Conduct the Grecians, thro their nightly course.
If skill mature, the great design shou'd ask;
Who fitter then Ulyses, for the task?
Shou'd giant danger, stride a-cross the path;
Tydides fierce; was full of martial wrath;
With mighty strength, his pond'rous spear he drove;
And scarce retreated from the thund'ring Jove;
8
Wolfe had the spirit of Tydeus' son;
Both oft had charg'd; amidst the sulph'rous roar
Of deep mouth'd guns, and thousands in their gore:
Both oft well try'd, to fierce encounters drew,
Where iron deaths, and leaden dangers slew;
Brunswick, and Pitt, on these, securely lean'd,
England, in hope, by these, was well sustain'd,
So Memnon, Nestor, fix'd their hopes upon
Bold Diomed, and sage Laertes' son.
Thro' Dardan ranks, victorious, both had strode;
Their Grecian spears, drink, deep of hostile blood.
Amidst the fiercest shocks, both oft were try d;
Whilst brains, and gore, their biting faulchions dy'd;
Swords, jav'lins, darts, and spears, (in hostile fields,)
In batt'ring storms, had rattled on their shields;
With warlike spoils, their labours oft were crown'd;
For wisdom great, and valour, much renown'd.
They seiz'd on Dolon , struck with wild dismay;
First slew the spy, then sped where Rhesus lay:
Doom'd with his guards, no more to see the light;
Their eyes seal'd up, in everlasting night;
Back to their friends, the heroes safe return'd:
The Trojan camp, their nightly visit mourn'd.
Both plann d, both fought, as dread occasion needs;
And both their souls, were form'd for mighty deeds;
Amherst, and Wolfe, like these, in war renown'd;
Return'd from Louisbourg, with conquest crown'd
The toils of war, each disposition suits;
And either plans, and either executes.
The grecian heroes, their nocturnal course
Heid jointly on, with great united force.
Whilst Diomed, the guards of Rhesus slew,
Wise Ithacus , the bodies backward drew.
Fearing the mettled steeds might scorn the rein,
Unus'd to carnage, and the sanguin'd plain.
Whilst Amherst thunder'd on the frighten'd town;
Wolfe's battle shook the island batt'ry down;
Wise were the Grecian chiefs; not wont to fear;
Sagacious; brave; the British heroes were;
Upon the refusal or Achilles, to return to the army, (which he had deserted, on account of the quarrel beteen him and Agamemnon, who with his troops had laid siege to Troy; but was now by the irresistible prowess of Hector, beaten back to his ships, and entrenchments.) A council of war was call'd by night, for the public safety, and Nestor questions, if none will go to hazard his life to save his country, strive to seize some straggling foe, for penetrate so far into their camp, as to bear their counsels and designs, mentions the glory of the deed, and what gifts! and praises! his greatful country wou'd bestow! Diomed, undertook this hazardous enterprize! and made choice of Ulysses for his companion. In their passage, they surprize Dolon (whom Hector had sent on a like design, to the camp of the Grecians.) From him they are inform'd of the situation of the Trojan, and auxiliary forces, and particularly of Rhesus, and the Thracians, who were lately arrived. They pass on with success; kill Rhesus, with several of his officers, and seize the famous horses of that prince, with which they return in triumph to the camp. The whole story may be read in the 10th book of Homer's Iliad.
Tydides, is Diomed, being the son of Tydeus; and is sometimes in the Iliad, call d Diomed. Tydides, Tydeu's son.
In the 8th book of Homer's Iliad. We have Diomed advancing fiercely to Nestor's rescue, and to battle with Hector, who came thund'ring through the war, and was driving full upon the Pylian sage. Homer makes Jupiter oppose Diomed in these words:
But Jove with awful sound;Roll'd the big thunder o'er the vast profound,
Full in Tydide's face, the lightning flew;
The ground before him, flam'd with sulphur blue.
After which, he discribes him retreating with great reluctance, from Hector's overwhelming battle; though descried by the Grecians, advised to flee by Nestor, and oppos'd by a storm of thunder, and lightning, from Jupiter himself.
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