The Sailor-Boy A Poem In Four Cantos: Illustrative of the Navy of Great Britain. By W. H. Ireland. Second Edition |
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| IV. |
CANTO IV.
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 | The Sailor-Boy |  |
160
CANTO IV.
ARGUMENT.
The poet delineates his hero, and hails the influence of virtue.— Bellona depicted, with a commencement of hostilities.—French anarchy represented.—Earl Howe's victory.—Soft endearments of pure affection.—Mutiny at the Nore.—The Sailor-Boy serves under his patron, as first lieutenant of a seventy-four.—Sails for the West Indies, with an apostrophe to trade; and an encomium on Sir Francis Drake, the first circumnavigator—Loss of Captain Trowbridge, and the Blenheim.—A light breeze described.—A gale springs up, and increases to a dreadful storm, the effects of which are fully detailed, until she rides at anchor in safety.— Erection of jury-masts, and arrival at Barbadoes.—Our hero returns with his patron and the squadron to Great Britain.—Battle off Cape St. Vincent, under Sir John Jervis.—Lord Duncan's victory off Camperdown. The veteran a fair weather admiral.— Bravery of Burgess, Trollope, Fairfax, &c.—Fate of Captain Williamson.—Sir Walter Raleigh's opinion of the British navy.— An unequal contest, and glorious defeat of the enemy.—Richard the bearer of dispatches to the admiralty.—Sensibility of a noble mind.—The hero made master and commander.—British conquest adverted to.—Peace of Amiens.—The hero's nuptials.—The patron, the father, and the friend.—Trafalgar, with the Muse's tears on Nelson's tomb.—Jack the veteran sailor's hope.—The poet to naval commanders, with his conclusive prayer.
161
Stat sua cuique dies; breve & irreparabile tempus
Omnibus est vitæ; sed famam extendere factis,
Hoc virtutis opus.
Virgil.
Omnibus est vitæ; sed famam extendere factis,
Hoc virtutis opus.
Virgil.
Every man has his brief portion of life, and of time, which cannot be recalled; but it belongs to virtue alone to extend our fame by our deeds.
Come, fire heroic, let thy brilliant beam
The page illume—and in the Muse's stream
My pen imbue, bright energies to show,
True virtue's type, the stamp of valour's glow;
No common theme the poet's mind employs,
No fancied labours, no fictitious joys;
He paints the glowing annals of a youth,
And 'rays his hero in the garb of truth.
O! may this tale, however weak the lays,
In Neptune's sons fame's glorious impulse raise;
May they by Richard's bright example learn,
That ev'ry virtue is repaid in turn:
Man is a vessel, this wide world's the sea,
And as his pilot steers, so destiny
Its course impels, thro' passion's veering flood,
And moors him in the port of ill or good.
The first to ev'ry baneful vice is due,
That taints the bosom with its sickly hue;
The last enrobes in glory's brilliant light,
And adds effulgence to its spotless white:
A breast as stainless as my hero bears,
With such requitals as his merit shares.
Yet soft, her theme the Muse shall keep in view,
And of her youth the varied path pursue;
Since virtue, when by direful perils prest,
With vice compar'd, in heav'n's bright robe is dress'd:
Death's the last struggle of our mundane fate,
And death to realms unfading must translate
The soul, that bow'd on earth to virtue's nod,
Assur'd of future happiness with God.
The page illume—and in the Muse's stream
My pen imbue, bright energies to show,
True virtue's type, the stamp of valour's glow;
No common theme the poet's mind employs,
No fancied labours, no fictitious joys;
He paints the glowing annals of a youth,
And 'rays his hero in the garb of truth.
162
In Neptune's sons fame's glorious impulse raise;
May they by Richard's bright example learn,
That ev'ry virtue is repaid in turn:
Man is a vessel, this wide world's the sea,
And as his pilot steers, so destiny
Its course impels, thro' passion's veering flood,
And moors him in the port of ill or good.
The first to ev'ry baneful vice is due,
That taints the bosom with its sickly hue;
The last enrobes in glory's brilliant light,
And adds effulgence to its spotless white:
A breast as stainless as my hero bears,
With such requitals as his merit shares.
Yet soft, her theme the Muse shall keep in view,
And of her youth the varied path pursue;
Since virtue, when by direful perils prest,
With vice compar'd, in heav'n's bright robe is dress'd:
Death's the last struggle of our mundane fate,
And death to realms unfading must translate
163
Assur'd of future happiness with God.
And now behold the youth again ploughs o'er
The vasty surge, and makes rich India's shore;
As peace and traffic both go hand in hand,
While years of amity crown Britain's land.
At length Bellona from her sleep awakes,
And screeching loud, soft heav'nly concord breaks;
With hair dishevell'd, and with hungry eyes,
She mounts the chariot for the bloody prize,
High brandishes the flaming torch, to light
The god of battles to the desp'rate fight;
Whilst with her whip she goads the snorting steeds,
To dye their hoofs in sanguinary deeds.
Nor less fell anarchy, in grizzly pride,
Imbrues great Gallia with a crimson tide;
Presenting freedom, as a specious bait,
To lure the multitude, and ripen hate;
With vans expansive glooms a chaos fell,
And rings aloud the regicidal yell;
While tigers loosen'd, tear the bleating prey,
Furies, in human shape, that hold fell sway,
Who live on rapine, and by murder thrive;
For cruelty keeps anarchy alive.
The vasty surge, and makes rich India's shore;
As peace and traffic both go hand in hand,
While years of amity crown Britain's land.
At length Bellona from her sleep awakes,
And screeching loud, soft heav'nly concord breaks;
With hair dishevell'd, and with hungry eyes,
She mounts the chariot for the bloody prize,
High brandishes the flaming torch, to light
The god of battles to the desp'rate fight;
Whilst with her whip she goads the snorting steeds,
To dye their hoofs in sanguinary deeds.
Nor less fell anarchy, in grizzly pride,
Imbrues great Gallia with a crimson tide;
164
To lure the multitude, and ripen hate;
With vans expansive glooms a chaos fell,
And rings aloud the regicidal yell;
While tigers loosen'd, tear the bleating prey,
Furies, in human shape, that hold fell sway,
Who live on rapine, and by murder thrive;
For cruelty keeps anarchy alive.
Our hero, once more summon'd to his post,
Repairs anew to brave the Gallic host;
Quits beauty, parent, friend, and golden gain,
To dare the thund'ring contests of the main.
First with the Channel fleet behold him sail,
When Howe's broad pendant floated in the gale,
That vet'ran chief, our royal navy's pride,
Doom'd victor still o'er Neptune's floods to ride;
Two days transpire, unsettled hangs the fate,
France braves her destiny, and scorns retreat;
The third arrives, all glorious first of June,
Blest be the day: ere Sol proclaim'd thy noon,
The flag tri-colour'd, wav'd aloft no more,
But fled, dishonour'd, to the Gallic shore.
While Joyeuse bore, as signal of disgrace,
Wounded—the tutor of the Gallic race:
Whose furor, democratic, was to raise
In new republicans fame's brightest blaze,
And tarnish England's wreath, for ages blest
With conquest, blooming still a verdant crest.
Safe with their prizes now behold them ride,
In Albion's port, whose sons, in joyous pride,
From ev'ry ship then moor'd, the victors greet,
Saluting with huzzas the conqu'ring fleet.
And here the venerating bard must bow,
Paying just tribute to the vet'ran Howe,
Whose deeds shall ever grace the page of fame,
While gratitude recalls his honour'd name;
That glow, which ne'er in Britain's breast can sleep,
While she records one hero of the deep.
Repairs anew to brave the Gallic host;
Quits beauty, parent, friend, and golden gain,
To dare the thund'ring contests of the main.
First with the Channel fleet behold him sail,
When Howe's broad pendant floated in the gale,
165
Doom'd victor still o'er Neptune's floods to ride;
166
France braves her destiny, and scorns retreat;
The third arrives, all glorious first of June,
Blest be the day: ere Sol proclaim'd thy noon,
The flag tri-colour'd, wav'd aloft no more,
But fled, dishonour'd, to the Gallic shore.
While Joyeuse bore, as signal of disgrace,
Wounded—the tutor of the Gallic race:
167
In new republicans fame's brightest blaze,
And tarnish England's wreath, for ages blest
With conquest, blooming still a verdant crest.
Safe with their prizes now behold them ride,
In Albion's port, whose sons, in joyous pride,
From ev'ry ship then moor'd, the victors greet,
Saluting with huzzas the conqu'ring fleet.
And here the venerating bard must bow,
Paying just tribute to the vet'ran Howe,
Whose deeds shall ever grace the page of fame,
While gratitude recalls his honour'd name;
That glow, which ne'er in Britain's breast can sleep,
While she records one hero of the deep.
And now from toil a short-liv'd pause ensues;
With laurel crown'd, our Richard once more views
Augusta's angel form, with whom he shares
A dulcet recompence for all his cares;
As with a glowing tongue, by fancy fraught,
He gilds exuberant his fondest thought,
That hour, when fate itself shall deign approve,
And crown his hope with her who reigns his love.
Still more endear'd by perils past, our youth
Hears tend'rest sighs requite his tale of truth,
As fair Augusta's swimming eyes impart
The thrill responsive of her fervid heart:
Delicious moments, that entrance the soul,
And stamp affection's absolute controul;
Moments, from every grosser passion free,
Love, gentlest love, with angel purity.
Such bliss, by friendship season'd, well repay'd
Each toil and danger of war's iron trade.
Applauding virtue—beauty's radiant smile—
Combin'd, from Richard's bosom to beguile
All perils past, while hardships to ensue,
Held in perspective glory still in view.
From pleasing themes the Muse must turn awhile,
And with dishonour, bright renown defile,
In blacken'd robes disloyalty to paint,
And fame's clear source with pois'nous venom taint.
'Twas at the Nore rebellion dread appear'd,
And formidably high its front uprear'd;
Some foes to order, with French tenets fraught,
To plant fell anarchy in Britain sought;
And from her shores those oaken bulwarks steer,
That hold pale Gallia and the world in fear.
By Parker headed, mutiny began,
Contagion dread, which through our navy ran;
When crews revolted, took themselves command,
Each captain pris'ner of his lawless band;
E'en Howe himself, whose arm so late had trac'd
His nation's glory, in a foe disgrac'd,
This danger shar'd, till, by his stern controul,
He struck with panic each disloyal soul.
From sight of the misguided soon was rent
Dark treason's veil, when duty finding vent,
Conviction flashing, 'fore the senses plac'd
The traitor's deed, by ev'ry crime debas'd.
Friend to the bitter foes of his own soil,
For kindred spreading the destructive toil;
Yet by those foes abhorr'd, they thus befriend,
Who hate that wretch by whom they gain their end;
Restor'd to reason, those who took the lead,
Adjudg'd by law as guilty of the deed,
Yielded their forfeit lives: while ev'ry crew,
So late deluded, eager to pursue
A diff'rent course, and wash the slur away,
In silence pray'd for the auspicious day,
Which from their country's mem'ry should efface
The deep impression of their foul disgrace;
The hour arriv'd, and victors on the main,
In hostile blood they cleans'd the trait'rous stain,
Prov'd staunch as ever to their native shore,
The feat still ratifying o'er and o'er:
Witness those acts, that in succession prove,
Tars by their deeds still claim their country's love.
Our Richard's patron, prompt at duty's call,
Prepares anew to hurl the vengeful ball;
Appointed to command a sev'nty-four,
He burns with ardor for the fray once more,
And names the burthen of the poet's strain,
His first-lieutenant on the buoyant main;
Who doom'd anew to sooth Augusta's fears,
Allay her anguish, and assuage her tears;
On glory dwells with energetic praise,
That theme, which to the female heart conveys
Redoubled fondness for her soul's approv'd,
And makes her value more her well-belov'd.
Such thoughts engross'd the fair Augusta's mind,
When by our gallant hero left behind;
And such the soul's invigorating glow,
Consolatory balm, that sooth'd her woe,
The youth she yielded to Heav'n's fost'ring breast,
Assur'd that love and fame would act the rest.
Joyful, our willing hero now on board,
Attended to his chief's commanding word;
Discarding freedom from his conduct now,
'Twas rigid duty prompted him to bow,
Since naval customs interven'd to mar
Such licence, when on board a man of war.
Richard confess'd his chief's superior sway,
Tutor'd as first-lieutenant, to obey:
Her anchor weigh'd, our ship in ocean laves,
And steers her course to ride the western waves,
The squadron of bold Jervis to augment,
Who to reduce the Gallic islands sent,
With noble Grey, and hardy troops, maintain'd
That gallant title they so oft had gain'd.
And thus proceeding in her track, kind chance
Presents to view a man of war of France,
Triumphant leading o'er the greeny plain,
Of British trade ships a long captur'd train.
With press of sail our bold commander steers,
Straight for the foe, the decks for action clears,
And with such vigour deals his cannon's fire,
With canvas crowded, Gallia's sons retire;
The bond dissolves which Albion's traffic bound,
Restoring freedom on its realm profound.
With laurel crown'd, our Richard once more views
168
A dulcet recompence for all his cares;
As with a glowing tongue, by fancy fraught,
He gilds exuberant his fondest thought,
That hour, when fate itself shall deign approve,
And crown his hope with her who reigns his love.
Still more endear'd by perils past, our youth
Hears tend'rest sighs requite his tale of truth,
As fair Augusta's swimming eyes impart
The thrill responsive of her fervid heart:
Delicious moments, that entrance the soul,
And stamp affection's absolute controul;
Moments, from every grosser passion free,
Love, gentlest love, with angel purity.
Such bliss, by friendship season'd, well repay'd
Each toil and danger of war's iron trade.
Applauding virtue—beauty's radiant smile—
Combin'd, from Richard's bosom to beguile
All perils past, while hardships to ensue,
Held in perspective glory still in view.
169
And with dishonour, bright renown defile,
In blacken'd robes disloyalty to paint,
And fame's clear source with pois'nous venom taint.
'Twas at the Nore rebellion dread appear'd,
And formidably high its front uprear'd;
Some foes to order, with French tenets fraught,
To plant fell anarchy in Britain sought;
And from her shores those oaken bulwarks steer,
That hold pale Gallia and the world in fear.
By Parker headed, mutiny began,
Contagion dread, which through our navy ran;
170
Each captain pris'ner of his lawless band;
E'en Howe himself, whose arm so late had trac'd
His nation's glory, in a foe disgrac'd,
This danger shar'd, till, by his stern controul,
He struck with panic each disloyal soul.
From sight of the misguided soon was rent
Dark treason's veil, when duty finding vent,
Conviction flashing, 'fore the senses plac'd
The traitor's deed, by ev'ry crime debas'd.
Friend to the bitter foes of his own soil,
For kindred spreading the destructive toil;
Yet by those foes abhorr'd, they thus befriend,
Who hate that wretch by whom they gain their end;
Restor'd to reason, those who took the lead,
Adjudg'd by law as guilty of the deed,
Yielded their forfeit lives: while ev'ry crew,
So late deluded, eager to pursue
A diff'rent course, and wash the slur away,
In silence pray'd for the auspicious day,
171
The deep impression of their foul disgrace;
The hour arriv'd, and victors on the main,
In hostile blood they cleans'd the trait'rous stain,
Prov'd staunch as ever to their native shore,
The feat still ratifying o'er and o'er:
Witness those acts, that in succession prove,
Tars by their deeds still claim their country's love.
Our Richard's patron, prompt at duty's call,
Prepares anew to hurl the vengeful ball;
Appointed to command a sev'nty-four,
He burns with ardor for the fray once more,
And names the burthen of the poet's strain,
His first-lieutenant on the buoyant main;
Who doom'd anew to sooth Augusta's fears,
Allay her anguish, and assuage her tears;
On glory dwells with energetic praise,
That theme, which to the female heart conveys
Redoubled fondness for her soul's approv'd,
And makes her value more her well-belov'd.
172
When by our gallant hero left behind;
And such the soul's invigorating glow,
Consolatory balm, that sooth'd her woe,
The youth she yielded to Heav'n's fost'ring breast,
Assur'd that love and fame would act the rest.
Joyful, our willing hero now on board,
Attended to his chief's commanding word;
Discarding freedom from his conduct now,
'Twas rigid duty prompted him to bow,
Since naval customs interven'd to mar
Such licence, when on board a man of war.
Richard confess'd his chief's superior sway,
Tutor'd as first-lieutenant, to obey:
Her anchor weigh'd, our ship in ocean laves,
And steers her course to ride the western waves,
The squadron of bold Jervis to augment,
Who to reduce the Gallic islands sent,
173
That gallant title they so oft had gain'd.
And thus proceeding in her track, kind chance
Presents to view a man of war of France,
Triumphant leading o'er the greeny plain,
Of British trade ships a long captur'd train.
With press of sail our bold commander steers,
Straight for the foe, the decks for action clears,
And with such vigour deals his cannon's fire,
With canvas crowded, Gallia's sons retire;
The bond dissolves which Albion's traffic bound,
Restoring freedom on its realm profound.
Through thy endeavours, persevering trade,
From ev'ry region produce is convey'd,
To British merchantmen its children owe
The western sweets—the pomp of eastern show—
The costly furs from northern empires cold—
And from the south rich gems and precious gold;
'Tis industry hath made four quarters meet,
Our little isle the universe complete.
Nor let the Muse forget that tribute due,
Which 'longs so justly, gallant Drake, to you;
Seaman renown'd, whose lofty daring soul
First brav'd the danger of each distant pole,
Whose flag on board the Pelican unfurl'd,
Made the full circuit of this pendent world.
Return'd in safety to the British soil,
Queen Bess admiring, well repay'd the toil,
In person visiting the ship renown'd,
While by her hand with knighthood Drake was crown'd;
And when the vessel, long preserv'd for show,
Its tough ribs yielded to time's conqu'ring blow,
From its oak planks that chair was soon display'd,
Sign of the circuition Drake had made;
Which to fam'd Oxford giv'n, preserv'd the fame
Of this first circumnavigator's name.
To whose great deeds our worthy merchants still
Productions owe, which oft their vessels fill,
Freightage, that ne'er perhaps our soil had grac'd,
If Drake the globe's vast circuit had not trac'd.
And yet, though ocean's track so well is known,
Sometimes the ship, by adverse tempests blown,
Amidst the wat'ry wilderness will stray,
Impetuous drifted from its destin'd way;
Trowbridge, thy fate the bard shall here detail,
O'er whom dark destiny still hangs her veil,
Commander tried, that proudly kept in view
His country's fame, and, with a gallant crew,
Sail'd in the Blenheim to support her right,
And dare opponents to the desp'rate fight;
All lost, no soul return'd the tale to bear,
And the mysterious page of fate to clear.
From ev'ry region produce is convey'd,
To British merchantmen its children owe
The western sweets—the pomp of eastern show—
174
And from the south rich gems and precious gold;
'Tis industry hath made four quarters meet,
Our little isle the universe complete.
Nor let the Muse forget that tribute due,
Which 'longs so justly, gallant Drake, to you;
Seaman renown'd, whose lofty daring soul
First brav'd the danger of each distant pole,
175
Made the full circuit of this pendent world.
Return'd in safety to the British soil,
Queen Bess admiring, well repay'd the toil,
In person visiting the ship renown'd,
While by her hand with knighthood Drake was crown'd;
And when the vessel, long preserv'd for show,
Its tough ribs yielded to time's conqu'ring blow,
From its oak planks that chair was soon display'd,
Sign of the circuition Drake had made;
Which to fam'd Oxford giv'n, preserv'd the fame
Of this first circumnavigator's name.
To whose great deeds our worthy merchants still
Productions owe, which oft their vessels fill,
176
If Drake the globe's vast circuit had not trac'd.
And yet, though ocean's track so well is known,
Sometimes the ship, by adverse tempests blown,
Amidst the wat'ry wilderness will stray,
Impetuous drifted from its destin'd way;
Trowbridge, thy fate the bard shall here detail,
O'er whom dark destiny still hangs her veil,
Commander tried, that proudly kept in view
His country's fame, and, with a gallant crew,
Sail'd in the Blenheim to support her right,
And dare opponents to the desp'rate fight;
177
And the mysterious page of fate to clear.
Our merchantmen, thus wrench'd from Gallic toils,
The man of war sails on to face new broils;
Tow'rds western India's isles the helmsman steers,
While canvas spread, meets Boreas as he veers;
Sometimes to aid her course light breezes blow,
When royals set, their swelling whiteness show,
As high aloft sky-scrapers unconfin'd,
Expand their smaller bosoms to the wind;
While to impel the vessel's motion glib,
The studding-sails are set, and flying-gib,
As he on duty will to helmsman call,
“Now mind her course, my boy; steer small; steer small;”
Or, when more boist'rous blows the fav'ring gale,
Forthwith is taken in each smaller sail;
When straight the sprit-sail forward's set to waft
The vessel on, with driver too abaft.
And now three weeks the ship her course had ta'en,
Stemming the billows of the vasty main;
When sombre ev'ning scarf'd day's cheerful light,
And clouds portentous spoke an angry night;
Already twice had chim'd the dog-watch bell,
When Boreas blowing, urg'd the billowy swell,
On ev'ry side the weather thicken'd fast,
While stiffer grown loud howl'd the southern blast,
Which still increasing till the night's tenth hour,
The gale then baffling all the seaman's pow'r;
To sound the sailor heaves the lead with care,
And finds some twenty fathom water there;
When, by command, the anchor's straight let go,
The ship rides hard, though grappled tight below;
While busy tars the top-sails furl with pain,
Though at the courses efforts prove but vain.
No diminution of the storm night brings,
Our hero's orders—hardsh the boatswam sings;
While as the crew morn's faintest dawnings hail,
From East North-East springs up a dreadful gale,
Which bids defiance to all human art,
The ship so driving, she from hold must part;
When tars assembled toil to set her free,
Anon cut cables, and run off to sea.
The gale still fresh'ning, to give ship relief,
More sails the seamen to the yards then reef;
While thus at will she drives till past mid-day,
Impell'd by winds—emerg'd in floods of spray—
Tow'rds eve at South the gale tremendous blows,
The blacken'd main more lofty mountains shows;
When, to save vessel from the threat'ning shore,
To winds intractable, the men restore
The canvas reef'd—o'er danger to prevail,
And with hard labour carry press of sail;
Yet oft, in 'scaping one dread source of fear,
An equal danger threatens in the rear;
And such now prov'd the fate—for sails thus prest,
Added new horrors to the ship distrest;
Which instant hove in briny floods amain,
Converting gun-deck to a liquid plain.
The seaman now prepares to sound the well,
When in deep voice is heard this doleful knell:
“She's sprung a leak—to work, with courage bold,
Full five feet water, lads, is in her hold.”
Aloft they shorten sail with nimble speed,
All pumps are set to work in this fell need;
With toil unceasing, loud the chains resound,
Till by their pains at length the leak is found;
While others vainly strive, with anxious care,
'Gainst stubborn waves to make the vessel wear.
The howling blast still more tempestuous roars,
Urging the ship against destructive shores;
While billows beating, rear her mountains high,
Then dash her in a gulph's profundity;
Yet vain the surges thus clos'd ports assail,
Barr'd, and twice bolted, they cannot prevail.
The pond'rous cannon safely to ensure,
With double-breeching rides the storm secure;
While ev'ry fear of motion to defeat,
Beneath each truck is closely wedg'd the cleat;
Engulph'd, the larboard side in floods now laves,
And now the starboard meets infuriate waves;
The order giv'n, the sailors bustle fast,
And lower anon the high top-gallant-mast;
Then, in obedience to command, pursue
Their task—strike lower yards and top-mast too.
When thus dismantled, urg'd by waves' fell throes,
Under bare poles, twelve knots an hour she goes;
The cataract augments, winds louder howl,
And o'er the main, clouds hang a darker cowl;
Surges the ship assail, which dashing fly
Clean o'er the deck, in clouds of milky dye;
While sailors grasping tackle, drench'd with foam,
Are safe preserv'd from a drear wat'ry home.
Urg'd by necessity, the tars obey
A fresh command—cut mizen-mast away;
A second time to wear the ship they try,
Billows a second time their skill defy:
Sounding the well, on pumps the leak fast gains,
In hold full eight feet water—spite of pains.
An hideous crack now echoes in the blast,
Prognostic sure of springing the foremast;
Quick speed the carpenters, their aid to lend,
And, having ey'd with care the yawning rend,
Their ropes and iron hoops prepar'd for need
Anon they bring, and fish the mast with speed;
While no decrease the furious tempest shews,
Rains spout, seas rage, an hurricane it blows.
Now the horizon paly lightnings track,
From pendent vapours loud the thunders crack;
While wat'ry mountains, ceaseless roaring loud,
Rear the oak burthen to the fire fraught cloud.
A second crash with hideous echo roar'd,
Smack instant went the main-mast by the board;
All hands the hatchets seiz'd, and mann'd the deck,
To sever ropes, and clear away the wreck;
Which done by closing night, fate proves more kind,
For then the ship is got before the wind;
Which three hours thus made way, while chainpumps clear'd
Full two feet water, as the vessel steer'd;
And thus her head was to the westward brought,
By fore-sail only to the fore-mast taught.
No friendly gleam now cheer'd the seaman's sight,
A pitchy darkness spoke twelfth hour of night;
Gorg'd clouds, by suction from each briny steep,
More pond'rous lagg'd o'er surface of the deep,
While spouting rain, by hurricanes impell'd,
In whistling clangor to the wide waste yell'd.
Our youth again commands, when tars intent,
Another fore-sail with hard labour bent;
By splicing they erected, and made fast
Upon the deck, and rigg'd a jury-mast;
Set a top-gallant for a main-sail straight,
The ship thus drifting at the will of fate.
Again the dawn appears, when thick'ning shades
Through the horizon of the east pervades;
The wind then veering, strong to southward blew,
While to the leeward land appear'd in view,
When hauling in the sail, they soon let go
The small bower anchor, thro' the floods below;
The ship brought up, at cable's length then hove,
But winds still fresh'ning, 'midst the surge she drove.
“Let go best bower,” aloud our hero cried—
Th' uncoiling cable whizzing cut the tide;
When winds abated, and the ship once more
At an whole cable's length in safety wore.
The tempest by degrees abates its force,
No longer war the winds in clangor hoarse,
While waves, tho' agitated, shew decrease,
And court the empire of unruffled peace.
With sadden'd mien our Richard now survey'd
The dreadful havoc which the storm had made,
Issu'd commands, when jolly tars alert,
Rigg'd ev'ry jury-mast with toil expert;
And thus an hulk, our war-ship slowly bore
The crew in safety to Barbadoes' shore;
Where straight refitted, soon the vessel gain'd
That fleet, whose efforts were to be sustain'd,
Gather'd on Western shores the laurel crown,
Till democratic Victor sought renown;
And by the wily theme of freedom drew,
Around his standard, anarchy's fell crew;
When Britons left the regicidal band,
And homeward steering, made our sea-girt land;
That soil where real liberty displays
The pow'r benignant of her cheering rays,
Beams that illume each gen'rous Briton's breast,
Who feels he's free, and in that freedom's blest.
The man of war sails on to face new broils;
Tow'rds western India's isles the helmsman steers,
While canvas spread, meets Boreas as he veers;
Sometimes to aid her course light breezes blow,
When royals set, their swelling whiteness show,
As high aloft sky-scrapers unconfin'd,
Expand their smaller bosoms to the wind;
While to impel the vessel's motion glib,
The studding-sails are set, and flying-gib,
As he on duty will to helmsman call,
“Now mind her course, my boy; steer small; steer small;”
178
Forthwith is taken in each smaller sail;
When straight the sprit-sail forward's set to waft
The vessel on, with driver too abaft.
And now three weeks the ship her course had ta'en,
Stemming the billows of the vasty main;
When sombre ev'ning scarf'd day's cheerful light,
And clouds portentous spoke an angry night;
Already twice had chim'd the dog-watch bell,
When Boreas blowing, urg'd the billowy swell,
On ev'ry side the weather thicken'd fast,
While stiffer grown loud howl'd the southern blast,
Which still increasing till the night's tenth hour,
The gale then baffling all the seaman's pow'r;
To sound the sailor heaves the lead with care,
And finds some twenty fathom water there;
179
The ship rides hard, though grappled tight below;
While busy tars the top-sails furl with pain,
Though at the courses efforts prove but vain.
No diminution of the storm night brings,
Our hero's orders—hardsh the boatswam sings;
While as the crew morn's faintest dawnings hail,
From East North-East springs up a dreadful gale,
Which bids defiance to all human art,
The ship so driving, she from hold must part;
When tars assembled toil to set her free,
Anon cut cables, and run off to sea.
The gale still fresh'ning, to give ship relief,
More sails the seamen to the yards then reef;
While thus at will she drives till past mid-day,
Impell'd by winds—emerg'd in floods of spray—
Tow'rds eve at South the gale tremendous blows,
The blacken'd main more lofty mountains shows;
When, to save vessel from the threat'ning shore,
To winds intractable, the men restore
180
And with hard labour carry press of sail;
Yet oft, in 'scaping one dread source of fear,
An equal danger threatens in the rear;
And such now prov'd the fate—for sails thus prest,
Added new horrors to the ship distrest;
Which instant hove in briny floods amain,
Converting gun-deck to a liquid plain.
The seaman now prepares to sound the well,
When in deep voice is heard this doleful knell:
“She's sprung a leak—to work, with courage bold,
Full five feet water, lads, is in her hold.”
Aloft they shorten sail with nimble speed,
All pumps are set to work in this fell need;
With toil unceasing, loud the chains resound,
Till by their pains at length the leak is found;
181
'Gainst stubborn waves to make the vessel wear.
The howling blast still more tempestuous roars,
Urging the ship against destructive shores;
While billows beating, rear her mountains high,
Then dash her in a gulph's profundity;
Yet vain the surges thus clos'd ports assail,
Barr'd, and twice bolted, they cannot prevail.
The pond'rous cannon safely to ensure,
With double-breeching rides the storm secure;
While ev'ry fear of motion to defeat,
Beneath each truck is closely wedg'd the cleat;
Engulph'd, the larboard side in floods now laves,
And now the starboard meets infuriate waves;
The order giv'n, the sailors bustle fast,
And lower anon the high top-gallant-mast;
Then, in obedience to command, pursue
Their task—strike lower yards and top-mast too.
182
Under bare poles, twelve knots an hour she goes;
The cataract augments, winds louder howl,
And o'er the main, clouds hang a darker cowl;
Surges the ship assail, which dashing fly
Clean o'er the deck, in clouds of milky dye;
While sailors grasping tackle, drench'd with foam,
Are safe preserv'd from a drear wat'ry home.
Urg'd by necessity, the tars obey
A fresh command—cut mizen-mast away;
A second time to wear the ship they try,
Billows a second time their skill defy:
Sounding the well, on pumps the leak fast gains,
In hold full eight feet water—spite of pains.
An hideous crack now echoes in the blast,
Prognostic sure of springing the foremast;
183
And, having ey'd with care the yawning rend,
Their ropes and iron hoops prepar'd for need
Anon they bring, and fish the mast with speed;
While no decrease the furious tempest shews,
Rains spout, seas rage, an hurricane it blows.
Now the horizon paly lightnings track,
From pendent vapours loud the thunders crack;
While wat'ry mountains, ceaseless roaring loud,
Rear the oak burthen to the fire fraught cloud.
A second crash with hideous echo roar'd,
Smack instant went the main-mast by the board;
184
To sever ropes, and clear away the wreck;
Which done by closing night, fate proves more kind,
For then the ship is got before the wind;
Which three hours thus made way, while chainpumps clear'd
Full two feet water, as the vessel steer'd;
And thus her head was to the westward brought,
By fore-sail only to the fore-mast taught.
No friendly gleam now cheer'd the seaman's sight,
A pitchy darkness spoke twelfth hour of night;
Gorg'd clouds, by suction from each briny steep,
More pond'rous lagg'd o'er surface of the deep,
While spouting rain, by hurricanes impell'd,
In whistling clangor to the wide waste yell'd.
Our youth again commands, when tars intent,
Another fore-sail with hard labour bent;
By splicing they erected, and made fast
Upon the deck, and rigg'd a jury-mast;
185
The ship thus drifting at the will of fate.
Again the dawn appears, when thick'ning shades
Through the horizon of the east pervades;
The wind then veering, strong to southward blew,
While to the leeward land appear'd in view,
When hauling in the sail, they soon let go
The small bower anchor, thro' the floods below;
The ship brought up, at cable's length then hove,
But winds still fresh'ning, 'midst the surge she drove.
“Let go best bower,” aloud our hero cried—
Th' uncoiling cable whizzing cut the tide;
When winds abated, and the ship once more
At an whole cable's length in safety wore.
The tempest by degrees abates its force,
No longer war the winds in clangor hoarse,
While waves, tho' agitated, shew decrease,
And court the empire of unruffled peace.
With sadden'd mien our Richard now survey'd
The dreadful havoc which the storm had made,
186
Rigg'd ev'ry jury-mast with toil expert;
And thus an hulk, our war-ship slowly bore
The crew in safety to Barbadoes' shore;
Where straight refitted, soon the vessel gain'd
That fleet, whose efforts were to be sustain'd,
Gather'd on Western shores the laurel crown,
Till democratic Victor sought renown;
And by the wily theme of freedom drew,
Around his standard, anarchy's fell crew;
187
And homeward steering, made our sea-girt land;
That soil where real liberty displays
The pow'r benignant of her cheering rays,
Beams that illume each gen'rous Briton's breast,
Who feels he's free, and in that freedom's blest.
Now let the reader's mind prolific draw,
Two years of constant toil our Richard saw;
Who serving still beneath his patron's eye,
Strove by each act still more to ratify
That predilection he had felt so long,
For the bright hero of the minstrel's song.
To other deeds the bard new strings the lyre,
An epoch worthy true poetic fire:
A feat deserving more Parnassian praise,
Than e'er will stamp the poet's humbler lays;
Who still desires the action to rehearse,
With ardor true, tho' in less brilliant verse.
Still was the record of that glorious feat
In British minds alive, when brave defeat
Of Albion's foes, off Cape Saint Vincent, drew
From England's gratitude the tribute due;
When Jervis, Thompson, Parker, Nelson, gain'd
That recompence their valour had obtain'd;
While ev'ry captain, and each gallant tar,
Was hail'd alike a valiant son of war.
Behold, anew our oaken bulwarks ride,
The lordly Venerable stems the tide;
Where Duncan's flag waves hostile minds to dare,
Swell'd by embracings of the ambient air.
'Twas this auspicious hour, when high renown
Once more for Britain wove the blooming crown,
That usher'd Richard to the dreadful strife,
And for his country made him stake his life;
An epoch memorable to his soul,
Since there he own'd his patron's chief controul;
Who, led by Adam Duncan, thus obey'd
His brother vet'ran, whom he saw array'd
In true nobility—since titles grace
The actor more, than he who boasts a race
From kings descended, whilst his plea for fame
Concentrates only in the hollow name.
Here brave De Winter (for tho' England's foe,
He claims our praise), essay'd a desp'rate blow;
Fought till abandon'd by one half his fleet,
He own'd himself by Duncan's prowess beat;
Who with eight captures, bound in Britain's chain,
Victorious wav'd our trident o'er the main;
And though pale fear in fight the chief ne'er knew,
Yet trifles could the vet'ran's heart subdue;
For when his ship was station'd off the shore,
Were seas but ruffled, did the wind but roar,
No longer then his top-masts could be seen,
All struck, till weather should become serene;
Nor would he then e'er venture forth in boat,
But safely moor'd, on board his war-ship float;
Thus females, when in port Lord Duncan sail'd,
“Fair weather admiral,” the vet'ran hail'd.
Though great this conquest, England had to weep,
Full many souls dispatch'd to death's drear sleep;
'Twas there brave Burgess, summon'd to maintain
Great Britain's right, as sov'reign of the main,
On board the Ardent made his valour known,
Courage that gain'd him an immortal throne:
Yes, for by glory crown'd, 'twas there his lot,
In twain divided by the foe's chain-shot,
To yield his spirit up to God on high,
Ours the sad task to weep his destiny.
Yet not alone with tears the urn to dew,
But round his brows entwine the laurel too,
That wreath, just recompence of gallant worth,
The brightest tribute of the sons of earth.
Nor less did Trollope's gallantry appear,
The tried opponent of pale trembling fear;
Trollope, that erst in Glatton scorn'd to run,
And beat the foe, though six oppos'd to one;
Fairfax alike, and ev'ry captain strove,
To prove for Albion his inherent love;
All, save poor Williamson, who ne'er had slunk
From fight before: yet here, for having shrunk
From duty's call, was summon'd to appear,
The judgment of court-martial stern to hear;
And though its fell decree seal'd his disgrace,
Brave men yet sympathiz'd his hapless case;
While he, unable to survive the doom,
By rash self-murder sought th' oblivious tomb.
In lurid guise was Holland thus array'd,
Crush'd her proud navy, and destroy'd her trade;
While glory's sun with brighter radiance crown'd
Great Britain's bulwarks, and her mart renown'd,
Making more sterling that opinion pass,
Well worthy to be chronicled in brass;
Words that convey'd the feelings of a mind,
Where valour with the statesman's pow'rs combin'd,
Who thus hath written—“Britain still may be
“The land of freedom while she rules the sea.”
Our first lieutenant still owns Neptune's sway,
Nor quits for love his glory-beaming ray;
Still in the war-ship order'd forth to cruize,
With new exploits he occupies the Muse;
Deeds that in future times shall joys increase,
Enhancing soft delights of love and peace.
Another desp'rate act his patron dares,
Another bloody feat our hero shares;
As sailing proudly tow'rd the Gallic shore,
Five frigates, with nine men of war, that bore
Great mettle's weight, to windward soon are seen,
Bearing down pompous o'er the floody green;
Conceiving Britons will not dare the blow,
But yield the squadron to so strong a foe.
Alas! poor sons of France, ye little knew
What energies inspir'd each hostile crew,
Until the contest of one fleeting hour
Taught ye that courage can outrival pow'r;
One frigate sunk, two others fly the field,
The rest are ta'en; while to our vessels yield
Three men of war, as six by flight escape,
And gladly for Gaul's port their courses shape.
A feat so glorious, gave our Richard's friend
Fresh scope, his fost'ring kindness to extend;
With plaudits due, and with the captures straight
Homeward he sends our hero to relate
The glowing minutes of the prosp'rous day,
That crown'd our annals with bright glory's ray;
Dispatches thus to Richard's care consign'd,
On board swift-sailing cutter, with a wind
Fair blowing, he for England 'gins to steer,
The conqu'ring squadron leaving in the rear.
No unpropitious gales his course impede,
Boreas and Neptune urge the vessel's speed;
Scudding with press of sail, o'er main she glides,
And soon at Spithead moor'd, in safety rides.
Our hero wafted in the boat to shore,
Sets off for London post, in chaise and four;
And though assur'd no thoughts can then efface
The glowing mem'ry of our foe's disgrace,
Yet fame, though brilliant, never can controul
The genuine impulse of a feeling soul;
For as the chaise impetuous whirl'd along,
Exciting gaze of many a village throng,
Richard at length descried that ale-house door,
Where once, with vet'ran Jack, a wand'rer poor,
Good Tom the post-boy's kindness he had felt,
Whereat remembrance made his bosom melt:
Straight from the window, as the chaise drove by,
With swelling heart he bent his brimful eye,
Fancy to mind each touching object brought,
While fame and conquest fled at once his thought.
Absorb'd and listless, he resum'd his place,
And, as the tears found vent, conceal'd his face;
Subdued by feeling, long our hero lay,
Nor thought how rapidly the chaise made way,
When, just as reason 'gan to calm his brain,
Fate once more touch'd the thrilling cords of pain;
His eyes he rear'd, when, lo! a distant spire
Full to remembrance brought his honour'd sire;
Nor less his mother's mem'ry touch'd his breast,
Hard by in church-yard slumb'ring with the blest.
Again his heart with strong emotions beat,
His eyes once more became soft pity's seat;
As from their sluices, tears, like genial rain,
Dropp'd to assuage his bosom's fev'rish pain;
And, as he nearer to the village drew,
The western heav'n, in faintest Tyrian hue,
Display'd the sober hour of ev'ning come,
When swallows skim the air, horn'd beetles hum;
When herds from fields retire, the hind from toil,
While falling dews recruit the sun-parch'd soil;
When lagging crows slow flap the dusky air,
And to the woods' embrowning shades repair;
When nature o'er her fecund bosom throws
The robe of peace, and lures us to repose.
Such prov'd the moment, when our hero found
The carriage ent'ring on his natal ground:
Ah! then how long'd his yearning soul once more,
The village and its confines to explore;
The roof paternal, school, and church-yard still,
The lovers' walk, in coppice 'neath the hill;
The brook meand'ring, at whose brink so oft,
In boyhood heated, he his clothes had doft,
And watch'd the frog emerg'd, whose ev'ry limb,
With motion true, first taught him how to swim.
From scenes like these, which rapid pass'd his brain,
On human beings next he dwelt with pain;
Whether the clerk were yet alive and brave,
Or if the yew-tree fann'd his humble grave;
Then on his parent was his mind full giv'n,
Perhaps still well—O! God! perhaps in heav'n.
The yearning pang his soul could not sustain,
Though duty spurr'd, yet feeling check'd the rein;
A minute's pause his country might excuse—
One minute could not tarnish brilliant news:
The chaise he stopp'd, our hero rush'd forth straight,
Leap'd o'er a wicket, pass'd a cottage gate,
And to the farmer, who astonish'd stood,
With falt'ring accents, and with fear chill'd blood,
His father's name pronouncing faint, he said—
“Is—is he—tell me, friend—alive or dead?”
“Dead! no; odds dickens, sir, he's hearty still;”
Life's stream so lately stopp'd, with glowing thrill,
Our gallant hero's soul anon impress'd:
He then demanded, whether yet at rest,
And in cold grave the parish-clerk was laid,
His former pedant of the birchen trade.
Silent and slow his head the farmer shook,
Richard with sorrow read the speaking look;
Dumb page of eloquence, whereon fate's doom
Was painted legible—the old man's tomb.
Richard a moment's pang could not disguise.
Two tears stood trembling in his downcast eyes;
When, thanking the informant, he anon
One guinea gave—and bade him straight begone,
To tell his sire the vict'ry we had won,
And that alive and well he'd seen his son.
The farmer star'd: our hero spake no more,
But, darting quick from out the cottage door,
Mounted the chaise, which, dashing on the road,
From village bore him, and his sire's abode.
Safe at the Admiralty now behold,
This glowing record of our fame enroll'd;
While Richard then fresh honour's rank attains,
As master and commander's post he gains.
Here let the Muse awhile her wings expand,
And quit her hero for a foreign land;
Who, with his friend and love, secure from toils,
Hears of our triumphs in remoter broils.
The poet now, with rapture's beamy smile,
Hails the immortal victor of the Nile;
Who nurst in cradle of War's stern alarms,
In desp'rate actions felt extatic charms;
Whose ev'ry wound proclaim'd proud honour's scar,
The batter'd monument of glory's war.
Two years of constant toil our Richard saw;
Who serving still beneath his patron's eye,
Strove by each act still more to ratify
That predilection he had felt so long,
For the bright hero of the minstrel's song.
To other deeds the bard new strings the lyre,
An epoch worthy true poetic fire:
A feat deserving more Parnassian praise,
Than e'er will stamp the poet's humbler lays;
Who still desires the action to rehearse,
With ardor true, tho' in less brilliant verse.
188
In British minds alive, when brave defeat
Of Albion's foes, off Cape Saint Vincent, drew
From England's gratitude the tribute due;
When Jervis, Thompson, Parker, Nelson, gain'd
That recompence their valour had obtain'd;
While ev'ry captain, and each gallant tar,
Was hail'd alike a valiant son of war.
Behold, anew our oaken bulwarks ride,
The lordly Venerable stems the tide;
Where Duncan's flag waves hostile minds to dare,
Swell'd by embracings of the ambient air.
189
Once more for Britain wove the blooming crown,
That usher'd Richard to the dreadful strife,
And for his country made him stake his life;
An epoch memorable to his soul,
Since there he own'd his patron's chief controul;
Who, led by Adam Duncan, thus obey'd
His brother vet'ran, whom he saw array'd
190
The actor more, than he who boasts a race
From kings descended, whilst his plea for fame
Concentrates only in the hollow name.
Here brave De Winter (for tho' England's foe,
He claims our praise), essay'd a desp'rate blow;
191
He own'd himself by Duncan's prowess beat;
Who with eight captures, bound in Britain's chain,
Victorious wav'd our trident o'er the main;
And though pale fear in fight the chief ne'er knew,
Yet trifles could the vet'ran's heart subdue;
For when his ship was station'd off the shore,
Were seas but ruffled, did the wind but roar,
No longer then his top-masts could be seen,
All struck, till weather should become serene;
Nor would he then e'er venture forth in boat,
But safely moor'd, on board his war-ship float;
Thus females, when in port Lord Duncan sail'd,
“Fair weather admiral,” the vet'ran hail'd.
192
Full many souls dispatch'd to death's drear sleep;
'Twas there brave Burgess, summon'd to maintain
Great Britain's right, as sov'reign of the main,
On board the Ardent made his valour known,
Courage that gain'd him an immortal throne:
Yes, for by glory crown'd, 'twas there his lot,
In twain divided by the foe's chain-shot,
To yield his spirit up to God on high,
Ours the sad task to weep his destiny.
193
But round his brows entwine the laurel too,
That wreath, just recompence of gallant worth,
The brightest tribute of the sons of earth.
Nor less did Trollope's gallantry appear,
The tried opponent of pale trembling fear;
Trollope, that erst in Glatton scorn'd to run,
And beat the foe, though six oppos'd to one;
Fairfax alike, and ev'ry captain strove,
To prove for Albion his inherent love;
All, save poor Williamson, who ne'er had slunk
From fight before: yet here, for having shrunk
194
The judgment of court-martial stern to hear;
And though its fell decree seal'd his disgrace,
Brave men yet sympathiz'd his hapless case;
While he, unable to survive the doom,
By rash self-murder sought th' oblivious tomb.
In lurid guise was Holland thus array'd,
Crush'd her proud navy, and destroy'd her trade;
While glory's sun with brighter radiance crown'd
Great Britain's bulwarks, and her mart renown'd,
Making more sterling that opinion pass,
Well worthy to be chronicled in brass;
195
Where valour with the statesman's pow'rs combin'd,
Who thus hath written—“Britain still may be
“The land of freedom while she rules the sea.”
Our first lieutenant still owns Neptune's sway,
Nor quits for love his glory-beaming ray;
Still in the war-ship order'd forth to cruize,
With new exploits he occupies the Muse;
Deeds that in future times shall joys increase,
Enhancing soft delights of love and peace.
Another desp'rate act his patron dares,
Another bloody feat our hero shares;
As sailing proudly tow'rd the Gallic shore,
Five frigates, with nine men of war, that bore
196
Bearing down pompous o'er the floody green;
Conceiving Britons will not dare the blow,
But yield the squadron to so strong a foe.
Alas! poor sons of France, ye little knew
What energies inspir'd each hostile crew,
Until the contest of one fleeting hour
Taught ye that courage can outrival pow'r;
One frigate sunk, two others fly the field,
The rest are ta'en; while to our vessels yield
Three men of war, as six by flight escape,
And gladly for Gaul's port their courses shape.
A feat so glorious, gave our Richard's friend
Fresh scope, his fost'ring kindness to extend;
With plaudits due, and with the captures straight
Homeward he sends our hero to relate
The glowing minutes of the prosp'rous day,
That crown'd our annals with bright glory's ray;
Dispatches thus to Richard's care consign'd,
On board swift-sailing cutter, with a wind
197
The conqu'ring squadron leaving in the rear.
No unpropitious gales his course impede,
Boreas and Neptune urge the vessel's speed;
Scudding with press of sail, o'er main she glides,
And soon at Spithead moor'd, in safety rides.
Our hero wafted in the boat to shore,
Sets off for London post, in chaise and four;
And though assur'd no thoughts can then efface
The glowing mem'ry of our foe's disgrace,
Yet fame, though brilliant, never can controul
The genuine impulse of a feeling soul;
For as the chaise impetuous whirl'd along,
Exciting gaze of many a village throng,
Richard at length descried that ale-house door,
Where once, with vet'ran Jack, a wand'rer poor,
Good Tom the post-boy's kindness he had felt,
Whereat remembrance made his bosom melt:
Straight from the window, as the chaise drove by,
With swelling heart he bent his brimful eye,
198
While fame and conquest fled at once his thought.
Absorb'd and listless, he resum'd his place,
And, as the tears found vent, conceal'd his face;
Subdued by feeling, long our hero lay,
Nor thought how rapidly the chaise made way,
When, just as reason 'gan to calm his brain,
Fate once more touch'd the thrilling cords of pain;
His eyes he rear'd, when, lo! a distant spire
Full to remembrance brought his honour'd sire;
Nor less his mother's mem'ry touch'd his breast,
Hard by in church-yard slumb'ring with the blest.
Again his heart with strong emotions beat,
His eyes once more became soft pity's seat;
As from their sluices, tears, like genial rain,
Dropp'd to assuage his bosom's fev'rish pain;
And, as he nearer to the village drew,
The western heav'n, in faintest Tyrian hue,
Display'd the sober hour of ev'ning come,
When swallows skim the air, horn'd beetles hum;
199
While falling dews recruit the sun-parch'd soil;
When lagging crows slow flap the dusky air,
And to the woods' embrowning shades repair;
When nature o'er her fecund bosom throws
The robe of peace, and lures us to repose.
Such prov'd the moment, when our hero found
The carriage ent'ring on his natal ground:
Ah! then how long'd his yearning soul once more,
The village and its confines to explore;
The roof paternal, school, and church-yard still,
The lovers' walk, in coppice 'neath the hill;
The brook meand'ring, at whose brink so oft,
In boyhood heated, he his clothes had doft,
And watch'd the frog emerg'd, whose ev'ry limb,
With motion true, first taught him how to swim.
From scenes like these, which rapid pass'd his brain,
On human beings next he dwelt with pain;
Whether the clerk were yet alive and brave,
Or if the yew-tree fann'd his humble grave;
200
Perhaps still well—O! God! perhaps in heav'n.
The yearning pang his soul could not sustain,
Though duty spurr'd, yet feeling check'd the rein;
A minute's pause his country might excuse—
One minute could not tarnish brilliant news:
The chaise he stopp'd, our hero rush'd forth straight,
Leap'd o'er a wicket, pass'd a cottage gate,
And to the farmer, who astonish'd stood,
With falt'ring accents, and with fear chill'd blood,
His father's name pronouncing faint, he said—
“Is—is he—tell me, friend—alive or dead?”
“Dead! no; odds dickens, sir, he's hearty still;”
Life's stream so lately stopp'd, with glowing thrill,
Our gallant hero's soul anon impress'd:
He then demanded, whether yet at rest,
And in cold grave the parish-clerk was laid,
His former pedant of the birchen trade.
Silent and slow his head the farmer shook,
Richard with sorrow read the speaking look;
201
Was painted legible—the old man's tomb.
Richard a moment's pang could not disguise.
Two tears stood trembling in his downcast eyes;
When, thanking the informant, he anon
One guinea gave—and bade him straight begone,
To tell his sire the vict'ry we had won,
And that alive and well he'd seen his son.
The farmer star'd: our hero spake no more,
But, darting quick from out the cottage door,
Mounted the chaise, which, dashing on the road,
From village bore him, and his sire's abode.
Safe at the Admiralty now behold,
This glowing record of our fame enroll'd;
While Richard then fresh honour's rank attains,
As master and commander's post he gains.
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And quit her hero for a foreign land;
Who, with his friend and love, secure from toils,
Hears of our triumphs in remoter broils.
The poet now, with rapture's beamy smile,
Hails the immortal victor of the Nile;
Who nurst in cradle of War's stern alarms,
In desp'rate actions felt extatic charms;
Whose ev'ry wound proclaim'd proud honour's scar,
The batter'd monument of glory's war.
Now Malta yields, and Copenhagen's shore,
Hears from our brazen throats the murd'rous roar;
While Nelson, off Boulogne, with naval band,
Awes Gallia's offspring on their native land.
Hears from our brazen throats the murd'rous roar;
While Nelson, off Boulogne, with naval band,
Awes Gallia's offspring on their native land.
Mark Egypt's coast, where Britons rung the knell
Of Gaul's Elite: when Abercrombie fell;
Whose feats 'midst hero's annals still must reign,
Whilst Aboukir resounds with martial strain.
Behold Sir Sidney too, whose struggles free
The soil of Egypt from Gaul's tyranny;
That child of fame, whose gallant arms defied
The son of Corsica, and tam'd his pride;
Drove him a renegade to leave that host,
Whose blood and toils had rear'd him to this post;
While thus the chains of Egypt's children broke,
They hail the race that frees them from the yoke.
Of Gaul's Elite: when Abercrombie fell;
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Whilst Aboukir resounds with martial strain.
Behold Sir Sidney too, whose struggles free
The soil of Egypt from Gaul's tyranny;
That child of fame, whose gallant arms defied
The son of Corsica, and tam'd his pride;
Drove him a renegade to leave that host,
Whose blood and toils had rear'd him to this post;
While thus the chains of Egypt's children broke,
They hail the race that frees them from the yoke.
At Amiens peace is ratified again,
With olive branch she sweeps the limpid plain,
As in her lap the horn of plenty flows,
While o'er her brows the crest of Plutus glows.
With olive branch she sweeps the limpid plain,
As in her lap the horn of plenty flows,
While o'er her brows the crest of Plutus glows.
Hail, glorious epoch, for the Muse shall now
Link heav'nly love with Hymen's sacred vow:
Augusta, blushing, at the altar view,
With tenderness requite our hero true;
As silent down his patron's visage steals
Tears, that express the extacies he feels,
Whilst he relinquishes the trembling fair
To Richard's bosom—to an husband's care.
Nor think the bard forgets a father's due,
Still to a tender parent's feelings true;
He tunes the strain: for Richard's doating sire
Witness'd with transports love's connubial fire,
That beam'd from either countenance benign,
Stamp'd with affection's purity divine.
In homely terms the sire, with sobs, express'd
Parental joys, and oft our couple bless'd;
While Jack, to Greenwich having bade farewell,
Attentive stood enchain'd, by pleasure's spell,
As from his lips these words impressive came—
“I said as how he was the son of fame,
“And, if death did not broach the hero too,
“He'd live for glory—so my word's come true.”
Link heav'nly love with Hymen's sacred vow:
Augusta, blushing, at the altar view,
With tenderness requite our hero true;
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Tears, that express the extacies he feels,
Whilst he relinquishes the trembling fair
To Richard's bosom—to an husband's care.
Nor think the bard forgets a father's due,
Still to a tender parent's feelings true;
He tunes the strain: for Richard's doating sire
Witness'd with transports love's connubial fire,
That beam'd from either countenance benign,
Stamp'd with affection's purity divine.
In homely terms the sire, with sobs, express'd
Parental joys, and oft our couple bless'd;
While Jack, to Greenwich having bade farewell,
Attentive stood enchain'd, by pleasure's spell,
As from his lips these words impressive came—
“I said as how he was the son of fame,
“And, if death did not broach the hero too,
“He'd live for glory—so my word's come true.”
Here let the minstrel cease the glowing strain,
To paint excess of transport were in vain;
Creative fancy must complete the space,
Which genius might essay, but never trace;
Let those imagine then each lover's bliss,
Whose love is virtue, seal'd by heav'n's pure kiss.
Such was my hero's, such Augusta's joy,
Hymen conjoining with love's rosy boy.
To paint excess of transport were in vain;
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Which genius might essay, but never trace;
Let those imagine then each lover's bliss,
Whose love is virtue, seal'd by heav'n's pure kiss.
Such was my hero's, such Augusta's joy,
Hymen conjoining with love's rosy boy.
Once more to battle see my youth repair,
Immortal fame off Trafalgar to share:
Behold him mourn heroic Nelson's doom,
And follow weeping to his honour'd tomb.
Sad hallow'd mausoleum, which contains
The mortal casket, that alone remains
Memorial of the gem it once enshrin'd,
The soul of honour, and the hero's mind.
Farewell, brave chief, the bard thy praise would sing,
But melancholy breaks the lyric string;
Sorrow resounds, while hanging o'er thy bier,
His tributary lay—the feeling tear.
Immortal fame off Trafalgar to share:
Behold him mourn heroic Nelson's doom,
And follow weeping to his honour'd tomb.
Sad hallow'd mausoleum, which contains
The mortal casket, that alone remains
Memorial of the gem it once enshrin'd,
The soul of honour, and the hero's mind.
Farewell, brave chief, the bard thy praise would sing,
But melancholy breaks the lyric string;
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His tributary lay—the feeling tear.
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Now last, to signalize my son of fame,
And add fresh laurels to his brilliant name,
For feats achiev'd, hear Jack the vet'ran boast,
“As how young gallant Richard is made post;
“Who, by God's help, he trusts ere death to view;
“Command at sea, an admiral of the blue.”
In which fond hope the Muse alike accords,
While to her gallant hero she awards
The meed of praise, which justly claims her son,
As brave a youth as e'er fame's race hath run.
O! may our naval chieftains still sustain,
On Neptune's empire uncontroul'd domain;
May they o'er ocean's expanse still preside,
And in their oaken tow'rs triumphant ride;
So sings the bard—who gives to feeling scope,
And still dares cherish in his soul fond hope,
That some brave spirits may peruse his lays,
And deem his offspring not unworthy praise:
Oh! should such recompence his song attend,
Should naval heroes prove his Sea-Boy's friend,
The bard enraptur'd, may ere long proclaim,
That ev'ry stripling vies for Richard's fame;
So shall he praise the Muse's fond employ,
Fame, the result of his Poor Sailor-Boy.
And add fresh laurels to his brilliant name,
For feats achiev'd, hear Jack the vet'ran boast,
“As how young gallant Richard is made post;
“Who, by God's help, he trusts ere death to view;
“Command at sea, an admiral of the blue.”
In which fond hope the Muse alike accords,
While to her gallant hero she awards
The meed of praise, which justly claims her son,
As brave a youth as e'er fame's race hath run.
O! may our naval chieftains still sustain,
On Neptune's empire uncontroul'd domain;
May they o'er ocean's expanse still preside,
And in their oaken tow'rs triumphant ride;
So sings the bard—who gives to feeling scope,
And still dares cherish in his soul fond hope,
That some brave spirits may peruse his lays,
And deem his offspring not unworthy praise:
Oh! should such recompence his song attend,
Should naval heroes prove his Sea-Boy's friend,
208
That ev'ry stripling vies for Richard's fame;
So shall he praise the Muse's fond employ,
Fame, the result of his Poor Sailor-Boy.
| The Sailor-Boy | |