"Though in Porto-Bello's ruin, "You now triumph, free from fears, "When you think on our undoing, "You will mix your joy with tears. "Whose wan cheeks are stain'd with weeping; "These were English captains brave. "Mark those numbers, pale and horrid, "Those were once my sailors bold: 66 Lo, each hangs his drooping forehead, "While his dismal tale is told! "I, by twenty sail attended, "Did this Spanish town affright; Nothing then its wealth defended, "But orders not to fight. my "Oh! that in this rolling ocean "I had cast them with disdain, "And obey'd my heart's warm motion "To have quell'd the pride of Spain! "For resistance I could fear none, "But with twenty ships had done "What thou, brave and happy Vernon, "Hast achiev'd with six alone. "Then the bastimentos never " Had our foul dishonour seen, "Nor the sea the sad receiver 66 66 "Of this gallant train had been. Thus, like thee, proud Spain dismaying, "And her galleons leading home, Though condemn'd for disobeying, "I had meet a traitor's doom; "To have fallen, my country crying "He has play'd an English part, "Had been better far than dying "Of a grieved and broken heart. Thy successful arms we hail; "But remember our sad story, "And let Hosier's wrongs prevail. "Sent in this foul clime to languish, "Think what thousands fell in vain, "Wasted with disease and anguish, "Not in glorious battle slain. "Hence with all my train attending "From their oozy tombs below; 86 Through the hoary foam ascending, "Here I feed my constant woe: "Here, the bastimentos viewing, "We recal our shameful doom, "And, our plaintive cries renewing, "Wander through the midnight gloom. "O'er these waves for ever mourning "Shall we roam, deprived of rest, "If, to Britain's shores returning, "You neglect my just request; "After this proud foe subduing, "When your patriot friends you see, "Think on vengeance for my ruin, "And for England shamed in me." 2. 3 AUG 1962 RAR No. XXXVI. MARGARET'S GHOST. MALLET. 'Twas at the silent solemn hour, When youth and years are flown: Such is the robe that kings must wear, When death has reft their crown. Her bloom was like the springing flower, That sips the silver dew; The rose was budded in her cheek, But love had, like the canker-worm, Consumed her early prime : The rose grew pale, and left her cheek ; She died before her time. -"Awake!" she cried, "thy true love calls, "Come from her midnight grave; "Now let thy pity hear the maid "This is the dark and dreary hour, "When injured ghosts complain; "Now yawning graves give up their dead, "To haunt the faithless swain. "Bethink thee, William, of thy fault, Thy pledge, and broken oath ; "And give me back maiden vow, my "And give me back my troth. |