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The Poetical Works of the Revd. Mr. Colvill

Containing his Pastorals, Occasional Poems, and Elegies on Illustrious persons. Vol. I & II
  

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131

2. [Volume 2]

TO THE MEMORY OF THE HONOURABLE WILLIAM LESLIE,

Captain in the gallant Seventeenth Regiment, who was unfortunately slain when his Battalion forced their Way through the Provincial Army, January 3. 1777.

CANTO I.

Brave William was an Earl's son,
His parents joy and pride;
With knightly bow'rs their castle shone
By Leven's crystal tide.
His breath was like the vernal air,
His cheeks of roseat hue,
His manly form beyond compare,
His eyes like April dew.
Yet well he lov'd in sweat and toil
To train his youthful morn,
Aurora's dawn would oft beguile
With voice of hound and horn;

132

From grot and bow'r would oft repair
The nymphs, with sly resort,
Like Echo for Narcissus fair,
To watch the hunters sport.
Whose sweet officious courtesies,
Meeting repulse, would prove,
With blushing charms, how he defies
He guile of softening love.
Like that sweet boy whom Venus woo'd,
He love with coy disdain
Would scorn, and laurel'd Fame pursu'd,
Amid his dauntless train.
And now, with sparkling eyes, he hears
War's brazen trumpet roar,
“To arms! her crest Rebellion rears
On Atalanta's shore!”
In vain his lovely Sisters sue
His ardour to repress,
In vain his Mother, drown'd in wo,—
He leaves their fond embrace.
And he has plough'd the sea-green wave,
With many a martial train,
All sworn the groaning land to save
From Faction's galling chain;
For likest Stygian fiends among,
With bloody flags unfurl'd,
Rebellion march'd her lawless throng
To spoil the western world.

133

And by her side, in false disguise,
Of heav'n-born liberty,
Licentious Faction, speaking lies,
Strode in proud rivalry;
Heavier Oppression laid her rod
On ev'ry loyal head,
And through, bright Peace! thy bless'd abode,
Vi'lence and Rapin spread.
The British Host, with eager sails,
The ocean's dragon sought,
And in her dreadful den assails;
From morn to eve they fought.
How glow'd brave William's gen'rous soul,
Amid the strife of arms!
Whose only wish was to controul
Rebellion's fierce alarms.
For Britain's glory sole he draws
The steel, nor prizes fame,
An empty sound! his country's cause
Inspires a nobler flame.
Now by a thousand foes inclos'd,
With Murray cut his way,
And fearless Scott , like lions rous'd,
They drive the trembling prey.

134

Now toils by valiant Percy's side,
Where spears and banners burn,
Where He, the soldier's Friend and pride,
Does war's dread fortune turn:
Or follows where fam'd England's Knight,
Like guardian angel flew,
Triumphant 'mid the deadly fight,
To save the vanquish'd crew.
Ah! 'mid the horrent clash of arms,
He miss'd his warlike friend,
Who wont, in time of fierce alarms,
His per'lous steps to tend:
And oft o'er the embattled plain
He call'd, and o'er the heath;
And often William rang'd in vain
The pallid heaps of death.
At last, low in the silent dale,
He found this Knight so true,
A lifeless corpse, all ghastly pale,
His looks of deadly hue.

135

Ah! early lost, like some sweet flow'r,
Death on thy prime doth prey;
How gallant 'mid the battle's stowr,
And now a clod of clay!
Ah! how shall I such tidings bear
To Taia's winding shore!
How tell thy wailing Kindred dear,
I saw thee stretch'd in gore!
With tears they bathe his crimson wound,
With tears bedew his grave;
His tomb with laurel wreathes is crown'd,
Beside the sea-green wave.

137

CANTO II.

As yet wild Tumult rends the Shores,
And o'er th'ensanguin'd plain
Rebellion, dy'd in blood, deplores
Her fiercest Champions slain:
Nor quell'd by foul discomfiture,
Like Hydra for her prey,
Gath'ring her Train with guileful lure,
She watch'd a better day.
And soon that better day drew near,
When Fate revers'd her loom,
With keen revenge and conflicts drear,
And many a Warrior's doom.
Ev'ning drew on her silent reign,
Still, as the watch of Death,
Brave William, with his faithful train,
Pitch'd on the whist'ling Heath.
'Twas Honour's post, who wreathes her brow
With Danger, Death, and Fame;
Hither to curb th'insulting Foe,
With dauntless band, She came.

138

Now ev'ry eye was clos'd in sleep,
All in his Tent reclin'd,
William allay'd in slumbers deep,
The bale of anxious mind.
Like one some direful message sent,
With sorrow to disclose,
A shrouded Ghost, before his Tent,
His slaughter'd Friend arose:
“Why sleep secure on hostile ground!
“The foe have cross'd the wave,
“With myriads sworn, like Captives bound,
“To thrall our Vet'rans brave.
“See Mawhood turn the battle's tide!
“See hostile Champions slain!
“I see the purple wounds you hide,
“Slow drooping o'er the plain.
“Follow! where patriot worth defies
“All dangers, death, or shame,
“Who greatly for his country dies,
“Lives to immortal fame.”
In air the mournful vision fled,
While William nought dismay'd,
Sprung from a hardy soldier's bed,
And thus submissive said;—

139

“Thou who in uncreated light
“Presides! whose grace on high
“Conducts the erring world aright,
“And heav'n's immensity!
“Thy soldier see! no selfish cause
“Of guilty war pursue,
“The sword his injur'd country draws,
“To whom his life is due.
“Whate'er my doom, by thy decree,
“O may my country reign
“Supreme! and Gallic perfidy,
“And Faction's rage restrain.”
Faint gleam'd the early dawn of morn,
He hears with boding sound
Of loud alarm, his Chieftain's horn;
The Warrior's arm around.
Before his loyal troop he flew,
Like light'ning o'er the field,
And swift where threat'ning danger grew,
He Interpos'd his shield,
But what can courage, what can skill,
Against the deadly weight
Of savage numbers, who, with guile,
Th'indignant bands beset.
In wedging brigade thrice they toil'd
To hew their bloody way,
And thrice, in circling orb recoil'd,
Repair'd their grim array.

140

Yield Leslie! yield! accept, young Knight!
The terms which we bequeath,
Nor longer in unequal fight,
Brave an untimely death!
The steel replies—with many a pass
The desp'rate heroes close,
And many a soldier press'd the grass
Amid his dying foes.
Breathing revenge the Britons fierce
Explore their bloody way,
The rebel toils, like lions pierce,
To rend the hunter prey.
Then thro' the horrid breach of war
Victorious pour amain,
And joyful 'scap'd, review afar
The hostile heaps of slain.
But ah! soon sets their clouded joy,
William's deep wound reveal'd
Damps ev'ry heart with sad annoy,
He sinks upon the field!
All help is vain, the life blood streams
Adown his snowy breast!
His eyes grow dim, two setting beams
By death's dark shades o'ercast!
The dying hero by the hand
His mournful Chieftain took,
Aghast the victor cohort stand,
All faint sweet William spoke:

141

“Droop not, my valiant friends! dismaid,
“I meet a glorious death;
“Britain triumphs!” he bow'd his head,
And peaceful yields his breath.
So have I seen a lily fair,
Which vernal hues adorn,
Sink blasted by the blust'ring air,
Of all its beauty shorn:
So seem'd the youth, belov'd in vain,
Gash'd by the Cyprian boar,
His snowy limbs sunk on the plain,
In dust and crimson gore.
O fatal doom of war! full well
Britain for thee might spare
Her sons who bask in slothful cell,
And mock the public care,
Whose idle pastime, dance, and song,
Or shameless riot lewd;
While in the battle's closing throng,
The bravest spend their blood.
For thee sweet youth! in Scotia's vale,
The wood-nymphs fair shall weep,
And wailing Echo tell thy tale,
In ev'ry mountain steep.
In silent grief thine Eden flow,
And Leven swoll'n with tears,
As thro' the grove in fun'ral wo,
Thy whit'ning spire appears.

142

Short was thy race! the setting beam
Proclaims how high might grow
The laurels of thy deathless fame,
Had Fate delayed the blow.
But ah! they dig thine early grave,
By Milsone's crimson shores,
Thy Parents mourn their William brave,
Thy Country thee deplores!
 

Adonis.

Sir Alexander Murray of Balmanno, Bart, was a Scotch officer of family, and of uncommon merit. In the action of Long Island, August 28, his regiment, the gallant 17th, had the post of honour in the brigade which so eminently distinguished themselves under the conduct of the brave General Grant.—Sir Alexander was unfortunately slain at the head of the advanced guard, as he was bravely encouraging the soldiers.

An officer who acquired that day great honour and public commendation by his intrepid valour.

Col. Mawhood, who commanded the battalion, distinguished himself in the most particular manner, by his conduct and heroism, and received the public thanks and approbation.

Adonis was the son of Cynara King of Cyprus.


145

SAVANNAH.

To The Immortal Memory of the Hon. Colonel JOHN MAITLAND, Brother to James Earl of Lauderdale, &c. &c. Member of Parliament for The District of Haddington, Dunbar, North-Berwick, Lauder, and Jedburgh; Whose Loyalty, Conduct, and Intrepid Valour Were eminently displayed At the Memorable Siege of Savannah, When, charging at the head Of his Invincible Caledonians, He repulsed the Combined Forces Of France and America, In a Most Bloody, Obstinate, and Successful Conflict, These Stanzas are Inscribed: A Sincere but Imperfect Testimony Of that Public Esteem and Veneration Which is justly due to the Worthy Friend And Lover of his Country.
[_]

With invincible spirit, although wasted by a lingering sickness, The Hon. Col. John Maitland conducted Frazer's Highlanders through the various fatigues of a perplexing, laborious, and hazardous march, to withstand the hitherto successful progress of the arms of Bourbon and the revolted colonies.

The presence and heroic exertions of so great a character aroused the valour of the British forces, to discharge their important trust in the hour of danger. The council of war were on the very brink of signing a capitulation, when Col. Maitland gave his voice for a most vigorous resistance, and threatened to report the officer to his Sovereign who should propose such a cowardly surrender. The speech and spirit of the Hero entered deep into the minds of the council. They cried out with one voice “to abide the onset, to contend for the rights and glory of their country.

After many shining proofs of zeal and activity, of resolution and manly perseverance, Col. Maitland had the distinguished fortune to repulse the united forces of the enemy in that memorable and desperate assault which they made upon the British lines on the ever famous 9th of October 1779.—Count D' Estaing, Count Polaski, the French Generals Dillon and Fontaing, with the Rebel Chiefs, Price, La Motte, and Rutledge, (who was killed by the very gallant Capt. Tawse, after having twice planted the American standard on the chief redoubt), with all the flower of their troops, were either desperately wounded or slain. But behold the inscrutable ways of destiny! Scarce had Providence raised up this Deliverer of Britain, to check the growth of an unnatural rebellion, and to turn the scourge of a calamitous and bloody war against the House of Bourbon, when the joy of the victorious army, of his country, and of all good men, was damped by his death. Worn out by the most excessive toil and anxiety of mind, the Hero expired while the enemy were accomplishing their ignominious retreat.

Britons! acknowledge the hand of Heaven in all these meritorious national services of the Hon. Col. Maitland, who, in the face of envy and opposition, of peril and death, and superior to every consideration which spurs on the disappointed and malignant petulence of our most distinguished modern Pseudo-Patriots, heroically re-established the declining glory of the British arms, in one of those most important and critical moments which decide the fate of nations.

Imitate the active zeal, the unshaken loyalty, the enterprising courage, the manly ardour, and perseverance, of this truly noble and distinguished Patriot, who died, like another Wolfe, in almost the moment of victory, struggling to sustain the interests and the glory of his country, against the most formidable combinations of her enemies.

Dysart, 27th Jan. 1780.
Quis, te, Magne Cato! tacitum, te Cosse! relinquat!
Quis, Gracchi Genus! ------
Virg.

CANTO I.

Wasted by war's annoyance rude,
Her hostile myriads closing round,
Britain, by fam'd Savannah's flood,
With scanty files maintain'd her ground.
In front, proud Bourbon, to enslave,
With fleets approach'd in dread array,
The Gallic vulture from the wave,
With keen eye hov'ring o'er his prey.
Behind, Rebellion's ruthless train,
Worst fiends of Discord, War, and Death,
Conjoin'd to shake Britannia's reign,
With slavish ensigns croud the heath.
Silence kept watch with boding eye
Along the bulwarks: Grief, despair,
In doubt to struggle, yield, or fly,
Distract the Chief with various care.

146

For Gallia's boast , with Gothic rage,
The stain of knighthood, and of arms,
Who spares nor feeble sex nor age,
Summons the Free with stern alarms.
“Set wide your gates! I proffer life!
“Rebels! receive your Gallic Lord!
“Nor madly brave in deadly strife
“The rage of his resistless sword.
“This arm Grenada's wealthy seats
“O'erthrew, and dash'd your island pride.
“Brave not, ye slaves! the merc'less fates!
“What storm, rage, carnage, may betide.
“Three days in truce attentive weigh
“The joys our faithful vassals share,
“Beneath Gaul's mild, imperial sway;
“The vanquish'd, Death! and black Despair!
Suspence, Alarm, the ghastly Train
Which wait on war, appal the Brave;
And womens tears not shed in vain,
Their infants, lovers, fires to save.
Bereft of hope, bereft of aid,
To prop their own or country's state,
To yield the throng consult, persuade,
All vain, to stem the tides of fate!

147

One shameful day depress'd had seen
Her warlike fame which climbs the skies,
The scepter'd rule of Albion's Queen,
Beneath her oceans, ne'er to rise:
Her freeborn sons enchain'd, to rue
Their worst disgrace, a Tyrant's prey;
From freedom torn, and fealty true,
To groan in bondage and dismay.
And now th'unwelcome tidings go
Where Britain's Champion, to restrain
The savage inroads of the foe,
Encamp'd his Caledonian Train:
Maitland! far-fam'd, our stable prop
In adverse times, train'd in the field;
The Soldier's Friend, his Country's Hope,
His Prince's Pride, his People's Shield.
His vig'rous prime, 'mid war's annoy,
Consum'd; not so the warrior's flame:
Great daring darted from his eye,
The hero glow'd thro' sickly frame.
True glory fires his patriot soul,
His pleading Country's Cause to save,
False Bourbon's treasons to controul,
Meet triumph! or a glorious grave!
Anon his hasty trumpets sound,
His vet'rans croud in stern array;
The Chief imparts the tidings round,
The Britons hear without dismay.

148

“Haste on, ye Brave! your Country cries!
“Fierce wolves of France and Faction wait:
“The Freeborn, chains, shame, death, defy;
“Your swords decide an empire's fate.”
On vengeance bent, with hearts so true
O'er marshy wastes they burst their way:
'Mid hosts of foes they struggle through,
Like Nubian lions to their prey.
Savannah's gates the wish'd relief
Invite, where fears irres'lute reign,
And doubtful cares distract the Chief
To yield, or Britain's right maintain.
Forlorn with toil, in dust and sweat,
With Cato's spirit Maitland stood:
Resistance urg'd with bold debate,
And rous'd to arms the list'ning crowd.
“Freedom your lot, or endless shame!
“Your Country pleads in ev'ry vein;
“And dares he boast a Briton's name,
“Who scorns her glory to sustain!
“Her sinking scale one great effort
“O'er public shame and loss shall raise:
“One glorious hour her high report
“Redeem from stain of adverse days.
“Let cowards skulk; to brave alarms,
“Hark! Glory calls! In Heav'n I trust,
“Bourbon shall bow to British arms;
“Her laurels soil in blood and dust.

149

“O Heav'ns! to turn war's headlong tide
“With ruin on th'insulting foe!
“Their vaunted trophies' guilty pride,
“In vengeance' crimson'd fields laid low.
“This palm I crave, thro' fire and death;
“Eternal infamy entwine
“The coward's ignominious wreath!
“ To triumph! and to die, be mine!”
His speech, like rain to drooping flow'rs,
Lost courage thro' the host convey'd;
They shine in arms, and from their tow'rs
The bloody sign for war display'd.
The brazen tires, destruction fell,
Watch to disgorge the foes among,
Peals from the spire war's dreadful knell,
Fierce faces o'er the bulwarks throng.
Yet e'er they turn to work of death,
For feeble sex the heralds plead:
“Meet refuge in your ships bequeath,
“Nor see the child and mother bleed!
“Pity! weak infancy, or age,
“Or helpless Women, harm receive;
“Harmless themselves: from battle's rage,
“The loss and glory wait the Brave.”

150

The plund'ring Goth with merc'less frown,
As fierce he drew his thirsty sword,
“No terms for yon devoted Town!
“Save what the rage of storm afford.
“Presumption vain, which dar'd impede
“The Gallic Monarch's sov'reign sway;
“E'er long, he cried, shall victim bleed!
“That Rebel States may rue the day.”
He said; and, with infernal roar,
Their freight the thund'ring cannon cast;
Attend the fiends of death and gore,
The welkin rings with sulph'rous blast.
Six furious days, thro' groaning air,
Red fire, iron hail, destruction, ride;
Six dreadful nights, with horrent glare,
Their walls sustain the fiery tide.
Protracted broil, with erring rage,
The dastard foe urge on afar;
The Heroes, burning to engage,
Pour from the lines for closer war.
The conflict grew where-e'er they turn,
In closing strife their salcions ring:
A thousand lances round them burn:
A thousand deaths are on the wing.
There toil'd Moncrieff of dauntless soul,
The British Thunder skill'd to guide,
Like Mars, whose mad'ning chariots roll
Thro' raging Conflict's purple tide.

151

Valiant M'Pherson, Fraser, Grahame,
Like wolves assail, unquell'd by wounds:
The path of conquest leads to fame,
'Mid fire, and death, with glory crown'd.
The battle swerv'd along the field,
Deep gor'd with dol'rous horns afar,
The Goth recalls behind his shield
His broken files, the wreck of war.
Nor quell'd by foul discomfiture,
Like wrathful dragon, for his prey,
Gath'ring her train with guileful lure,
He watch'd for a decisive day.

153

CANTO II.

Dark was the morn with low'ring shade,
No swart star twinkled thro' the gloom;
With raging storm the Gauls invade,
And Rebel Hosts to seal their doom.
Full soon the circling trench was pass'd;
Fierce tribes, with desp'rate ardour stung,
To scale the wall like furies press'd;
Within, lament and uproar rung.
Wild, in the van, with flaming brand,
The furious Goth drew ev'ry eye;
As dread he strove, with chosen band,
To scale and fire the turrets high.
Grim by his side, in Treason's guise,
With rebel ensigns, Lincoln stood;
The hireling Pole, Polasky, hies,
Like falcon, bent on spoil and blood.

154

Long hung the war in doubtful scale,
On death resolv'd before they yield,
Till savage numbers 'gan prevail
With perseverance o'er the field.
Pale fear o'er all the bulwarks sped,
Despair unmans the Chieftain's soul,
Their fire no more destruction spread,
Their swords no more the Goth controul.
And now the flying route give way,
Redoubled axes rend the gates,
The murd'rers mark their trembling prey,
The sword of bloody Slaughter waits.
One raging hour had sunk thy tow'rs,
Savannah, sack'd with fire and sword;
And Britain, crush'd by barb'rous powr's,
Had bow'd in thrall to Gallic lord.
When He, by guardian angels led,
To turn the scale of death and shame,
From Lincoln vanquish'd, Maitland sped,
To die, or save his country's fame.
Like lion rous'd, all dust and blood,
'Mid the wild waste of war he flew:
These he transfix'd in wrathful mood,
These headlong down the walls he threw.
Again Britannia's banners fly,
His trumpets sound her fierce acclaim,
Beneath his steel what numbers die,
Or refuge seek in flight and shame.

155

Where victor Tawse, with glorious wound,
Like tyger panting o'er his prey,
'Gainst hosts of foes maintain'd the mound,
The Caledonians hew their way.
With bold Moncrieff's congenial soul,
An empire's fate, in throat of death,
The Hero turns with shame and dole,
Dashing proud Gallia's drooping wreath.
As two fierce winds the tempest gloom,
With flashing lightning fraught, dispel
O'er Caspian brine, they stamp the doom
Of Bourbon: Slaughter stalks the vale.
The Goth, his fiercest champions slain,
Beheld, and flies with ghastly wound.
Polasky, soil'd by lawless stain
Of war, expires before the mound.
Stern Rutlidge, Price, and Odwin brave,
Amid their mangled brigades lay.
Not Dillon's soldier-skill could save,
Nor Grasse escape the bloody fray.
Veiling in night his foul remorse,
Lincoln, ignoble traitor! fled.
Deep guilt, pale fear, impel his course,
To leave the dying and the dead.

156

Gnashing with rage, fell grief, and pain,
The crest-fall'n Goth essay'd to hide
Bourbon's deep wound: then o'er the main,
Disgraceful, stems th'indignant tide.
“And with thee go! that foulest stain
“Of Bourbon's crown, to latest times,
“False faith of Kings, not sworn in vain,
“To mask the guilt of blackest crimes:
“Rebellion's impious steel to guide
“The sons to pierce the Parents breast,
“Reckless what vengeance may betide
“Their own, by Treason's fiend opprest.”
And now the happy bands combine,
Glad victors o'er the barb'rous foe,
In dangers join'd, now join'd in wine,
And mirth, their conscious hearts o'erflow.
Britain's high fame and rights secure
From Gallic fang and war's annoy,
Heaven's rod to humble guilty pow'r,
To Heav'n ascends their pious joy.
Their civic wreaths the Victor greet,
And homage due, as to his tent,
Sunk down in glorious dust and sweat,
Borne by his faithful guards he went.
“Your praise, Brave Friends! to Heav'n is due;
“The Hero spoke with plaintive sound:
“Britain triumphs! proud France shall rue
“In future woes this rankling wound!”

157

Then, sad to see, all ghastly pale,
A mortal qualm the CHIEF opprest;
Cold sweats his trembling limbs assail,
Convulsion heaves his manly breast:
Whether heroic soul, enshrin'd
In mansion frail of mortal dust,
On highest deeds intent, rejoin'd
Her kindred train, the brave and just;
Or, like Hyperion, having run
His glorious race, for brighter skies
Departed, like the setting sun,
Rob'd in his own ethereal dyes.
In speechless woe hung o'er the CHIEF
His Caledonians: help is vain!
The hoary vet'ran droops in grief,
The host lament an Hero slain.
In death he cries, “Farewell, ye Brave!
“Conscience unfading palms bequeaths,
“His Prince and Country's rights to save,
Maitland cou'd die a thousand deaths.
“Fate cuts frail life! my lot is cast!
“Immortal, loos'd from mortal frame:
“Britain triumphs! from envious blast,
“Oh! save your SOLDIER's honest fame!”

158

With smile of conscious triumph burst
That heart which cou'd for Britain die;
Cou'd soil proud plumes of France in dust;
Not villain Envy's shafts defy.
Where Percy, Douglas, Wolfe, repose,
With ev'ry high immortal name,
'Mid heav'nly hosts, the Victor goes
Beyond the flight of mortal fame.
Oh! hadst thou led with fair command
Her host o'er Ashley's blood-stain'd field!
Where shrunk the vanquish'd loit'ring band
Behind thy Caledonian shield:
Thy Country ne'er had mourn'd in vain,
Nor Freedom wept in tears of blood:
Nor Malice mean, with guileful stain,
Thy blazon of bright Fame withstood.
Ah! round thy trophied arch of praise
Envy's insidious harpies fly!
With vengeful fangs to rend the bays
Which loyal Valour hung on high:
Vain strife! on eagle-pinions borne,
Thy Worth's acclaim to heav'n shall go,
Whilst Malice rides the blast of Scorn,
Felon! to reap where others sow!

159

Who yonder! gild the the ethereal steep,
Bright Truth! dread Justice! awful train!
With Caledonia o'er the deep,
The vengeful demons to enchain.
Ye Fiends! to Erebus! they cry,
A nation's voice is in the sound:
Lo! where she hastes, of fearless eye,
To guard her SOLDIER's hallow'd ground.
“Peace! to thy Patriot dust, the Brave,
“And Free, shall yearly pilgrims come:
“And oft suspend the dashing wave
“To weep at MAITLAND's hallow'd tomb.
“The Realm you sav'd with loss of life,
“Each spring shall flow'ry wreaths bestow:
“Her village Maids, with pious strife,
“Fresh garlands on thy marble throw.
“Where silver winding Fortha glides,
“In grief, her rural BOWER's among;
“Or devious Tweed in murmurs chides
“The Swains' Arcadian dance, and song;
“Scotland, while Autumn annual wears
“The garb of Wo, her loss shall mourn;
“And brightest eyes with pearly tears
“In HATTON's GROVE bedew thine urn.
“On Britain's bleeding heart be writ
“My SON's best monument, true praise!
“And herald Fame the theme transmit,
“To fire her youth in future days!

160

“But praise is weak: the Muse who sings
“Thy dirge may not improve tehy fame;
“And they who soar on bolder wings
“Shall borrow from thy DEATHLES's NAME.
Dysart, 27th Jan. 1780.
 

D'Estaing.

See the Bard, by the elegant Mr Gray.

A Colonel, a relation of the Count de Grasse.

After the very unfortunate repulse of the British army before Charlestown, these brave Caledonians, in testimony of their intrepid valour, had the post of honour assigned them; and saved the remainder of the troops, by covering the retreat.

The campaign was from the beginning loitered away in a most shameful inactivity. Count Polasky threw in 1500 men into the place, and the Honourable Colonel Maitland remonstrated in vain against such most unworthy and unsoldier-like proceedings.


161

TO THE IMMORTAL MEMORY OF WILLIAM DALRYMPLE, Esq;

One of the Officers who fell in that desperate Action, when the Gallant Captain SALTER took the L'Amazon, of much superior force, in sight of the French fleet.

Præclarum facinus gestum Monumentum est ejus qui gessit.
Era.

Shall proud France, high domineering,
“Lord it o'er our native main!
“By her vain gods vainly swearing
“She will end Britannia's reign.
“Vainly Neptune sea dominions
“To the Queen of Isles has giv'n,
“If proud Bourbon's slavish minions
“Dare dispute the will of Heav'n.

162

“Vainly from our decks disclosing,
“Tyres of vengeful thunders roll;
“Vain on native deep reposing,
“Britons rule from pole to pole.
“Can the freeborn sons of Ocean
“Droop before a host of slaves;
“What is numbers! force! promotion!
“Britain death with glory craves!

163

“Hark! for bloody combat crying,
“Hark! she pleads in ev'ry vein;
“Scorning horror, carnage, dying,
“Hearts of oak, her rights maintain.
“Seven score heroes greatly daring,
“Souls of glory, rough and true,
“All the signal claim for warring,
“Noble Captain! claim their due!
“Dalrymple! spread our bloody streamers,
“Pour our vengeance on the foe;
“Teach yon Bourbon gaudy dreamers
“Britons rule where sails can go.”
The chieftain spoke, the hero gallant
Spread the bloody cross for war,
While the Amazon so valiant,
Pow'r and pride drew on afar.
O'er the waves triumphant gliding,
Double strength to brave the foe,
In his glitt'ring host confiding,
Trimly did the Frenchman shew.
Rough and bold the sons of Ocean
Point their thunders cross the wave,
Reaping 'mid the dire commotion
Conquest or a wat'ry grave.
By the red cross banner flying,
Hark! the brave Dalrymple's cry!
“For our country what is dying!
“Brothers we have all to die!

164

“Death with glory is the measure
“Heaven to the brave bequeaths:
“Amid fire and death with pleasure,
“Brothers, twine the British wreaths.”
Hark! the work of death commencing;
Cannon shake the trembling flood;
Thousand fiery fates are glancing,
All is uproar, storm, and blood.
In the combat foremost charging,
Bold Dalrymple, youthful knight,
'Mid the deadly battle raging,
Leads the storm, and swells the fight.
Earth and ocean, heav'n resounding,
Float the decks with streaming gore,
Sulphur, horror, death confounding,
Swell tempestuous, thunders roar.
In the Frenchman, hideous ruin,
Ghastly pale, bestrides the deck;
Now too late he mourns undoing,
Vaunted glory gone to wreck.
Each hostile chieftain bleeds, retiring
From the charge with ghastly wound;
Breathless, vanquish'd, faint, expiring,
Sinks the crew in slaughter drown'd.

165

For the last assault preparing,
Stagg'ring, hopeless, in their might,
Bloody, maimed, and despairing,
Brave Dalrymple stay'd the fight.
“Yield, and spare your gallant remnant,
“Who survive this mortal fray;
“Vain yon tyrants proud pretendment,
“George and Britain claim the day.
“How my soul exults with glory!
“That I urg'd the daring blow:
“Brother heroes! bright in story,
“Shall our names to ages go!
“See! where Bourbon strikes her banner,
“The Amazon is Britain's prize;
“Hearts of oak will firmly man her,
“From her staff our red cross rise.”
Oh! dire mischance! the hero speaking,
Deadly bullets pierc'd his heart;
That manly heart which ne'er knew breaking,
Save when dying heroes part!
Ghastly pale he bleeds extended,
In his victor ship, his bier!
The sad crew in uproar blended
Beat their breasts and rend the air.
The tears of pity o'er the valiant
Salter sheds in manly woe,
O'er him at dawn of morn so gallant,
Cold at eve, in death laid low.

166

“Adieu thrice bravest Caledonian!
“Envious fates have quench'd thy breath,
“Not thy fame: The Amazonian
“Shall unfading laurels wreath.
“Scotland long with mother's sorrow
“Thy untimely fate deplore;
“Ah! untimely; fame shall borrow
“From thy plaudit wings to soar.”
Th'immortal Sisters o'er thy marble
Long shall sound the note of praise;
Grateful monarchs as they warble
Shall thy marine trophies raise.
There with peerless Chiefs reposing,
Drake and Shovel, Russel brave,
Learn from these thy mates disclosing,
What is valour 'yond the grave.
Crown'd with naval wreaths, thy glory
Of heroic deeds bequeath,
A peerless name, in Britain's story,
That survives the wreck of death.
Death, beyond thy house of mourning,
Sets the brave from prison free;
Thy pure sp'rit the world spurning,
Basks in immortality.
May heroic worth expiring
For their country, honour'd sleep;
May thy kindred train admiring
Still thy bright example keep.

167

Long thy parents greatly glory
In thy valour's high renown:
Britain long respect thy story,
While she wreaths thy civic crown.
Castle of Oxenford, 9th Sept.
 
INSCRIPTION from the Marble Monument in Westminster Abbey, December 1782.

To the memory of William Dalrymple, Esq; eldest son of Sir John Dalrymple, Bart. one of the Barons of Exchequer in Scotland, and of Elizabeth Hamilton Macgill, representative of the Viscounts of Oxenford.

Who, tho' heir of ample estates, preferred to a life of indolence and pleasure, the toilsome and perilous profession of a seaman, when his country was in danger.

At the age of eighteen he was one of the Officers who advised Captain Salter, and animated the crew of the Santa Margarita, to attack the Amazon, a French ship of superior force, in sight of the French fleet.

Pleased with a spirit so like his own, that brave Officer, in a desperate action, took her, but his brave adviser sell! yet received, in the public dispatches of his skillful and generous Commander, the honourable testimony, “That he was a worthy and deserving youth, who, had he lived, would have been an ornament to his profession:” Yet leaving to his once happy parents (in whose fond eyes he appeared to promise whatever might be expected from genius, spirit, and the best gift of God, a kind and melting heart,) the endearing remembrance of his virtues.

Father of all! grant to the prayer of a mother and a father, that the surviving children may imitate the qualities of such a brother, and that there may never be wanting to the British youth the spirit to pursue that line of public honour which he marked out for himself and for them!

Obiit July 29, 1782.

All the officers in the Amazon were slain in the engagement, and the killed and wounded of the crew were above two hundred.


169

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF COLONEL JAMES WEBSTER.

Onward to the field where Slaughter
Grim bestrides the crimson'd plain,
Britain bleeds; Repulse has taught her
How the strife of war is vain;
Vain the host who proudly vaunting
Glory in their warlike might,
Vain the battle, Heav'n wanting,
To direct the storm aright.
Hark! the gallant Webster crying,
“Courage, Brothers! of the field;
“What is bleeding! what is dying!
“Britain rests behind your shield.
“Slaves of Bourbon, Slaves of Treason,
“Rob our Country of her right;
“Arms and valour these shall reason
“While we have an arm to fight.”

170

While a thousand deaths were flying,
Fiery Fates destroying round,
One commission'd for his dying,
Sure, too sure, the Hero found.
One step backward proudly bending,
Stagg'ring, pale, the Hero stay'd:
Mortally wounded, yet contending,
Thrice he wav'd his flaming blade.
“Save me, Heaven! from repining;
“Doom of battle is from high!
“Cheerful to my fate resigning,
“For my Country I can die!
“Had just Heav'n pleas'd to lengthen
“Busy life one other day!
“Fleeting life with hope would strengthen
“Britain's trophies to display.
“Hark! another summons calling,
“In these gaping wounds away!
“In the bed of glory falling,
“Let me rest without dismay:
“Brief my passage! life warm streaming
“From my heart where ardours glow
“For my Country, fair hopes gleaming
“Shew their bright'ning scenes below.
“Bear me where Cornwallis gallant
“Swells the onset; 'neath his Eye;
“Lay me where the Free and Valiant
“Greatly for their Country die.”

171

Webster spoke: The Chief declining,
Gash'd with wounds in youthful prime,
Peaceful sunk in death reclining,
Like fresh rose in sultry clime.
Round the clay cold-Hero lying,
Stretch'd on his untimely bier,
Mourn the Brave. Cornwallis sighing
Sheds the Friends, the Soldiers tear.
Tell loud fame the mournful story,
Which will pierce a Monarch's heart:
To his Country, who shall glory
In her Son, the news impart.
Tell his aged Father, stooping
To the grave, his darling Son
Bled for Britain! Tell him drooping
How his glorious race was run!
Tell a Sister's anguish weeping
O'er her Father's, Brother's grave,
Civic honours, with them sleeping,
Crown the Worthiest and the Brave.
St. Andrew's, 1782. St. Salvator's Coll.

173

TO THE IMMORTAL MEMORY OF THE RENOWNED CAPTAIN COOKE .

Humbly inscribed to the Right Honourable Lord Viscount Keppel, First Lord Commissioner, and to the Lords Commissioners of his Majesty's Board of Admiralty.

Wand'ring from clime to clime, observant stray'd,
Their manners noted, and their states survey'd;
On stormy seas unnumber'd toils he bore,
Safe with his friends, to gain his natal shore:
Ah! man unbless'd! Mysterious Fates ordain
Him never more to reach his native plain!
Odys.

Has Britain such a son, to dare the pole
Where never sail was spread, nor seas did roll,
Chain'd in eternal frost! Through years of toil,
T'explore these unknown coasts: see ocean boil

174

In storms of freezing horror, storms of fire,
And death, which bid the boldest hearts retire
To Zeeland's joyless bay: bleak refuge sure,
Where, in the dreary clime, Chaos demure
Sits brooding o'er her empire, and combines
The elemental war: Where uproar joins
A thousand voices, and the startling ears
Of wild affright her thousand horrors hears,
Tremendous bursting Icebergs! mountain ice,
Coeval with the storms, floating device

175

Of ocean, launch'd, to block Antarctic seas
From Cooke's bold search, and the bless'd moment seize
To save the poles. Great, daring, vent'rous Soul!
How couldst thou three times wind the southern pole!
Thrice brave keen famine, death, with vent'rous prow,
And thrice amid the wreck of Chaos go,
With Britain's cross, where never helm did steer:
With thy bold Argonauts, these limits drear
How couldst thou, Jason-like invade, and view,
Undaunted, Argo Navis fires renew
Their radiant path; and mighty Chiron roll
His glitt'ring cohort thrice around the pole!
Such hearts of adamant the gods bestow
On chiefs, who toil that Britain's fame may grow.
Hail Noble Guardians of the subject main!
Whose bold research nor wind nor wave restrain;
Nor winter's freezing horrors of the pole,
Nor arctic nor antarctic can controul:
Go spread your sails! another world to view,
And chiefs your bold researches to pursue,
Send forth as spies, or trace the blissful isles,
Where everlasting spring with Venus smiles,
And youth and beauty in the bow'ring shade
On Eden's couch, by past'ral streams are laid.
Explore new Canaans, people, commerce, stores
Of nature's knowledge, wid'ning with her shores.
See the the vast waste of ocean boundless roll
O'er either tropic to the freezing pole,

176

In whose kind lap, the harmless nations lie,
Unknown our guilt beneath a purer sky:
Nor foul disease, till Europe visit paid,
And cruelly, Calypso's Nymphs betray'd.
Visit the frozen isthmus, sea or land,
Which joins the Asian to Nuadas' strand:
Hear Russian Bosphorus, with sullen roar,
Lave with white foam the high approaching shore.
Or see great nature build her chrystal mound
Eternal ice grim ocean's northern bound;
Where these two ample continents disjoin'd
By mighty Neptune, lie in frost combin'd
In strong embrace: There sails no further go,
But tow'ring mountains of chrystalline snow,
With star-eyed Hydra's flaming Orbits glow,
And bid the Spy of ocean southward turn,
Where radiant bands of blazing Orion burn.
These wint'ry realms of storm explor'd, the muse
Attends the Chief, and hails his ling'ring crews
Amid the Friendly Isles. There peaceful dwell
The Sun's prime offspring in their flow'ry dell;
His gentlest sons and daughters, who defy
The pride of dress in naked majesty:
Nor seek the leaves of Eden to conceal
What nature, climate, custom, there reveal.

177

How sweet your rest beside these murm'ring streams!
How sweet your joys! all fairy golden dreams,
By brightest Nymphs and Genii lull'd asleep,
And ever by young Loves entranced deep
In joys of Paradise. Oh! envy'd wiles!
Of artless beauty, in Calypso's isles!
As fancy guides bold youths! employ your time,
Hark! Britain calls you to another clime.
There northern Kametzchatka's dreary strand,
And frozen Isles, your daring toils demand:
Again your British hearts of steel, for see
The surly race in savage chivalry
Brandish the pond'rous club, and peal alarms,
So save their desart clime from British arms.
Their scaly cinctures cast, they raging fling
The pond'rous mass, and launch the whistling sling.
How many cares, how many hopes and fears
Distract the Hero's soul, who faithful rears
Britannia's cross on barb'rous shores, and strives
To keep her honour safe, and precious lives
Intrusted to his guard. No wrongs shall stain
Thy blameless record, where each deed humane
Begilds the page: Bright Mercy's form appears
With Prudence hand in hand, and modest wears
Her angel viel. Ah! mystic fates bequeath
To crown thy worth, the fairest civic wreath.
In direful dangers prov'd, ah! must we come,
Renowned Cooke! to wail thy hapless doom.

178

Exploring various kindred tribes which lie
In lone retreat beneath the eastern sky,
Those secret stores which Providence does hide,
Till Heav'n mysterious draw the veil aside,
And shew her grand Designs: There woful fate
Arrests; which drown'd in tears the Nine relate.
Where vast Pacific rolls her ocean stores,
Embracing eastern Sandwich verdant shores,
The lonely Islands verging to the north,
Beneath the tropic stretch their bulwark forth,
Breaking the South Sea foam: There overhead
The champion Sons of brightning Leda lead
Their starry trains to light grim Neptune's way,
For wandring prows who bless the well known ray,
Which nightly guides them, from the deeps of air,
In fair array, winding with radiant glare
Revolving march. By margin of the deep
He met the angry Demon, who did keep
Jealous Hesperian Climes: And guards the poles
Arm'd with black storms. A Dragon now he rolls
His cumb'rous length, with deadly fangs and mail:
A hideous Fury next, with dire assail
Of flaming brand. Anon a Lion, shakes
His brindl'd mane: The deepest forrest quakes
With horrors dire. Behold yon savage Rout,
Rous'd by his roaring, pour with barb'rous shout
In weeds uncouth, in feather'd cinctures proud,
And rugged skins of Phorcis' scaly brood.

179

They rush to dread encounter: O'er the strand
The Demon strod, to guard his native land,
With envious glare: “Ye Spoilers, come not here
“To spy our weakness: Britain's brandish'd spear
“Contends in vain. Her Chiefs no further go,
“With over-curious search, my realms to know:
“The secrets of th'immeasurable deep
“Safe with old Chaos in oblivion sleep.
“Here I your boundary have watchful set,
“To guard my crown, by foreign guile beset.
“The circle's mark'd, which shall your range confine
“In narrow grave: To deal this justice mine.
“Hence back, ambitious Briton! none shall know
“The secrets of my empire; none bestow
“On stranger brows my crown.” He said, and near
The horrid savage Rout for death appear:
The Demon leads, and o'er the purple strand,
They stretch the scanty harmless British band.
There Cooke renown'd, all heaven and earth explor'd,
Fell by the jealous Demon's guilty sword.
Thrice hapless Chieftain! could this verse avail,
I'd fill the world with thy disastrous tale ;

180

Renew a Nation's grief, a Monarch's tear,
With decent rites to grace thy mournful bier.
For thee, thy orphan'd Mates in vain deplore,
A mangled corse upon Barbaric shore:
Nereus and Doris, with their Daughter Train,
Bewail thy fate in caverns of the main;
And furious Neptune drives his fiery brood,
To whelm the Fiends drown'd in the briny flood.
Thou, Widow'd Dame! who o'er his empty tomb
Weeps while fond memory augments thy doom,
Admit the stranger Muse with thee to mourn
The Naval Chief, and monumental urn
Rear in sequester'd grove: With decent wo,
Like thine, her unaffected sorrows flow.
The mournful Muse, who in thy loss takes part,
Who feels the pangs which rend thy widow'd heart,
To soothe thy grief would pious tribute bring
Of lenient hope, shed from her trembling wing.
Hope, our good angel, with bright radiance crown'd,
With healing hand allays thy bitter stound;
And points thy Cooke, beneath another Sky,
Exploring wonders, with extatic eye;
Where brighter Suns do light him on his way,
And blissful Shores encharm his long delay;
And new discover'd Realms and Tribes receive
Th'amazed Stranger, shipwreck'd, from the wave
Of this dark world, which lib'ral spirits find
Is all a dungeon-prison to the mind,

181

Which in Etherial Sphere exults to go
Thro' depths of knowledge, never reach'd below,
And reads the God in all. Imperfect here
The tree of knowledge in our twilight Sphere:
But these New Heavens and New Earth proclaim
Transcendently the God: Their glorious frame
Below, leads man to know himself, and raise
'Mid Cherub Choirs, divinest songs of praise
To Him, whose works thro' wide creation's bound
Unknown, how shall heaven's Architect, himself unsearchable, be found!
Exalt thine eye! thy Cooke is gone before
On this last voyage, to that native shore,
Where thou shalt join him, nor be parted more.
Triumph thou lonely Fair! thy Chief shall go
On wings of Fame, beyond where seas shall flow.
Thy Faith and Truth be sung by Britains Fair,
Who nightly did his nuptial robes prepare,
And chang'd, unchang'd thy heart, all joy to wo,
Saw Prince and People tribute tears bestow:
In face of Kindred read the dire alarms
Of Cooke you long'd to welcome in your arms.
St. Salvator's Coll. St. Andrew's 1784.
 

This most intelligent and enterprising Officer was chosen by the Right Honourable the Lords of the Admiralty to conduct the several expeditions which were undertaken between the years 1768 and 1780, for the discovery of the south polar regions, and for exploring the several islands of the Great South Sea. What gave life and vigour to all these researches was the express orders of his present Majesty, the royal and munificent patron of scientific and naval discoveries, so beneficial to the interests of a great maritime state.

How successfully these expeditions were conducted by this most famous circumnavigator is obvious, from the splendid edition of several large volumes, most elegantly illuminated with curious charts and drawings. Such was the avidity of the public to obtain the first impression of such interesting compilations, from the journals of Captain Cooke, that the whole large impression was bought up in the course of a few days, and the price of the book with the learned and curious, on account of the first impression of such elegant charts and engravings, rose from four guineas the set to eighteen guineas, in seven days.

These volumes contain the most authentic, the most curious and interesting narration of all the wonderful discoveries made by this great man, and his very learned associates, the most ingenious and philosophic Mr Banks and Dr Solander, the learned disciple of the great Linnæus; also a particular and minute account of all his many hardy, dangerous, and enterprising voyages.

A new and very elegant edition of the four last volumes is with all expedition now preparing. The work will be executed in the highest taste, by the most eminent London artists, and merits the attention and encouragement of the public, when all things are considered, in a very distinguished manner.

The Hollanders or the Spaniards had unhappily communicated this malady to the inhabitants long before the arrival of Captain Cooke in the South Seas.

The author residing in a remote part of the country, had no opportunity till lately of perusing that most elegant Monody on this mournful subject by the ingenious Miss Seward.

The richly flowing fancy, the fine exertions of true poetic genius, by this Fair Sister of the Muses, had deservedly superseded all farther attempts as vain and unnecessary.


183

TO THE MEMORY OF ALLAN MALCOLM, Esq; Of LOCHORE;

Heir and Representative of the ancient Knights Baronets of Lochore, Captain in the 33d Regiment of Foot, who was mortally wounded at the head of the Advanced Guard, in the moment of victory, over the Provincial Army, and expired with many brave Gentlemen on the field of battle, before the walls of Charlestown.

Vita brevis est, gloriæ cursus sempiternus.
Cic.

Hark! the wailing voice of sorrow
Shrieks adown sad Ora's vale,
See the sedgy Sister borrow
Weeds of mourning and bewail!
Youth and valour warm in dangers,
Fall'n in battle, cold as clay,
Slain for Britain, among strangers,
She laments the fatal day.

184

Young Sir Malcom, fir'd with glory,
For his country sought the field,
Where her Chiefs renoun'd in story,
Fought with hearts unknown to yield.
Scorning sloth and guilty pleasure,
While his country calls to arms,
With the boldest he would measure
Spears, and rouse the fierce alarms.
Gallant spirits! who defying
Danger, in the throat of fate
Toil for Britain, to her dying,
Leave fair honour's vast estate.
“We her champions fiercely warring,
“Spend our blood in mortal strife,
“Toils and dangers, nations daring,
“For our country, death or life.
“Life, her civic honours wreathing,
“These a nation toil'd to save;
“Death, immortal fame bequeathing,
“Be our treasure in the grave.”
Malcolm spoke, amid the burning
Of bright spears he rush'd amain,
Proudest warriors overturning,
How he shook the trembling plain!
Thrice the broken ranks repairing,
Like a lion o'er his prey,
Fround the youthful Hero, glaring
Terror, death, and wild dismay.

185

Thrice retreating, thrice advancing
Britain's banners on the foe,
Where a thousand deaths were glancing
He receiv'd a deadly blow.
Wounds retard not bleeding valour,
Scarcely death his lance restrains,
To the last a fierce assailer,
Still he charg'd the flying Trains.
Till the floods of life decaying,
Like the Youth on Timnahs plain,
E'en in death his foes dismaying,
Malcolm sunk amid the slain.
Mournful Ora heard the tidings
Ecchoing 'mid her wat'ry bow'rs,
Diving thro' her chalky hidings,
Sad she seeks Atlanta's tow'rs.
In her silver grasp intwining,
There she warms the stiff'ning Clay,
With her fountain Nymphs combining,
There she shrieks in sad dismay.
In her chaste embrace the Warrior
Shrouded pale in Ora's arms,
Passes Ocean's foaming barrier,
Ever dead to war's alarms.
The etherial sp'rits ascending
Swift explore their native sky,
The terrestrial parts attending
O'er the deep with Ora hie.

186

There beneath the blue waves sitting,
She bewails her clay cold Son,
Fun'ral wreathes of purples knitting,
Thrice she shriek'd his course is run.
Nine times in balmy dews of morning
Ora laves his breathless Clay,
And with king-cup flow'rs adorning,
Hides him where her fountains play.
In her wat'ry chambers keeping,
All her naids round the bier,
Lota, Gilda, Kenla, weeping,
Wild their raven tresses tear.
“Thine these honours Youth and Valour!
“These our Virgin Griefs bestow,
“Thou couldst brave each rude assailer,
“Thou for others lyest so low”
Seven ambrosial drops selecting,
Where in caves her fountains run,
In his torpid ear injecting,
With meet rhymes, she call'd her Son.
Gentle Ora learn'd the magic
In Levinia's chrystal hall,
When the Sisters mourn'd so tragic
Caledon's untimely fall.

187

Then from secret gulphs enraging,
She, with Leven's deluge wide,
Sweno's bloody Peers engaging,
Whelm'd 'em deep in Fortha's tide.
Hence the brightest Nymph of Ocean
Taught her spells of Old Albain,
To recal, by mystic lotion,
Fearless Youths in battle slain.
By the boon of Shepherd Royal,
Who could tread the Syrian lake,
Will at times the Chieftain loyal
From his deathlike trance awake:
And at certain seasons fitting,
He is known by kindred train,
By his Mother, Father sitting,
Warding evil, grief, or pain.

188

Fancy sees young Malcolm stalking
Nightly in his lonely hall;
Kindred Fancy hears him talking,
Where the airy voices call:
Fond Remembrance views him sporting
At the toils which charm the brave;
Lavinia's Nymphs, with dawn resorting,
Mark his horn adown the wave.
From her chrystal lakes o'erflowing,
Mournful Ora loves to weep;
Hark! her whisp'ring reeds rank growing,
In her tears their plainings steep.
With indignant currents wand'ring,
Sullen, slow, She winds her tide,
From deep Dens and Spells meand'ring,
Where accursed Wizards hide.
They with Hags and Demons plotting,
Just, nor good, nor pity know;
But the human feature bloating,
Jeer in scorn at deepest wo:
They with Scoundrel Tribe assailing,
Lewdness, Riot, Envy pale,
Ruthless drive the Muse bewailing
Far from gentle Ora's vale.
Yet the banish'd Halcyon hiding,
Loves by groves and streams to dwell,
In Arcadian train confiding,
Seeks, sweet Tweed! thy flow'ry dell.

189

Native valleys! streams! and mountains!
Yarrow! Jed! fair Tiviot's wave!
'Mid refuge of your hallow'd fountains,
From vile fang of Harpies save.
Take me to your green retreating,
Where the Sisters Nine reside,
Where, in bright assemblage meeting,
Beauty, Valour, Worth, abide.
Leave, Oh! leave me not to languish
That I sung the Loyal Brave;
Soothe the bursting heart of anguish,
Decking once each hallow'd Grave.
The tuneful Nine, in angel pity,
Steep the Muse's melting strain;
Scotia hears the Shepherd's ditty,
Sung by her bright Virgin Train.
Genii of her lakes arising,
Nightly guard each Hero's bier!
Wat'ry Naids! Merit prizing,
O'er them weep the sacred tear.
O'er the silver flow'rets tripping,
Which embroider ev'ry lake,
Fairy Elves! your orgies keeping,
Carol till fresh morn awake!
Echo's coyest Nymphs! resorting,
Leave your ivy-mantl'd cell,
And with herald Fame reporting,
Wide their civic virtues tell!

190

Village Maids and Swains, reclining,
From your toils, at ev'ning hour,
Hear the Warrior Shades repining!
See their torch in storied bow'r!
Peaceful rest their silent dwelling,
By Atlanta's western lake,
Till the Sovereign Pow'r compelling,
Bid their dust to life awake.
Caledonia guards their glory,
Which the Loyal Brave have won,
Deathless in the Muses story,
Shall their honour'd plaudit run.
Tweed shall waft the fav'rite ditty
Down her rural, devious wave,
While their Parents bursting pity
Fresh bedews their early Grave.
St Salvator's Coll. St Andrew's.
 

In the old war songs the Scottish Princes had their names from the territories over which they presided; so the ancient Caledonia, Scotia, Angusia, Argathelia, &c.

The Scandian Princes, as the most ancient records inform us, frequently invaded Caledonia. The Friths of Moray, Tay, and Forth, which water the eastern coasts, were navigable for a long way by their numerous fleets of small burthen.

Landing their troops about Whitsuntide, near the river Leven, then, with all her tributary brooks, overflowing her banks, they were defeated by Constantine 2d, with great slaughter. Great numbers perished in the river in attempting to escape the sword. This Prince, much renowned for his justice and valour in war, was afterwards cruelly murdered by these desperadoes in a cave near Crail.

Some noted obelisks mark the field of battle to this day; and, on the north banks of the river Leven, are still to be seen the most famous monuments of the Scandian Princes who fell in this desperate invasion. These battles were fought an. 874.


191

TO THE MEMORY OF THE HONOURABLE HAMILTON DOUGLAS HALYBURTON,

BROTHER OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE GEORGE DOUGLAS, EARL OF MORTON, First Lieutenant under Commodore Sir Charles Douglas, on the American station, who, with all his brave Fellow Officers, unhappily perished in a tempest, on the Jersey shore, whither they had gone to quell a mutiny among the British seamen.

Sunt lachrymæ rerum.

In his lofty ship revolving
Watchful cares for Britain's fate,
'Mid his fearless Chiefs resolving,
High, the warlike Douglas sat.
By merit rais'd to envy'd station,
He who rules his native main,
To restrain the rebel nation,
Sends the Bold with Chosen Train.

192

With the dauntless Knight consorting,
Noble Douglas, stern in strife,
Leads his Heroes Brave, resorting
For their Country, death or life.
Fiends of discord, fiends of ruin
Their abhor'd dissentions spread,
Like fell pest'lence, undoing
All that Loyal Virtue bred.
Wide and far the plagues of faction,
Like the brood of Sin and Death,
Drive the nations to distraction,
Famine, fire, and sword, and wrath.
Sons of Belial proud assailing,
On vast wings of havoc flew,
And their rebel shame unveiling,
Tempt with guile the British Crew.

193

All beneath the mask of friendship
Treason crys, “Your toils are vain!
“Vain your strife, your cares, and hardship,
“Fortune crowns our freeborn Train!
“Shall vile yoke of courtly Minion
“Thrall the free unshakl'd soul!
“Shall their guilty base Dominion
“All your joys of life controul!
“Sons of Freedom! Heirs of Pleasure!
“Fly the jail of loyal Slaves,
“Seek the Goddess golden Treasure,
“Freedom hides beyond the waves.”
Strange to tell, the Sons of Ocean,
Late so loyal, rough, and bold,
Poison'd by the Syren potion,
Barter all for rebel gold.
Hark the noble Douglas calling
“Arm ye Brave! for traytors doom;
“By your sword of justice falling,
“Treason meets a wat'ry tomb.
“Thro' the Navy burns infection,
“Loyal mark your Country's cry;
“Stem, bold Chiefs, the tides of faction,
“Or with Douglas dare to die.
“Go, thou bravest Son of Thunder,”
Crys the fearless Douglas Knight,
“May thine arm disperse asunder
“Thousands in the mortal fight.

194

“May thy chosen Band so gallant
“For their Country rich return,
“Wreaths of glory wait the Valiant,
“Who the scales of danger turn.”
Far, their chearful shouts resounding,
Douglas climbs the blue top'd wave;
Swift on snowy pennons bounding,
They the furrow'd ocean cleave.
As the royal eagle flying,
Drives the troublers of his reign,
Wasteful vultures shrilly crying
Down the steep etherial plain.
So before him fled the traitors,
Spent with toil, a hapless prey,
Remorse and terror mark their features,
Sunk in trembling and dismay.
Now submissive, kneel th'offenders,
Nor in vain to Douglas pray'd,
He, for them, and their defenders,
The keen sword of justice stay'd.
Now they penitent returning,
To the Chief allegiance swore,
And with shame and sorrow burning,
Leave the hated Syren shore.
When the foaming billows roaring,
Prelude to the coming storm,
Lift the barge of Douglas soaring
On rough edge of waves deform.

195

In dire conflict, winds engaging,
Loud and hoarse, outstorm the waves,
And with uproar wild enraging,
Vex old Ocean's deepest caves.
On the horrent summit riding,
As on headlong verge of fate,
Noble Douglas, firm confiding,
Thus bespeaks each trembling mate.
“Courage, Brothers! fearless Britain
“Rides the storm of angry waves;
“And by many tempests beaten,
“Undismay'd their rudeness braves.
“Amid toils and death, our station
“The superior Fates have plac'd:
“In her Sons th'unconquer'd Nation
“Ne'er by us shall be disgrac'd.
“Calm within, the Brave resigning,
“'Mid tempestous seas repose:
“Guilt, on downy couch reclining,
“Never peace nor resting knows.”
Anon, the tempest, Courage speaking,
To resistless fury grew,
All their hopes and fortunes wrecking,
Tenfold horrors rush in view.
Furious winds the onset blowing,
Rain, with thunder, fire, and hail,
Mountain waves to heav'n growing,
Wild for death, the Band assail.

196

“Earth and Heav'n, Air and Ocean,”
Douglas cries, “have all decreed,
“In this direful rude commotion,
“That our loyal hearts should bleed.
“Icy hand of Death is closing
“Fast on all; in close embrace
“Let us perish! firm reposing
“Lasting hope in Heav'n's Grace.”
Art and courage nought availing,
Freezing cold arrests the Brave:
Death their glowing hearts assailing,
Chills them 'mid the boiling wave.
There the angry Demons shrieking,
'Mid the wint'ry tempest flew,
Vengeance for their kindred wrecking,
Whom the Brave in battle slew.
Airy ghosts of widows wailing
England's youth, by Douglas slain,
Wrathful, hagard looks unveiling,
Swell the horrors of the main.
'Mid th'etherial uproar riding,
These with storm the youths o'ercast,
And in icy mantle hiding,
Bleach them in the northern blast.
Adieu, ye Bravest! death enduring
For your Country: Jealous Fate
Stamps your exit; praise securing,
Herald Fame shall on you wait.

197

Long your Country mourn, lamenting
O'er her Children: Th'adverse Crew
Of hostile faction, sad relenting,
Hang your tomb with trophies due.
Hark! the wild fowl, shrilly wailing,
Sing their dirge: The airy Throng,
With British oak their brows inveiling,
Guard each hallow'd Corse from wrong.
'Mid his Bands, in speechless sorrow,
Long shall Douglas mourn the Brave:
Fond Remembrance ever borrow
Wreaths to hang their hallow'd Grave.
Long, with grief, their Kindred bending,
Shall bedew their empty urn:
Long, the tuneful Sisters, blending
Verse with tears, in pity mourn.
St. Salvator's Coll. St Andrew's, March 1784.
 

Against all earnest intreaties of Sir Charles Douglas, the Hon. Hamilton Douglas Halyburton went with the following officers into the barge to stay the mutiny of the seamen, viz. Lieutenant James Champion of Marines, Messrs James Haywood, Charles Gascoine, William Sprey, George Towers, George Faddy, William Scott, David Reddie, and Alexander Johnston.

They were some hours after put ashore upon the Jersey side, and after the tempest abated were all found frozen to death in one another's arms. The other three gentlemen, Messrs Andrew Hamilton, Robert Wood, and William Thomlison, were also found frozen at a little distance: They had attempted to reach the shelter of a house.

See the letter from Commodore Sir Charles Douglas, London Chronicle, May 6, 1784.


199

ELEGIAC POEMS.


201

ELEGY I.

To Miss B---.

Hushd was rude Winter's blast, the breathing Spring
Had wak'd each flow'r, and tun'd the vocal grove,
Had shower'd fresh roses from her purple wing,
And sent through Nature the great Soul of Love.
To hail the year in woodlands warbling round,
In hawthorns blooming, youths and maidens hie;
The Beauty, sick of fops, all empty found,
The faithful Lover, worn with many a sigh.
Then bright S---, sprightly blooming Maid,
Pride of the circle, and the Poet's theme,
Left high Edina, for the greenwood shade,
The balmy Zephyr, and the murm'ring stream.

202

She pass'd, like Cynthia, whom the Virgin Tribe,
And youthful Band, with sacred songs adore;
Her eyes dart fatal shafts on ev'ry side;
She pierces hearts, and kills with secret pow'r.
How graceful on the sea-beat mole she stood,
With Love's black Tresses waving to the wind;
With Venus' eyes she calm'd the raging flood,
With Venus' smile she sooth'd each storm unkind.
His bark the hurrying mariner prepares,
Proud of his beauteous Freight, and plies the oar;
A thousand Lovers send a thousand pray'rs,
To speed her voyage to the fort'nate shore.
Meanwhile the Nymph, with highly blooming charms
Like Egypt's Queen, sat Sov'reign of the Main;
Her beauteous look sharp Eurus' breath disarms,
Her graceful smiles the swelling tides restrain.
Old Neptune smooth'd his brow, and hastes to bear
Another Venus; the gay smiling skies,
And Zephyrs shed for joy a show'ry tear,
And fann'd the sail with breath of am'rous sighs.
Cupid, as o'er the winding Forth he flew,
Mistook the Fair One for the Paphian Dame;
Choice arrows from his sounding quiver threw,
And burning mischief from his torches flame.

203

Swift to the greenwood shade She beauteous hies,
With flow'rets fresh to deck her sylvan Bow'r;
Thrice bless'd the Youth! selected by the Skies
To share thy Virgin Love, thou fairest Flow'r!
Go, Lovely Nymph! for thee the season glows,
The balmy Zephyrs fan the cooling grove,
And wafting odours from the blushing rose
Attune thy soul to Harmony and Love.

204

ELEGY II.

To the Same.

When pleasing cares disturb the youthful breast,
When ardent sighs speak forth the heart's desire,
When hopes and fears consume the hours of rest,
Then Venus sets a lover's soul on fire:
Then would I scorn the wealth which many chuse,
And look on gay plum'd honour with disdain:
Th'inspired mind a nobler aim pursues,
And Venus' slave submits to Venus' chain.
Should Fame, or Pow'r, or Wisdom, plead to move
A lover's mind, with all their specious shew,
While Venus soothes me with the smiles of Love,
Like Paris, ever at her shrine I bow.
While S--- smiles, with lovely beaming eyes,
Here let me kneel; no other boon I claim:
Beneath the sun the Phœnix burns and dies,
Beneath her charms I burn with grateful flame.

205

Sweet are thy smiles, O Fair One! and bestow
New life beneath the sunshine of thine eyes:
Deadly the shaft of scorn from Cupid's bow,
And where it strikes, the hapless lover dies.
The Merchant dreads the rage of winter seas,
And fearful cares surround the Tyrant's crown,
The Mother hears of war with trembling knees;
I know no danger but the Fair One's frown.
A Lover prays, vouchsafe a gentle ear,
Be kind as beautiful; then shall I joy
A sweeter Music than proud Art's to hear,
And for the fairest Form my verse employ.

206

ELEGY III.

The Author to his Lyre.

To the Same.

Awake my Lyre! thy sadly pleasing strain
Shall sooth my anguish, while thy numbers flow:
Awake my Lyre! it fits thee to complain,
In sounds according with thy Master's wo.
Sweet as my Love, thy voice O tuneful Lyre!
And Youths and Maids attend thine am'rous lay:
Like Her you plaintive feed a Lover's fire,
But yield no hope his torment to allay.
In vain, great Hermes destin'd thee to charm,
In vain, the Sisters taught their Bard to sing,
The Pow'rs of Love the Pow'rs of Art disarm,
And all thy magic can no comfort bring.

207

Phœbus in vain would wake thy Siren sound,
To calm the tumults of a Lover's breast,
The God of Love each captive sense has bound
In cruel Chains, nor gives his Victim rest.
Yet shall thy sad and solemn music say,
How much I suffer, and how much I love,
And bright S--- shall thy song repay.
With pity where her Charms destructive prove.

208

ELEGY IV.

To Mrs R---, of R---h---se, On a Visit in Sickness.

Ut vidi, ut perii, ut me malus abstulit error!

Scarcely escap'd from Eurus sick'ning blast,
Stagg'ring and faint I left the bed of Pain,
And like some half wreck'd mariner aghast,
Revolv'd the various horrors of the main.
In sad review like troubled dream arose,
The pains of life: And what is life I said!
A fleeting April flower, a vernal rose
Born in the desert world to bloom and fade.
And what is life mis-spent! A noisome weed,
That taints the air till it forever dies;
And what, when it thro' Virtue's path does lead
Our steps; th'immortal flower of Paradise.

209

Thus pond'ring, lo! a female Form drew near,
In Vision bright, with youthful Beauty crown'd,
Such as of Dian's band were won't appear
With quiver'd pride to trace the woodlands round.
Her aubourne Tresses graceful seem'd to flow
In dainty curles, shadowing her iv'ry Neck,
Her cheeks with purple light of Love did glow,
And morning sweet, seem'd in her Eyes to break.
Like jocund Queen of May, she smiling said
As gently by my side she took her place,
Why do'st thou pine forlorn, in dreary shade,
Why suffer rankling Care to spoil thy peace.
Has ill-requited Love o'ercast thy day
With clouds; or stern Misfortune caus'd thy pain:
Some faithful Fair One can thy smart allay;
Pastime and Converse sweet, our ease regain.
Thus spoke the Fair: By none of these forlorn
I droop; 'tis sickness pale has made me dwell
Recluse, and many a pang that I have born,
But say who kindly greets my lonely cell.
Thy charming sympathy bespeaks thy place,
Some Nymph Angelic, who with magic pow'r
Of pity bright'ning in so fair a face,
Descends with joy to gild life's darkling hour.

210

Or Hebe thou! who crown'd with youth divine,
Bestowes the nectar'd bev'rage of the sky;
For sweeter nectar from these Lips of thine,
In speech distills, and pleasure from thine eye.
Or art thou She who down the flow'ry shore
Of winding Forth with bright Hygeia stray'd;
Fair Queen of Health, and young ey'd Love who bore
The double prize, and mighty conquests made.
Ah! from what Sun bursts on my ravish'd sight
This beam of Beauty, while these shadows fly;
And now I mark thy faultless form aright,
Shap'd by the faultless hand of Harmony.
Maria! thou, who late like Scotland's Queen
In radiant Circle, made all hearts your prize,
Superior 'mid our star-ey'd Beauties seen,
Like Venus, when she gilds the Westlin skies.
Who e'er I be, the blushing Dame rejoin'd,
I come to bring thee to our social Train,
Where friendly Converse, Wit, and Mirth combin'd,
Forever smile, and banish Care and Pain.
And we have built high o'er the murm'ring deep
With curious art, renew'd, our vernal bow'r;
Where Peace and blyth Content their pastimes keep,
And Nymphs and Nereids grace the festive hour.

211

Then leave your cell, and leave this dull annoy,
And you shall hear the Syren Sisters sing;
Whose songs shall steep your charmed soul in joy,
Or win you forth to hail the new born spring.
Maria spoke, and to her bower we go;
The blooming Bevy heal'd my sickness smart;
But soon I mourn'd the fiercest shaft of wo,
For cruel Cupid pierc'd my bleeding heart.

212

SONNET To FAIR CLARA.

To the Same.

Lips which Venus might adorn,
Hide! oh hide! your coral dyes:
Stars which do mislead the morn
Sparkling bright in Clara's eyes;
Hide your beams! nor in your sphere
Tempt a Lover to despair.
Cheeks where vermil roses glow,
Iv'ry neck of radiant guise,
Sweetly swelling Breasts of snow,
Where inshrin'd young Cupid lies,
Hide in shades of golden hair,
Nor tempt a Lover to despair.
Involv'd in Zephyr's honey'd breath,
Ah! by magic charm undone,
Ah! I meet a noble death,
Phænix like, beneath the sun;
Both an envy'd fortune prove,
He for Glory, I for Love.

213

SONNET To the Same.

He who Hebe's dimpling cheek,
Or Venus golden locks admires,
Or from star-like eyes does seek
Fuel to maintain his fires;
As old Time makes these decay,
So his flames must waste away.
But a chaste adorned Mind,
Gentle Thoughts, and calm Desires,
Hearts with mutual love combin'd,
Kindle never dying fires,
Where these are not, never prize
Golden locks nor radiant Eyes.
To what female Shrine so fair
This prime Sisterhood resort;
They each mortal charm repair,
Grafting their immortal Sort;
Beauty fades like April morn,
These with lasting Grace adorn.
 

See anonymous verses. The additional stanza by the author.


214

Sir AMBROSE AND Fair PORTIA.

Inscribed to the Amiable Miss H---.

CANTO I.

Sir AMBROSE sat in tower so high,
Feeding his constant smart,
With charm of chastest imagery,
Instamp'd on faithful heart.
Below the sea green billows roll'd
Responsive to his song,
While list'ning to the tale he told,
On wing the wild fowl throng.
“'Tis not the bloom of young desire
“When roseat hues adorn,
“And Orient Beauty's gay attire
“Smiles like an April morn:
“'Tis not the fleeting dream of love
“My sick'ning fancy warms,
“Nor looks, nor eyes, which artful move
“To kindle Soft alarms.

215

“Let the fair Syrens sly deceive
“The gaudy saunt'ring throng,
“Who, scorning merit, idly grieve
“Such fairy scenes among.
“Far nobler prize my heart constrains,
“Yielding to soft controul;
“Far other beauty binds in chains
“The magnet of my soul.
“For Portia, fair and peerless maid,
“With modest looks and smiles,
“Like blush of virgin rose display'd,
“My feverish thought beguiles.
“Though She like stately pine appears,
“By Fortha's verdant shore;
“Though She her golden tresses wears,
“To shade her goodly store:
“Yet here more sovereign worth enshrin'd,
“Eclipses Beauty's 'Tyre;
“More lasting beauties of the mind
“Here fan a Lover's fire.
“Discretion, with adornment rare
“Of every power to please,
“Good nature, of angelic air,
“And Virtue leagu'd with Peace.
“The generous sigh for others good,
“Prime tenant of the breast;
“Pity, who lends, in melting mood,
“Her hand to the deprest;

216

“Contentment, Truth and Chastity,
“All met in holy cell,
“Bless'd sisterhood of Piety,
“In Portia's bosom dwell.
“O! had Sir Ambrose there a place,
“In her esteem to stand,
“He would not prize the fairest face
“That shines on Fortha's strand.
“O! might he wait by Portia's side,
“Like Squire of low degree,
“Partake the pleasance such divide,
“Nor fear proud rivalry.
“Like captive bird, within her bow'r,
“Soft minstrelsy employ;
“Her ear with warbling prelude lure,
“And kisses sweet enjoy.
“Thrice bless'd, such excellence to woo,
“With constancy discreet;
“My faithful heart, my faithful vow,
“Offering with incense meet.
“For her I'd brave the torrid zone,
“'Mid freezing Zembla pine;
“Pierce the Siberian wilds alone,
“Potosi's deepest mine.
“For her, with rival Knights, I'd bear
“The weight of helm and shield;
“Couch in the van the quiv'ring spear,
“She purchase of the Field.

217

“Fierce tournaments for Her explore,
“Her fame, with trumpet sounds,
“Proclaim on Nile or Ganges' shore,
“And write my love with wounds.
“But ah! how vain my vows and pray'r,
“Which Portia may deride!
“Which only Echo deigns to hear,
“Sung to the winds and tide.
“How vain the strife, by hardy deed,
“My loyal flame to show,
“If Portia dooms true love to bleed,
“Regardless of his wo!
“Yet let me gain the victor's wreath,
“New garlands for the Fair;
“Ennobled by a Lover's death,
“These passion true declare.
“Let my last song, if not with joy,
“Be fraught with doleful sighs,
“Mine elegy: 'Mid death's annoy,
“So sings the swan, and dies.
“What though I paint, in passion'd strain,
“The anguish of my heart!
“This only feeds a lover's flame,
“Not heals a Lover's smart.
“What though the Fair, with beauteous smile,
“Essay'd my thoughts to prove;
“Arm'd her coy glance with magic wile,
“And taught my heart to love:

218

“Yet must I feed a hopeless flame,
“A hopeless toil pursue:
“Not choice, but Fortune, yields the Dame,
“And Fortune is not true.
“With suitors vex'd, like Argosee,
“By adverse tempests tost,
“She wrecks her golden treasury
“Upon an unknown coast.
“Thus prying censure blames; not so
“Her cautious choice I deem;
“Pond'ring on life's important throw,
“Perchance a golden dream.
“Some of the goodliest fruits we meet
“A treacherous poison hold;
“The fairest flowers not always sweet,
“Not all that glisters gold.
“Safe from the world's ensnaring lure,
“Like Saint in holy cell,
“On heavenly Providence secure,
“Her hopes and fortunes dwell.
“To Heaven she yields her Spousal Choice,
“With holy credit new,
“The sacred lot, Heav'n's solemn voice,
“Confers a Bridegroom true.
“And she has plac'd in holy bow'r
“Three lots, with mystic pride;
“Who happ'ly draws in favour'd hour,
“Has Portia for his bride.

219

“Full many a Knight of good degree
“His hopeful fortune tries,
“With oraisons to Pow'rs on high,
“To yield the envy'd Prize.
“Full many a youth of gentle kind,
“Like bankrupt merchant crost,
“Curses false Fortune's cruel wind,
“Wrecking his gainful boast.
“And now with dawning morn elate,
“To Portia's halls I hie,
“Hanging the chain of all my fate
“On wheel of destiny.
“O! may yon guardian Choir above
“My prosperous venture met!
“O snare this silver bird of love
“In mystic toils she set!
“Rightly, ye Pow'rs! my footsteps turn,
“Who all my fortunes scan;
“Else never, never to return,
“I go a banish'd man!
“Never to see bright Portia more,
“Nor friend nor sacred home;
“Nor sportive Muse on Forthas' shore,
“But through the world to roam.”

220

CANTO II.

O'er glitt'ring waves now dawning morn,
Purpl'd, Sir Ambrose, tow'rs;
The Sun in golden chariot borne,
Starts from his eastern bowers:
All nature wakes: The woodlands round
Chant to the sky-lark's song:
The Shepherd's flute, with jocund sound,
Pipes to the bleeting throng.
The fields rejoice in sunny dale,
The village tribes repair
To morning task; or artless tale
Rehearse, devoid of care.
Ambrose alone estrang'd from joy,
Forsakes his couch of rest,
Where doubts and fears, with pale annoy,
Had scar'd his anxious breast:
And ever waking jealousy,
Like guard of Argus' eyes,
On watch, lest chance or rivalry,
Should steal his golden Prize.

221

Forlorn he pass'd the sleepless hours,
Pond'ring his devious way;
Where shelt'ring in hesperian bow'rs
This envy'd Treasure lay.
And now his horn with shrilling sound
Summons in Gothic hall
His trusty yoemen, gath'ring round,
To 'tend his early call.
“Fair smiles the morn with cloudless shine,
“Meet emblem of my Love;
“O might her smiles with charm divine
“My faithful vows approve!
“For now I go with Knightly State,
“To woo this peerless Dame,
“And mystic Lot decides my fate,
“Repaid with Love or Shame.
“Thro' distant lands and desarts drear,
“Our arduous journey lies,
“But what is labour, death, or fear,
“While Portia fair the prize!
“And let us march in martial boast,
“Each on his stately steed,
“Discourteous Knights on stranger coast
“May rude contentions breed.
“Or should my hopes be foil'd, I go
“Forlorn with trusty band,
“To drown, in arms, a Lover's wo
“Warring in foreign land.”

222

He said, his faithful Yoemen bold,
Must'ring in gorgeous wier,
With stately steeds, and banner'd gold,
Around their Chief appear.
Proud he bestrides his courser brave,
Like Knight in days of yore,
When riding o'er the Colchian wave,
He claim'd his golden store.
Onward they pass, o'er length'ning plain
Urging their eager claim,
Nor hill, nor flood, their course detain,
Nor Phœbus' sultry beam.
O'er dreary dales, like hawkes pursue
Elate, their distant prey,
And o'er the mountain path renue
The toil of many a day.
The shaking marsh, the foaming deep,
The desart wilds, in vain,
Where plund'ring Hords their station keep,
Their patient Rout restrain.
At length bright morning's cheerful beams,
More grateful scenes disclose,
With verdant fields and past'ral streams
The flow'ry vales arose.
With sweet vicissitude they change,
The pathless wilds and muirs,
For rural hamlets fair arange,
Gay lawns, and stately tow'rs.

223

The recess of a mountain steep
A tuneful grove display'd,
Where Love and Venus seem'd to keep
Their haunt in cooling shade.
Pomona yielded fruitage sweet,
Flora her fragrant flow'rs,
A bevy Bright, with Minstrels meet,
Spring from their darkling bow'rs:
Their snowy limbs, their rosy smiles,
Their locks of raven hue,
Shadowing fair breasts, with am'rous wiles,
'Gan ev'ry heart subdue.
“Ye whose consenting bosoms beat
“To pleasure's soft alarms,
“Here close your various search, and sate
“Desire in Beauty's arms!
“Ambition spread thine ermin'd pride!
“Fame haunt the tented field,
“Let guilt and power the world divide!
“Love better joys can yield.
“Here youthful dalliance, peace, and joy,
“Crown'd with unfading prime,
“Far from the changeful world's annoy,
“Disport in native clime.
“Come, taste the raptures of our bowl,
“Your fruitless toils forego,
“And we will bathe the charmed soul
“In joys which Lovers know.”

224

With magic lure the Sirens sung,
Ambrose their guile defies,
Arms with reproach his scornful tongue,
And in disdain replies:
“How vain is Beauty's gaudy flow'r,
“The shadow of a shade!
“Poor pageant of an idle hour,
“Born just to bloom and fade.
“How vainer still when modest Grace,
“Which might the Sex adorn,
“To Circe's wanton wiles gives place,
“Transforming praise to scorn.
“When beauty spreads deceitful snare,
“Her vauntage to destroy,
“Changing to thrall of pain and care
“Her golden dreams of joy,
“Be Faith and Truth our lasting prize!
“Of female Worth the crown,
“And Virtue chaste, which never dies,
“When all your bliss is flown.”
Sir Ambrose thus, with looks severe,
Each turn'd his ling'ring steed,
While whelm'd in shame and sad despair,
False Beauty's bevy fled.

225

CANTO III.

Like bird from snare, with eager speed,
O'er hill and dale they hie,
Till, as the length'ning shades proceed,
Fair bulwarks they espy.
Orgus, for his renowned race,
These rear'd on rising ground;
A Baron He, with lordly grace,
Rul'd in his rocky mound.
Thither they bend; the ward on wall
Gives summons where he sat;
The porter, rous'd with clarion's call,
Unfolds the stately gate.
O'er circling moat the bridge is cast,
The Knight, with trusty Squires,
In marble court alights in haste,
The lordly fort admires.
The menial train, in order'd state,
To hall of audience lead,
Where Orgus, in his gorgeous seat,
Bids the grave Stranger speed.

226

In golden cups, the glitt'ring train
Present the sparkling wine;
And then, in story loud and vain,
He talk'd of Rufus' line.
Of Guendola, whose Ebran's fame
Could salve the infamy
Of thrones desoil'd by guilty blame,
Cancell'd by chastity.
Of Cambria's Prince, and Cymbelline,
And Vortiger, with hive
Of Saxons false, to undermine
Those sweets which made them thrive.
He talk'd of Locrine, Brutus' son,
Of Albanact of old,
From whom his noble lineage run,
In line of Barons bold;
And shew'd their feats, with blazon proud,
Pourtray'd in Gothic hall,
Their high descent, their royal blood,
Unstain'd by foreign thrall.
And now his splendid table stor'd
With costly cheer and wine,
Sir Ambrose, with this mighty Lord,
Sits down in state to dine.
His martial train apart repair,
Their strength with travel worn;
In the high stalls their coursers fare,
O'er lib'ral heaps of corn.

227

When flowing cups, with potent charm,
Had wak'd the op'ning heart,
Thus Orgus, with carousing warm,
'Gan secret thoughts impart.
“I know thee well, Sir Ambrose thou!
“Nor thy behest can hide;
“Big with vain hope, you vainly woo
“Bright Portia for your bride.
“Thy mind what magic can inspire,
“Where many a heart is lost,
“There, with rash venture, to aspire,
“Braving an unknown coast!
“Or why thus through the world to roam,
“In fruitless foreign chace,
“When plumed honour, nearer home,
“Shews with as fair a face!
“Here Fame and Birth, like diamond store,
“In golden links combin'd;
“The sacred image all adore,
“And art thou only blind!”
“Blind let me be, so I prefer,
“True Worth's unborrow'd shine;
“For native Merit shames the glare
“Of birth, like foreign mine.”
“But I'll outmatch thee, Orgus said,
“The Dame born to command
“All hearts, Vanessa! thou shalt wed,
“And with Her half my land.”

228

“Ill fare the Knight, unworthy he
“To gain such peerless prize:
“Who would not sue on bended knee,
“Where birth with merit vies.
“And Ambrose here, with conscious pride,
“Could act true lover's part,
“Nor ever sue a worthier Bride,
“Had Love not reft his heart:
“For there's in Love imperial sway,
“All vauntage to controul,
“Of human boast, and thrall's her prey,
“Prime magnet of the soul.”
“But dangers lurk in every field,”
Cries Orgus, big with wrath;
“Bethink thee, in thy path, conceal'd,
“Of ambush, war, and death.”
“Nor ambush, war, nor death I dread,”
Says Ambrose, with disdain,
“When Portia is the victor's meed,
“And life without her pain.”
“Then go, unwise! from good to ill,
“Thy rivals proud have sworn
“Thy pains to soothe, thy blood to spil,
“And shroud thy corse ere morn.”
Sir Ambrose led his Yeomen bold,
They cross the castle's mound
In fair array; their horns of gold
A fierce defiance sound.

229

CANTO IV.

Course on my trusty Friends with speed!
While day shines in the sky,
For ambush'd foes it is decreed
Against our safety lie:
And Orgus' Sons are of the plot
To work a Rival's fall:
May Heaven decide our destin'd lot,
May snares the crafty thrall.
Then o'er the fertile plain they flew,
And o'er the whistling heath,
And as the chearful sun withdrew,
They slack their steeds to breath.
When, bursting from the neighb'ring wood,
A hostile troop drew near
With clam'rous noise; in vengeful mood,
Each couch'd his quiv'ring spear.
“Yield Slaves, or die! Rombaldo cries,
“Such was their Leader's name,
“Vain your atchieve in knightly guise
“To force our vaunted Dame:

230

“Her Champions we! whose arms shall prove
“Who best deserves the Fair,
“And quell your rash aspiring love
“In death, and black despair.”
The boaster spoke; his squadron fierce
Assails at his command,
The trusty Yeomen bravely pierce
Thrice through the vanquish'd band.
Again their bloody toils renew,
The glitt'ring faulchion's wound,
The closing spears in shivers flew,
And many press'd the ground.
Unquell'd each frowning squadron stood,
And now the mortal fray
Had clos'd in gen'ral death, and blood;
Beneath the setting ray:
When Ambrose spoke, the rival Lord,
And must our Yeomen die,
And must the combat be restor'd
For our proud rivalry.
Let us alone the battle wage,
To whom the spoils belong,
Nor, in the barb'rous work of rage,
Consume, this valiant throng.
“Agreed! Rombaldo cries, and swore,
“This javline shall decide
“My rightful claim: In Ambrose gore
“By arm of prowess dyed.

231

And now the Chiefs, with lordly prance,
Traverse the destin'd ground;
And now they couch the quiv'ring lance
At the shrill trumpet's sound:
The Champions start; in mid carreer
They meet with dread intent,
The sounding mail repells the spear,
The spears in shivers went.
Again they turn, the falchion gleams
To end their furious fight;
Down Ambrose, arm the blood in streams
Serves but to rouse his might.
At the next charge, with vengeful speed
Against his foe He flew;
And headlong down, both Knight and steed,
Groaning to earth he threw.
Then seiz'd the pledge of his emprize,
Rombaldo's helm and sword,
And bids the band in scornful guise
Replace their victor Lord.
Nor stay'd; annon, Rombaldo's train
In friendly arms prevail,
To raise their Champion from the plain,
Fainting in cumbrous mail.
Meanwhile bright Portia in her Bow'r
In fond retirement sat,
And dream'd her Knight, all dangers o'er,
Had drawn the prosp'rous fate.

232

His am'rous vows the Lady bright
Long heard, pure offering!
What time the marine red cross Knight,
Vanquish'd proud Iber's King.
Her dreams, his Suit, with rivals proud
Beset, awak'd the flame
Of Virgin Love, in pleasing mood
Pleading his juster claim.
Each Suitor vain dismiss'd, aside,
The per'lous lots She threw,
For surer love a willing Bride
In stronger fetters drew.
Ambrose! course on thy prosp'rous way
To Portia's stately tow'rs,
Her little page, in trim array
Conducts, while ev'ning lours.
Propitious fate has stamp'd thy doom;
With nuptial Bevy hies
The blythsome Hymen to relume,
His torch at Portia's eyes.
And now the castle's blaze, afar,
His am'rous journey guides,
Grateful as ev'ning's golden star,
When to his dome he glides.
And now the watch, on turret high,
Welcome Sir Ambrose Band,
Full wide the ready portals fly,
And in the Court they stand.

233

But who can paint these Lovers true,
Meeting in fond embrace!
How when his per'lous march She knew,
The roses left her face:
How, when She saw her wounded Knight,
She swoon'd, thro' pain and care!
Like wreath of snow, from Arthur's height,
He grasp'd the falling Fair.
Anon restor'd, her female prime
In fresher lustre shows,
So smiles the Sun in southern clime,
Thro' white, or damask rose.
Her golden locks dishevell'd flow,
Bright Venus' magic veil,
And chaste affection's roseat glow,
Sweet artifice! conceal.
They lead the Knight, 'mid lustre's shine,
To close his hours in rest,
While, golden dreams of bliss divine
His days with Portia bless'd.
Apart She mourns; the rival sword
Which caus'd a Lover's smart,
Her iv'ry breast with pity gor'd,
And pierc'd her maiden heart.
Bless'd Pair! whom gentlest sates conjoin,
Not chance nor treasur'd store;
Thrice happy Knight! who gains a mine
Richer than worlds of ore.

234

The harmless pleasures, side by side,
Lead on the jocund hours,
And Constancy with Love ally'd,
Frequent their Nuptial Bow'rs.
Like Two fair Trees with blossoms crown'd,
The glory of the grove,
They spread their golden Branches round,
The Fruits of faithful Love.
The fields rejoice, the smiling vale,
Where winding Fortha strays:
Whose village maids the pleasing tale
Repeat to future days.
Banks of Forth, 1785.

242

CURSORY THOUGHTS IN THE S****y of the Ab**y.

INSCRIBED TO ANDREW CROSBIE, ESQ. ADVOCATE, VICE-DEAN OF THE FACULTY OF ADVOCATES, F. R. S. OF EDINBURGH, AND OF THE SOCIETY OF SCOTTISH ANTIQUARIES, WHOSE EXTENSIVE KNOWLEDGE, AND EMINENT ABILITIES, BOTH AS LEARNED COUNSEL, AND AT THE BAR, REFLECT DIGNITY AND LUSTRE AROUND THOSE SHINING GOOD QUALITIES, WHICH ADORN SOCIETY, WHICH DISTINGUISH THE HUMANE, THE DISINTERESTED, AND MANLY CHARACTER.
Tantæne animis cælestibus iræ! ------
Virg.
Ye Regal Seats! where native Monarchs sway'd,
When Scotia's fame, triumphant as her sword,
Pervaded every clime, nor swelling pride
Of haughty Normans circumscrib'd her state;
To you I fly, ordain'd, in better days,
Meet refuge for the friendless, when the rod
Of guilt triumphant, in this iron age,
Bears down the Juster Cause: Propitious hide,
In circle of your sanctuary, the son,
Outcast, forlorn, a stranger to the tear
Which Pity gives to Misery, full oft
The only mite here left her to bestow.
Perhaps he bends beneath Misfortune's rain,
Or faithless friends, like parricides, pursue,

243

In howling pack; or sad reverse of trade,
Or dire mischance of ocean, fire, or storm,
Has ever shipwreck'd on the sea of life,
With all his clamant children; or the snares
Of gen'rous surety, plunder'd for his friend.
Nor waste, nor luxury, nor costly schemes
Of grasping avarice, with loss repaid,
Has made them poor: The Destiny which rules
O'er all, which, smiling, fills our flowing cup
With each endearing sweet, or, frowning stern,
With stepdame's eye, refuses ev'ry good
Her fav'rites share, 'tis this which casts their lot,
The rich man's portion, purple, feast, and song,
While patience starves, or bends beneath the weight
Of sickness, want, reproach; Perhaps the bent,
The sacred biass of a gen'rous soul,
Like Heav'n, dispensing bliss, who gives, and feels
For others, goodness far surpassing self,
And every selfish view, beyond the sphere
Of fortune, narrow for their lib'ral mind,
Has brought them, venerable exiles, here,
To seek that refuge once they freely gave,
Which now they lack themselves. Set wide your gates,
Thou hallow'd asylum! and save the good,
The just, the gen'rous, from vindictive fang
Of sordid Avarice, of Justice stern,
Inexorable, deaf to Mercy's cry.

241

Let not th'illustrious Friend to mis'ry lack
The cordial sympathy he once bestow'd
On all distress'd: Oh! may he never feel
These woes, which villain luxury prepares,
With cruel thoughtless insult, to o'erwhelm
The hoary head of age. Let not the chains
Of wanton guilt, or malice, mark the limbs
Of poor misfortune, like a felon dragg'd
'Mid treason, murder, perj'ry, to a jail,
Depriv'd of air, of liberty, and link'd
With such society their soul abhors,
And pleas'd, recoils upon itself. Near may
The legal privileged ruffian, he,
Whose gorgon visage stamp'd for blackest deeds,
Speaks gibbets, death, and Erebus, profane
Thy holy threshold with defilement vile
Of unbless'd feet: Nor e'er his scrols unfold,
In sacrilegious mockery of the law,
With licenc'd outrage, to invade man's right:
Safe, in thy magic circle may they dwell
Remote from all annoy: Sweet slumbers close
Their careful eyes: Sweet may the red breast sing
Beneath their lattice, to the orient blaze
Of golden morn, and smiling health, and peace,
Virtue's fair sisters, lead them thro' the haunts
Of moral contemplation, till the powers,
The guardian Genii of these walls, conjoin'd
With mild Astræa, set the prisoners free.

242

Within your peaceful precincts, kind receive
Th'unshelter'd head, long struggling with the storm
Of Life's rude ocean: By confederate strife
Of Parents, Brothers, Kindred, oh! despoil'd
Of every right: Yet from the list'ning bar
Of judgment turning, sham'd to plead a cause
Of helpless Orphans, nature shrinks to hear.
O public insult to humanity!
Trembling with heart-felt agony to speak
The horrid tale; which tears the finest chords,
The tortured, nicely feeling frame within;
While silent, suff'ring patience, bleeds convuls'd
On sharpest rack. Compar'd with this, the worst
Of mortal plagues, which nature 'gainst herself
Arms inwardly, how calm th'instructed mind,
Exalted in its peace, may stand the shock
Of common evils, welcome every round
Of fickle fortune, brave the Lordly frown
Of tyrant greatness, who disdains to hear
The poor man's cause, or, impious, overturns,
Like swelling Pharoah, mid his lyar train
Of flatt'ry vile, meet levee for mean pride.
Well may they bear, unmov'd, the restless toil
Of carping envy, hostile still to good,
Or secret malice, with her fiend-like arts,
Sly, undermining every honest praise:
The scoff of brutal ignorance, the scorn
Of fools, and knavish outlaws, the foul pride

243

Of rank hypocrisy, who boastful talks
Of God, and vaunted faith, and love divine,
Yet impious, in the afflicted's case, defies
All works of love, the God of love ordains,
And disapprove their passport from high bliss,
Aliens to good rejected. Scorn the trade,
The slav'ry mean of many a dastard heart,
Who bears on high the shameless front, nor spares
To revel on the wreck such hirelings make;
The plagues of a bad world, the tools of pride,
The slaves of pampar'd luxury: No care,
No honest toil they know, save to complete
The little tyrant's knavish plan who rules
Despotic o'er some paultry spot: These moil,
By hellish fraud and art'fice, to ensnare
The freeborn, and enchain them to the yoke,
Which galls their liberty, bends their spirit down,
And moulds them for submission: The fearless few
Of virtues train, who cross the little strides
Of pigmy power, as bravest cruelly feel
The scourge which levels man. Ye abject slaves!
Of tyranny, who work another's will,
And basely serve your own, go sink the scale
Of widows, orphans, and the poor man's lot,
Heavy at best: Ye div'lish hirelings! lift
O'er them the proud, the insolent, the scum,
The dross of earth, to keep them low: Employ
Your guileful, plotting, scoundrel train, renown'd
For every vice, when Fiends possession take,

244

And urge on man's damnation. Haste! devour
The poor, the widow's house, the orphans spare,
And sacred portion; what the ruffian bands
Of harden'd outlaws, roving pirates arm'd,
Or private robbery, not so deep in crimes,
Had spar'd, remorseful, to the pension'd roll
Of crying want and age. Then all t'ensure
The speedy fall of Him, whose soul abhores
Such cruel deeds, whose tearful eyes o'erflow
For wrongs he cannot cure, who braves the wrath
Of plodding sly deceit, who thwarts bold vice,
Who stands forth in the gape such Demons make;
Go! Bribe the abandon'd, tempt the perjur'd down
The yawning gulphs of horror! loose each tye,
Each fear, each curb, each sacred bond which chains
All social life, to truth, to honesty,
To just, and right, to man, and to his God,
And to enforce mean vengeance, damn mankind!
HAIL princely domes! fair mansions of our kings,
Whose structure proud, with high embattled tow'rs
And antique galleries, and pillard state,
Does sooth the pensive melancholy thought:
Whose cloyster'd walls and holy fanes decayed,
Majestic yet in ruin, steal the soul
From sad remembrance of these evil times,
To happier thoughts of golden Ages past,
Unstain'd with modern crimes. To you I call,
And to your wildy pleasing solitudes

245

Of rocks, and dales, and mountains hoar, beneath
Whose verdant sides the goodliest prospect lies,
Of princely seats in fair arrange, of woods,
And pastures green, of chrystal lakes, and seas,
Unbounded, graced with many a gliding sail;
And distant hills, and high Edina crown'd
With lofty spires, and maiden towers, which deck
In Gothic majesty the lengthning scene:
Oft let me trace with frequent foot your wilds,
What time gay morning dawns, or ev'ning hour
To contemplation, tunes the pensive mind.
Your solemn echos to the ear of night,
And thousand wakeful fires, her listning guard,
Shall oft repeat, in lib'ral verse my Song,
In numbers unpremeditate. Apart,
Secure, in refuge of your ivy'd rocks,
And pendant mountains hoar, I round survey
The crowding urbane landscape: Oft at noon
Look down on all the busy tribes below
With philosophic eye. Ye gaudy trains!
Of plummed peagentry, who idly cross
Life's jostling path, say! What's the vain avail
Of all your endless labours! The vain shew
Of useless wealth and greatness! Death concludes
The narrow race, and on the mimic group
And hurrying player, shuts the changeful scene.
Ye purse-proud citizens! who bustling raise
Yon dusty clouds, annoyance to the poor,

246

The harmless, useful schemes of honest trade,
Which builds, which props the fabric of the State,
When will tir'd Av'rice, not grasping more,
Leave their just portion to the crowds who starve!
Like the Behemoth, bask in sunny clime,
Your vaunted strength, along the willowy shore,
Draining the rivers tide, which freely flows,
Refreshing far the plain, till swilling lust
Of selfish Mammon desolate the scene.
Good Genii! unrolling human lot,
With kindliest biass, who enchain the Fiends
Malignant, only active to infuse
Their swelling spleen empois'ning Nature round,
Oh! save us from the plagues Yon Felons shed,
Pandora's box, with deadliest bane renew'd.
See! where with haggard lip and corse deform!
Meet dwelling for such Wretch, thro' life he steals,
Defrauding his staunch creditor, the grave,
That felon, Faustus, with his dev'lish arts,
Ensnaring widows, orphans, to devour
Their sacred pittance, or with Turpin rob
The hives industrious, in disdain of law;
The Necromancers skulk 'mid Honour'd Train,
Who shun the Scoundrels, and as hell abhor.
In contemplation's solitudes remote,
Oh! hid me from yon ruthless group, who turn
Aside from misery, and fiend-like shut
The doors of mercy, while misfortune mourns

247

The scourge of vice. Ye lordly drones! vile group
Of pride and meanness, who consume the hive,
The stores of thousands, on your idle train,
Squand'ring in cruel riot, what might bless
Some sober families, who pine in want,
Roll on in selfish, pamper'd sloth, and shove
Yon friendless bankrupt from the path, attir'd
In weeds uncouth, unpity'd and forlorn.
See how apart he shuns the meas'ring eye
Of strutting insolence, and wipes the tear
Which modest worth and honesty, depress'd,
Oft consecrate to deck the shrine of pride.
So in yon mountain wild, the wounded deer
His bleeding stound apart bewails, and shuns
The boyant ranging herd: In sportive ease,
As taught by cruel man, whose thoughtless mirth
Insults the wretched, struggling with their fate,
The trooping quarry with consent avoid
Their helpless brother, and full lordly pass
Their fellow-outcast, while mute patience bears
The gen'ral scorn, the dow'r of misery,
And sighs his pangs to the deep shelt'ring shade.
Ye Sisters Nine! who held your fav'rite haunt,
In days of yore, in these fair regal seats,
Your peaceful residence, with footsteps pure,
Oh! say, for to your hallow'd ken reveal'd
All nature lies: Is vice, with brazen front,
And fearless stride, o'erleaping ev'ry bound,

248

A Fiend let loose to domineer on earth,
Because the laws are impotent to curb,
Unable to subdue the lawless pest,
Bent on foul deeds, inhuman and accurs'd,
On earth establishing the works of hell?
Say is the evil world, like fell disease,
Which daily gathers increase, bad and worse,
Incurable! Has virtue, in the eye
Of human race, once lovely, kind, and pure
From ev'ry blemish, name and nature lost,
Congenial with the skies, and, sad reverse,
Put on the demon form of loathsome, foul,
Of bloated spite, fierce insolence, of power
Gigantic monster! with a hundred hands,
To do a thousand black abhorred deeds,
Which make all hell rejoice, and ravage earth,
Their waste abode, meet dwelling for such Fiends.
Are all things chang'd for worse! That inward light,
That charity, pure truth, and sacred faith
'Twixt man and man, have names without existence,
As sounds taught children. In the schools we learn
Of these eulogium high, and vaunted phrase,
And from the bar, and pulpit, their acclaim
With zealous orat'ry proceeds: Alas!
These only empty names, mere echo sounds;
A voice and nothing more remains of thee,
Thou radiant angel Virtue! Heav'n's first born,
Her loveliest, dearest child! No stranger once

249

On earth, in Paradise, to eye of man
Once passing fair. Abroad into the world,
Walk forth, 'tis all a dream: What schoolmen teach,
The libertine crowd decry, with hissing scorn.
Hypocrisy, mean Atheist, thee abjures,
For sordid ends, and triumphs in his gain,
Tho' coward Conscience blame his losing trade.
Masking in sacred garb, with semblance starch
Of ev'ry holy Grace, of Mild and Meek,
Vile counterfeits! when sacerdotal Pride,
Hypocrisy, to varnish cruel guile,
And the revengeful Villain lurks beneath,
How many Achans, fir'd with Atheist love
Of the accursed thing, now fawn on pow'r,
And proudly lord it o'er God's Heritage,
O'erleaping ev'ry bound: Unseemly league!
To work their tyrant purpose, to forsake
Their altars, and their oracles of peace,
Apostate Traitors! with satannic zeal,
Wide humbling man, to build proud Phar'o's scheme:
To crush the friendless, to bear down the scale
Of public liberty, abhorred tools
Of guilty pow'r! Mean troublers of our peace!
Whom Heav'n shall vex with tenfold plagues return'd.
Ye grov'ling cringing slaves! worst shame of all
Th'apostate Eldership! Oh! hide your heads,
Lest the pure light withdraw its holy beam,
Prophan'd by monstrous sights: Oh! hide your heads

250

Before the Lord of Conscience, He, who tries
The treasons of the times, with awful search
Pervading Solyma, with godlike ken
Of eyes all-seeing, as with candle's flame,
Or blazing torch, to shew th'accursed thing
Which causeth Judah stumble, each false friend
Who only lurks in Zion to betray.
What legion Demons, quitting nobler game,
Could tempt such fawning dastards to destroy
The Church's discipline! to sell their faith
For Judas' paltry barter! with rude force,
To rend that adamantine hallow'd bond,
Th'eternal chain the Church o'er Satan holds,
And Belial's sons; the chain which binds your souls:
But you have sold them, instruments of crimes,
To slavish villainy, to tyrant pow'r,
To a remorseless Bigot, who betrays
The Church, the Public, and the charter'd rights
Of Freemen sold, to build his grov'ling scheme.
Within your midnight secret Popish pale
Of partial select Ses****, pack'd in haste,
Go plead for dire abortion, murder, crimes
Which want a name: Send forth suborned proofs,
Bandied about by sensual parasites,
By shameless Matrons, outlaws, knaves, and fools,
Falsehood's black wiles enroll'd! the Devil's voice,
Against all truth, all conscience, and all law!
Mean scoundrels, go! and from unhallow'd den

251

Of perjury and treason ne'er disclos'd,
Save when the gulphs of Tophet dire disgorge
Their rankness to pollute the world with crimes,
Send lustful dalliance forth, swoll'n tyrant pride,
O'erleaping ev'ry bound; with Athiest train
Of policy, or Hell's black plagues in one;
Yon d**** V**** to infect the age
With habitude unclean. The Cherub face
Of sacred Childhood scapes not leudness fang,
Which shelt'ring in the refuge of rank wiles,
Embolden'd by the purest, chast reserve,
Foully invaded Heav'n. Oh! hide your head,
Thou purest Sun! nor shine on Villain deeds,
The Muses will not speak, nor Shame declare.
Ah! tell it not in Gath! the hoary scape
Of rev'rend Elders, like Susanna's twain,
Commixes with the sacrilegious group
Of Belial and proud Eli's sons; seduce,
By impious suff'rance, unguarded youth
To revelry and rape: With Hell's defile
Prophane each holy sanctuary, and seat
Leud sons of Satan with the sons of God.
And when your cup o'erflows, in honest minds
Inkindling indignation, Fiends abash'd
Appal'd in triple shades shall joyous deem
Their Guilt, and Judas by your crimes out done,
Who, boasting vows and offerings of peace,
Do pious homage only to betray,

252

Trampling on dreadful Mysteries. In scorn
Of all, and reeking from the sensual stye
Of drunkenness, go! bring your Champion forth!
With Athiest profanation, with disdain
Of holiest things, insulting God and Man,
His grace divine, the crimson streams which flow
Around his dreadful Altar, schemes of love
To man eternal, by base man prophan'd;
Go! seat your champion at the Royal Feast,
And while all Israel troubl'd deep complain
With uproar's voice, yon grov'ling slavish tribe
Of Levites, Rulers, Apostates, shall draw
O'er all oblivion's viel. Bold sinners know
Th'all-seeing Judge, who reigns enthron'd in light
Numbers your secret thoughts, your evil deeds,
Against the dread Assize. Hot burning wrath
Avenging his own cause, devour'd the seats
Of Korah's Usurpation: Plung'd in death
Those shrieking rebels, in the gulphs of pride:
This Nadab with unhallow'd fire consum'd,
And melted Sinais' rocky heights convuls'd,
And all the sacrilegious. Trembling, fear!
This burning Tophet, roaring for her prey!
Forbid it all ye gracious Powers, who watch
O'er Man's apostacy! such group should spring
From laws too feeble, to restrain the floods
Of bold iniquity, that preys on man:
The laws are wisely fram'd, the tables pure,
Where Justice, Wisdom, Truth, with finger dread,

253

Are fairly writ, that ev'ry eye may see
Where duty draws us, ev'ry inward thought
May tremble to transgress: Corruption's plague,
With influence malign, invades the spheres,
And bloats the sun, and taints the inward light,
Once rational, to resist that sanction high,
Connected still with universal good,
To Man observant, but with penal force
To hold in awe offenders, to ensure
Obedience, till o'er the flaming arch
The Sapphire throne descend, and trumpet voice
Of heaven's dread Justice' peal the last Assize.
Nor is mankind so lost, so dead to sense,
To feelings fine of virtue, and her praise,
So blind to Nature's light, as to disdain
What's honest, pure, and true. A pow'r in all,
The umpire Conscience, delegate of heaven,
Internal Monitor, the voice of God,
Points ev'ry upright path we take in life;
Unerring guide, as magnet to the pole:
The written tables, fenc'd with terrors dread,
Of Thunder and of Justice' edged sword,
Constraining Man to Man, to Heaven, to God,
Enforce on all with sovereign sanction firm.
Yet is there vast defect, if lawful thus
To name such monstrous evil; pregnant long
With gross corruption, present, and to come;
The Shame, the Bane, the Bravo of our state,

254

Who opens mines of wickedness unknown,
When Pagans, Goths, and Saracens bore rule:
Or Antichrist vile Man of lies, and sin,
Reign'd uncontroul'd in fiery wrath, and spread
Hell's desolation thro' the works of God.
Justice with hand impartial weighs the cause
Twixt Man and Man, and hence between the signs
Of heav'ns high concave, blaze her golden scales.
And just the praise of him in quest of right,
Who scorning vile chicanery of law,
The guise of varnish'd falsehood, hateful trade!
Of Knaves, who cheat and spoil at Justice feet,
While he Misfortune's friend, thro' ev'ry maze
Impartial, active, guides to center true
The polar point where only Truth does lie,
His aim unveiling Falshood, not to hide.
For with unhallowed foot, with guileful haste,
And eager vissage keen, to push a trade
Against the peace of all, or right or wrong,
Some wealthy felon, or some orphan'd train,
His fraud, his wiles, his villain wrongs oppress;
To him the same, just or unjust no care
Of plund'ring Turpin, train'd to merc'less deeds,
Of licenc'd villainy, the Pirate bent
On rapine, marks his prey, and thro' the maze
Of writs unnumber'd lengthening as they wind
The fatal labyrinth, with high encrease
Of number, subject, value, as the leaves

255

Of the Cumean Maid, he leads them on,
An Ignis Fatuus, 'mid the pits of death,
Devoted to destruction: Thrice hapless proof,
Corruption reigns o'er all, when justest cause
Of good men is perverted at the will,
The nod of every Outlaw, when the wrong'd
Must suffer rapine, in pursuit of right,
And vaunted Justice bleeds by her own sword;
While fell Tresilian stamps the firm decree,
And weeping Mercy, with averted eye,
Turns from the bench of law, whose impure stain,
From Foulest Channels loudly pleads redress.
Ah! see yon guilty train of conscious Knaves,
Who trembling, stand abash'd, the sacred light
Within them, waking keen remorse, and woes
They cannot speak; for those are they who sold
The just man's cause, who sold a Briton's Rights,
Subourned tools of faction! Their good name,
Their Friends', Instructors', all their worldly share
Of present good they prize; and better hopes,
Bartered of heavenly bliss, the meanest scorn
Of all the damn'd: Who, gracious Powers, defend
From Hell's delusion, by most solemn oath,
Did seal their impious bargain, wrecking all,
That man holds dear; and, in the phrensy'd mood
Of clam'rous faction, deaf to every voice,
Her own except; braving the yawning gulph
Of dread hereafter. Ah! Thrice remorseless band,
Befool'd of all, by a mean scoundrel snar'd,

256

And taught his rebel purposes, encag'd,
A nest of birds unclean. Lo, yonder chair
Of judgment, where Astræa once more would
Descend, did not a false Prov--- Judge,
O Sacrilege abhord! usurp the seat,
A better's right, by partial decrees stain'd,
Injust, absurd, mere insolence of pow'r,
The scoff of lowest intellects, the scorn
Of School-boys, and their theme for low contempt.
Just powers! who love mankind, defend the free,
The brave, the wrong'd, who friendless in such strife,
Outface the meaness of a Jeffries vile,
Who sacrilegous, sold law, conscience, soul,
To work politic Tyrants will: To plead
Excuse for perj'ry, for treason base,
For every vice which gradual mining saps,
A nation's life; which tramples on the right,
The Briton's charter'd privilege to be heard,
And fully heard, against a Demon fell,
Who wants a name, 'ere B--- sentence pass.
Thrice holy walls! Whose desolated pile,
And storied mansions mould'ring to decay,
Scarce serve to shield the mighty dead intomb'd
From proud annoy, ye Princes! Monarchs! laid,
With factious peers, once troublers of your peace,
Beneath one common marble Ah! how vain

257

Your faded grandeur, your once high estate,
Your titl'd peerage, the full blaze of pow'r,
The tide of fortune the rich pomp of pride,
Now shriv'ld in the dust. Your Trophied Gates,
Your Ample Courts, once throng'd with cavalcades
Of pageant state, of flattery base, intent,
To rise by early adulation; these
Avail no more, nor in historic page,
Can save your mem'ry from the tonchstone proof
Of candid speculation, from keen pen
Of satyr dread, or bigots wanton rage.
'Tis now your vanity and pride must feel,
The curse of being great; and deep convinc'd,
Yield to the challeng'd, sharp, tormenting proof,
That every toil is vain, save Wisdom's, she
Who trains man to the noblest end of life,
The life of God and virtue, which survives,
When all your Crowns and Palaces decay,
And heaven's bright starry mansions sink in night.
The gaudy sun is sunk, the Maiden Towers
Shine to the crimson'd sky: The solemn hour
Of closing evening, leads me to lament
At Julia's Tomb; there strew the latest flowers
Which fading autumn yields. Hail! holy shrine
Good Genii haunt; where fancy's eye does trace
Heroic Shades, and Kindred Chiefs, and Saints
Encrown'd, who leave their Amaranthine bowers
To visit thy cold relicts in the tomb.
Thou! once the first in bloom of youth! the pride
Of Scotia's beauteous dames; the first, the hope

258

Of Douglas princely Line, the first in worth,
And in the gloom of adverse fortune train'd,
The first in misery: Say, is there not,
Some blest reversion in the sky, for those
Who drink the cup of bitterness! entomb'd,
O teach prime Moralist! The Rich, the Great,
That true nobility ne'er dwelt in blood,
Or lineage high! that graceful She resides,
Where worth and valour shine, and Public Love,
That angel flame, which like the fire He stole,
Exalts the hero, dignifies the pride
Of Princes, Statesmen, in whom mercy smiles,
To Shield th'unshelter'd head. Look from they sphere,
To guard thy offspring from the fatal snares
Which haunt the great! look with a Mother's eye
Upon their princely League, and build thine House,
Amid connubial virtue: May the fame
Of heroes, patriots, Scott, and Douglas rise,
In them, renew'd with glory: May the smiles,
Th'enchanting love of Providence, embrace
Thy numerous progeny: Oh! deign to hear
In thy high sphere this request; if the care
Of faithful vassalage in wrongs long tryed,
Can reach immortals, may the helpless race
Who clamant, croud the lowly plunder'd shed
Of him, whose melting heart in sorrow bleeds,
In want unfriended, 'mid the worst of Wrongs,
Find kindly refuge from oppressive Pow'r:
Or if ordain'd to mourn, thus sooth each pang;
Our poverty Once sav'd our Master's House.
 

Prometheus


259

THE INGENIOUS AND LEARNED MR GRAY,

Then republishing his beautiful Lyric Poems.

O thou! high seated on the muses hill!
Possessing Phoebus' lyre and Phoebus' skill;
Whether from the lofty steep you boldly sing,
Or crop fresh roses by the sacred spring,
Or quaff the stream, while Fancy to thine eyes,
Bids Nature's charms in heav'nly vision rise;
To grace thy Song, to steal the ravish'd heart,
To wake the Virtues, and their Joys impart:
Accept, O Gray! the humble wreath I bring,
Tune my rude reed and teach me how to sing.
Teach me like thee to gain the willing soul,
By Moral Truth, and Music's soft controul!
Above the great, above the world to rise,
Prometheus like, and borrow of the skies.

260

Teach me the Shafts of malice to malice to deride,
The tooth of envy, and the frown of pride;
Secure from ills that vex the rich and great,
To sail life's ocean in a lowly state.
Not selfish, as amidst its storm I steer,
To hide mine eyes from mis'ry's falling tear;
But bless'd to cheer the gloom of sad despair,
To hear the orphan's and the widow's pray'r;
To sooth their pangs, unfold Religion's plan,
Weep o'er their woes, and know myself a man.
Dysart, 1768.

261

ON THE MEMORABLE SIEGE OF GIBRALTAR,

Where the Gallant GENERAL ELLIOT with his brave Garrison, for many months baffled all all the power of Spain, and in her final defeat, by the distruction of the Floating Batteries, won immortal laurels.

------ Elliotusne exurere classem,
Cantabricam, ipsos que potuit submergere ponto,
Unius ob noxam, et furias! ------
Virg.

Triumphant Victors! o'er the pride of Spain,
Who like the Bands of Asia, did sustain
The war of nations, and their wrathful mood,
Quench'd in red deluges of fire and blood:
While Classic Muses deeds heroic sing,
Admit, ye brave! the humble wreaths I bring,

262

To hang your Tow'rs, and deck your glitt'ring Arms,
In peaceful Trophies, pil'd from war's alarms.
Long share the treasur'd sweets your valour won,
Those Laurels which the bravest have out-done:
Unequal'd conduct, patient courage, join'd
With arts defensive to resist mankind.
The length'ning leaguer, danger, famine, death,
Brave Souls! defying with your latest breath:
The British Goddess on the heights of fame,
With blazon high inrolls her Soldier's name:
Elliot, with blooming mural garlands crown'd,
While Calpes bulwarks grace Herculean mound.
With thunders roar thy midnight light'ning's glare,
Devour whole hosts, and rack the groaning air.
Like dire Vesuvius hid in fiery clouds,
Thy Rocky Mortars whelm the hostile crouds,
With show'rs of Lava, from the mountain's womb,
In gulphs of sire whole armies to entomb.
'Mid bursting horrors, see what hosts expire!
What floating Castles sink in seas of fire!
Bourbon! thy glories shrink, the pride of Spain
Founders in tempest, 'mid the burning main.
So sunk the proud in that destructive hour
When vain Cantabria hasten'd to devour
With mooned fleets, and hosts, and tyrant faith,
A dragon Monster, fierce for works of death.
Like Erebus impatient for their prey,
The arm of Heaven dash'd their vast array.

263

Her valiant Sons, like northern tempest, came,
Their fleets to scatter, and the dragon tame:
Resistless, fierce to meet their country's foe,
Her Sons of glory strike the mortal blow;
Arm'd with fierce flames, Armada's pomp o'erthrew,
As Michael's might the Pandemonian crew.
So, while embattl'd nations rage in vain,
The Queen of Isles sits Sovereign of the Main:
Her Sons, the thunder in her hand, are hurl'd,
Like the loud storm which shakes a guilty world.
In fields of blood Cantabria's hosts expire,
And vaunting navies sink in gulphs of fire.
St Salvator's College, St Andrew's, 1782.

265

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF MAJOR ANDRE.

Et bello audacis populi vexatus et armis,
Finibus extorris, complexu avulsus Iulæ,
Auxilium imploret videatque indigna suorumque
Funera: nec, cum se Lodovico pactu iniquo
Tradiderit, regno, aut optata luce fruatur;
Sed cadat ante diem, mediaque inhumatus arena.

If dying Patriots claim a nation's tear,
If civic Worth be yet to Britain dear,
If public Love and loyal Zeal bequeath,
By Goths devoted to a felon's death,
Immortal fame; her herald voice shall sound
His deathless praise, till every shore rebound:
Till Nature's theme celestial spheres reply
Of Andre, for his Country doom'd to die.
Thrice loyal! brave! Gem in barbaric clime!
Where every grace adorns thy youthful prime;
And civic Worth her splendors bright displays,
Till ruthless Traitors quench'd thy diamond blaze,

266

And all thy treasures to the Furies gave,
While madd'ning demons dig thine early grave.
With every private public virtue blest!
With thee thy Country's choicest wishes rest.
What tho' no trophied pile thine ashes keep,
Where Britain's Hero might entombed sleep:
What tho' no scutcheon'd arch adorn the place,
Where guilt and greatness only oft disgrace
The pride of Art: the Sov'reign of the main
And fearless Freedom weep, thy guardian Train.
Thro' future times her warrior Youth shall come,
Their arms to burnish at her Soldier's tomb:
While Britain sad, reclining on her spear,
With Mother's grief bewails her Andre's bier:
On bleeding heart inscribes the deathless name,
Her Son's best monument to live to fame:
And ever turning, where in hallow'd shade,
By haunted stream her fearless Chief is laid;
In Fancy's ear laments with wailing cries,
“On yonder shore my clay-cold Andre lies.”

267

THE INVASION.

Duris ut ilex tonsa bipennibus
Nigræ feraci frondes in Algido,
Per damna, per cædes, ab ipso
Ducit opes animumque ferro.
Hor. in Drus.

Where her deep foundations hiding,
'Neath the foaming western waves,
Lordly Mona tow'rs deriding
Storms which tear th'Eolian caves,
On chrystalline throne suspended
O'er the deep in dazzling state,
Britain's Goddess shone attended
By her Train, which faithful wait:
Lion fortitude protending
Ægis fell, and dreadful spear;
Freedom's dauntless form contemning
Dangers, death, and giant fear:

268

Wisdom, justice, might, resembling
Th'awful Pow'rs who rule the pole,
With adamantine chain assembling
Public Love, who binds the whole.
From her chair imperial bending,
Set with diamonds orient vien,
Thus, the sov'reign Pow'r descending,
Loud bespeaks her native main.
Hear ye subject deeps of Ocean!
Circling this terrestrial ball,
Fate who rules each dire commotion,
Bids you rest from foreign thrall.

269

Bourbon's vasty fleets alarming,
Plough no more th'indignant wave:
Tyrant pow'r her miriad's arming,
No more threatens to enslave.

270

In her vanquish'd Conflans flying,
Proud France bows her dragon pride:
And the crimson'd billows dying,
Seeks her coward shame to hide.
See her vaunted lilies drooping,
Once ador'd by myriad slaves,
To the British lion stooping,
Sink amid th'exulting waves.
'Bove the boast of fall'n greatness,
Britain tow'rs her laurel'd head,
To enchain the scepter'd traitress,
By the heav'nly fates decreed.

271

See the nations wide exulting,
Triumph in haughty Bourbon's fall:
Pow'r and pride with scorn insulting,
“These no more the world enthral.”
All to guard the realms of Ocean,
From Invasion's grasping chain,
Watching warlike Thuro's motion,
Here I range my guardian train.
While the youth of France confiding
Vainly in unnumber'd band,
With their fleets the ocean hiding,
Hasten to devour the land;
Thuro bold, with host of warriors,
Firm resistance to divide,
For the Hyperborean barriers,
Ploughs the raging wint'ry tide.
He his thronging cohorts cheering,
“Death or conquest is the prize,”
'Mid rude storms and billows steering,
Bravely Kingdoms three defies.
Ilay's verdant shores alarming,
Yet a mild, a gen'rous foe;
Eiren's northern port disarming,
Hark! his horns brief triumph blow.
See! his fleet, in vaunting glory,
Back explores proud Bourbon's coast;
Fancy speaks his boastful story,
Soon by Elliot's squadron cross'd.

272

Here I watch, and here the valiant,
Who 'mid winds and billows toil,
Shall encounter Thuro gallant,
All his short-liv'd trophies soil.
Thus the Goddess: Soon her thunder
O'er the echoing surge rebounds;
Banner'd terrors, fear, and wonder
Soon the trembling deep confounds.
Warlike Thuro, greatly daring,
Fires his vet'rans for the fight;
In the front, the Hero warring,
Braves the rage of mortal might.
All to meet on burning ocean,
Britain's champions fearless lead,
Elliot He! 'mid dire commotion,
Ever first in van to bleed.
Hark! the battle wildly raging,
Sulphur, horror, death, and fire,
Martial Chiefs with Chiefs engaging,
'Mid the mangled heaps expire.
O'er the gory decks bestriding,
Carnage, horror, death prevail;
Wild dismay in tempest riding,
Wide the troubled waves assail.
'Mid the mortal onset charging,
Mark the fearless Thuro's cry!
Thus his fainting mates enraging,
“We must conquer, or must die.”

273

“Glorious laurels homeward bearing ,
“Our rich freight in battle won;
“Striplings these proud honours tearing!
“Shall the bravest be outdone!
“Death with glory is the measure,
“Partial fate bestows the brave,
“Grant Just Pow'rs! the soldiers treasure,
“Conquest, or a glorious grave.”

274

Where a thousand fates were flying,
Thuro bleeding urg'd the strife,
Desperate, and bent on dying,
Amid slaughter scorning life.
“Spare the Bravest! Elliot charges
“Ev'ry warrior, spare the Brave!
“Where the mortal combat rages
“Fly ye Bold! and Thuro save!
“Strike your banners! vain resistance!”
Thrice their courage to renew,
Drooping courage with assistance,
Thuro cheers the vanquish'd crew.
Ah! amid the desp'rate toiling,
To the last, a Leader's part,
Acting brave, a shot recoiling
Woful peirc'd the Hero's heart.
Then the bloody conflict ending,
Gallia bows her crested pride:
Shame with deepest sorrow blending,
They the Victors will abide.

275

Gen'rous Elliot shields the vanquish'd,
For the wounded meet relief
Thro' the ships bestows; and anguish'd
Mourns the fallen Gallic Chief.
Where of old the Nymphs of Ocean
Deck'd the warlike Fergus' grave,
Crea's streams, in hallow'd lotion,
Kindly bathe the mangl'd brave.
In her chaste embrace the gallant,
She intombs from rolling tide,
Where her Chieftans, free and valiant,
In her holy fanes abide.
Britain's Monarch hails the story
Of her conquest; and anew
Crowns her Elliot's marine glory,
With applause to valour due.
O'er the wild waves fearless Britain
Shall repel proud Bourbon's yoke:
She, by foreign tempests beaten,
Flourish like her native oak.
Hark! the sons of Neptune bearing
Britain's fame from shore to shore,
Shout in full carousal cheering,
“Haughty Bourbon is no more.”

276

“See her faded lilies drooping,
“Sink amain in British wave;
“See her pageant glory stooping,
“Bends before the free and brave.
“To our brave Commanders drinking
“Brimming bumpers, let us vie;
“They, from dangers never shrinking,
“Fight to conquer or to die.
“Death or glory is the measure
“For the Brave the Fates bequeath;
“Britons, spoil'd of Freedom's treasure,
“Seek her in the jaws of Death.

EPITAPHIUM.

Hic situs est Thurot, Dux quem tria regna timebant,
Et sobolem jactant, quem tria regna suam.
Anglia virtutem, vim Hibernia, Scotia belli,
Dura pati; Lodovix nil nisi tela dedit.
Sic placuit Fatis. Tres inter consitas gentes,
Quam bene nunc cineres trepidans circumfluit Crea:
Non vane resupinum, Mavors quem belligerantem
Torvum pertimuit facie, Elliotus in undis,
Victor tristis æmulum, Laurique sacravit honore.
 

The annals of the former as well as of the late war are emblazon'd with records of the most signal national deliverances, and brilliant victories over the numerous fleets and armies of France. No time can erase the memory of the glorious service done his country, when the magnanimous Sir Edward Hawke encountered and subdued the powerful fleets of Bourbon, equipped for the invasion and destruction of the British nation.

While we glory in the name and prerogative of free Britons, the important overthrow of the common enemy of our religious liberty, accomplished under the immediate direction of divine providence, must be engraven on our hearts in the very deepest characters of gratitude and praise: And more especially as the discomfiture of an enraged and disappointed enemy brings to our remembrance the awful catastrophe of another Armada (in that age of heroism) whose signal overthrow, at that critical time, was the everlasting renown of the English navy, as it was in a most eminent degree the supreme safety and deliverance of these nations. But these atchievement of true heroism have been recorded by much abler pens; I consine myself to the northern invasion.

With manifest design to devide the force, to distract the attention of Britain from making a suitable resistance, while M. Conflans spread terror and desolation over the southern coasts of England, M. Thurot was appointed by express commission from the French King to disturb the eastern coasts of Scotland, the northern and western islands, and to land his troops in some of the remote districts, as should appear most eligible at the time.

After a long delay, M. Thurot succeeded at last in getting into the north seas with his squadron, which had been blocked up for many weeks by twenty sail of British men of war. Thurot's fleet consisted of the Marshal Belleisle of 48 guns, 600 men, the Begon of 36 guns, 600 men, La Blonde 36 guns, 400 men, La Terpsichore 24 guns, 230 men, La Marante 24 guns, 140 men. This armament took on board a select draught of troops from five different regiments. It was furnished with 168 guns, with 900 sailors, and with 1270 soldiers, draughted from the Swiss guards, from the corps of Hussars, and the light armed companies about Dunkirk.

The rumour of such an armament, so completely furnished, was sufficient to disturb the peace of a country entirely defenceless towards the north, alarming apprehensions were entertained of their destination, and Commodore Boice watched their motions, with a large fleet of men of war, and followed their course as far north as Aberdeen.

After collecting from the islands of Orkney what could then be had of provisions, they sailed for the western islands about the end of January 1760: There they landed in a few days, and continued two weeks victualling their little fleet. M. Thurot was of the greatest service to the gentlemen of Ilay, to John Campbell of Ardmac, to Mr M'Donald, and Mr M'Neil, in procuring payment to the inhabitants for meal, flour, and cattle. Particularly, he behaved in the most generous and honourable manner, obliging the land-officers to lay down all the gold they had, and to give draughts for the remainder on the King's Bank at Paris. Some officers had been so mean as to cheat the people with mock bills on the resident at the Hague; but this was severely remonstrated against by M. Thurot, whose deportment was in every respect most honourable, like a soldier.

When by consent they had agreed to burn and waste the whole country, he brought from his desk the commission from the French King, which expressly declared against hostilities unless resisted; and when some appeared yet by their looks refractory, he swore in great indignation, that not a soul of them should set foot again aboard the Marshal Belleisle who should commit the least trespass upon the friendly and defenceless inhabitants of the western islands.

M. Thurot landed at Carricfergus about a thousand troops: The town was without walls, and garrisoned by 180 new recruits, who, without ammunition, most obstinately defended the gate with their fixed bayonets. The Old Castle, in whose wall was a breach of 50 feet, capitulated with the town. The French there lost near 100 men, and again embarked on some sudden information, after carrying off the arms and necessaries from the Royal Magazine.

Upon the first tidings of the enemy being at Carricfergus, Commodore Elliot sailed in the Eolus, with the Pallas and Brilliant of 36 guns each, and in two days came up with the French squadron off the Isle of Man. The engagement continued near four glasses, and was obstinate, bloody, and decisive. They were all captured, the Marshal Belliesle commanded by M. Thurot, the La Blonde by Captain La Kayce, and the Terpsichore by Captain Dufraudais. The gallant M. Thurot fighting bravely to the last, and encouraging his men, was unfortunately slain.

The engagement having been continued closely and for so long a time, the slaughter on board the French ships was a perfect carnage: Amid the undistinguished mass of mangled bodies, the corpse of the brave commander was thrown over board with others. The public thanks was decreed by the Irish House of Commons, to Commodore Elliot and the other Captains with him, but the joy of all ranks was clouded by the death of Thurot; so far had the humane and generous conduct of an enemy gained upon the impartial sensations of mankind.

Some days after, the body of Thurot was cast ashore near Wigton, and being known by his dress and by some certain particular marks, was interred in the church-yard of Sorbay. A monument was erected over his grave, and his portrait engraven in copper, by subscription.

Here is the burial place of the famous Fergus Lord of Galloway, who so bravely repulsed the various inroads of the ancient Britons, and gave them a memorable overthrow.

END.