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The British Prison-Ship: A POEM, IN FOUR CANTOES.—
VIZ. CANTO
- 1. The Capture,
- 2. The Prison-Ship,
- 3. The Prison-Ship, continued,
- 4. The Hospital-Prison-Ship.
To which is added, A POEM on the Death of Capt. N. BIDDLE, who was blown up, in an Engagement with the Yarmouth, near Barbadoes.
—Immediately a place
Before his eyes appear'd, sad, noisom, dark
A Lazar house it seem'd, wherein were laid
Numbers of all diseas'd: all maladies
Of ghastly spasm, or racking torture, qualms
Of heart sick agony; all feverous kinds
Convulsions —
Demoniac phrenzy, moping melancholy
And moonstruck madness —
Dire was the tossing, deep the groans; despair
Tended the sick, busied from couch to couch
And over them triumphant death his dart
Shook,
nor delay'd to strike.. —
Mliton. Par. lost. Lib. XI. 477.
PHILADELPHIA: PRINTED BY F. BAILEY, IN MARKET-STREET. M.DCC.LXXXI.
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The BRITISH Prison-Ship: A POEM, IN FOUR CANTOS.
CANTO I. The Capture.
OUR vessel now in all her pomp and pride,
AURORA nam'd, departing out the tide▪
'Twas thy deep stream, O Delaware▪ that bore
This pile intended for Eustatia's shore;
Bound to those isles where endless summer reigns,
Fair fruits, gay blossoms, and enameled plains;
Where sloping lawns the roving swain delight,
And the cool morn succeeds the breezy night;
Where each glad day a heaven unclouded brings,
And fragrant mountains teem with golden springs.
From Cape-Henlopen, with soft southern gales,
When morn emerg'd we spread our flowing sails;
*
Then
East-south-east we plough'd the briny way,
Close to the wind, departing from the bay.
[Page 4]
Hermes and
Mars stood pensive on the strand,
And Jove with pity saw
us leave the land;
To think what ills we wrethed mortals bear,
How vain our labours and how vain our care.
The gale increases as we plough the deep,
Now scarce we see the distant mountains peep;
At last they sink beneath the rolling wave,
That seems their summits as they sink to lave.
Gay Phoebus now the sacred source of light,
Had pass'd the line of his meridian height;
And westward hung,—absconded from our view,
The shores were fled and every hill withdrew;
When ever cautious of some neighb'ring foe,
Aloft the captain bade a sailor go,
To mark if from the mast's aspiring height,
Through all the round, a vessel came in sight.
Soon did the seaman's quick discerning eye,
Far distant in the east a ship espy;
Her lofty masts stood bending to the gale,
Close to the wind was brac'd each shivering sail;
Next from the deck we saw the approaching foe,
Her spangled bottom seem'd in flames to glow;
When to the winds she bow'd in dreadful haste,
And her lee guns lay delug'd in the waste;
At her top gallant that proud flag we saw,
Which once aspir'd to give the nations law;
But humbled now—with grief, regret and pain,—
No longer holds the empire of the main.
The frigate now had every sail unfurl'd,
And rush'd tremendous o'er the wat'ry world;
Fixt and resolv'd our ship to overtake,
With toil immense she strove to gain our wake;
Nor strove in vain,—the master gave command,
We tack'd about and try'd to gain the land;
[Page 5]As from the south the fresh'ning breezes rise,
Swift from her foe alarm'd Aurora flies;
With all her sails expanded to the wind,
She fled the unequal force that chac'd behind;
Along her decks dispos'd in close array,
Each at its port, the grim artillery lay;
Soon on the foe with brazen throat to roar,
But small their size and narrow was their
bore;
Yet faithful they their destin'd stations keep,
To guard the barque that bears them o'er the deep;
Who now must bend to steer a wary course,
And trust her swiftness rather than her force▪
Still o'er the wave with foaming prow she flies,
And steady winds from equinoctial skies;
High in the air the
starry streamer plays,
And every sail its various tribute pays;
To gain the land she bore the mighty blast,
And now the wish'd for Cape appear'd at last;
But the vext foe pursu'd us on our way,
Like a starv'd lion, hungry for his prey;
A frigate she and not unknown to fame,
For soon we learnt her nation and her name;
Iris it was— but Hancock once she bore,
Fram'd and completed on new Albion's shore;
By Manly lost—the swiftest of the train,
That fly with wings of canvas o'er the main.
Toward the land by favouring breezes led,
As Iris follow'd still Aurora fled;
(So fierce Pelides, eager to destroy,
Chac'd the proud trojan round the walls of Troy;)
Swift o'er the waves indignant they pursue,
As swiftly from their sangs Aurora flew;
At last the cape with joy we gain'd once more,
And here we strove to run the ship on shore.
But sate deny'd the barren shore to gain,
[Page 6]Denial sad and source of future pain!—
For then the inspiring breezes ceas'd to blow,
Lost were they all and calm the seas below;
(The cape dispell'd the breezes from our sails,
Though farther off a lively breeze prevails;)
Our ship unable to pursue her way,
Tumbling about, at her own guidance lay;
But Iris still kept farther off to sea,
And lay with dreadful aspect on our
lee;
Then up she
luff'd and blaz'd her entrails dire,
Bearing destruction, terror, death, and sire.
Vext at our doom we prim'd a
piece, and then
Return'd the shot to shew them we were men.
Dull night had now her dusky pinions spread,
And ev'ry hope to 'scape the foe was fled;
Close to thy cape, Henlopen, though we press'd,
We could not gain thy desart dreary breast;
Tho' ruin'd pines beshroud thy barren shore,
With mounds of sand half hid or cover'd o'er;
Tho' howling winds disturb thy summit bare,
Yet every hope and ev'ry wish was there.—
In vain we sought to gain the joyless strand,
Fate stood between and barr'd us from the land.
All dead becalm'd and lifeless as we lay,
The ebbing current forc'd us off to sea;
While vengeful Iris thirsting for our blood,
Flash'd her red lightnings o'er the trembling flood;
At every flash a storm of ruin came,
'Till now Aurora shook thro' all her frame:
Mad for revenge our breasts with fury glow,
To wreak returns of vengeance on the foe▪
Full at his hull our pointed guns we rais'd,
His hull resounded as the cannon blaz'd;
Through his fortopsail one a passage tore,
His sides re-echo'd to the dreadful roar;
[Page 7]Alternate sires dispell'd the shades of night—
But how unequal was this daring fight!
Our stoutest guns threw but a six-pound ball,—
Twelve-pounders from the foe our sides did maul;
And while no
power to save him, intervenes
A bullet struck our
captain of marines;
Fierce, though he bid defiance to the foe,
He felt his death and ruin in the blow;
Headlong he fell distracted with the wound,
The deck bestain'd with heart-blood streaming round.
Now frequent cries throughout the ship resound,
And every bullet brought a different wound;
'Twixt wind and water one assail'd the side,—
Through this aperture rush'd the briny tide:
'Twas then
Aurora trembled for her crew,
And bade thy shores O Delaware, adieu!—
And must
she yield to yon' destructive ball,
And must our
colours to these ruffians fall?
They fall—not waiting for another blow,
We strike at once to the relentless foe;
Convey'd to York, the Britons lodg'd us there,
Safe in their dens of hunger and despair;
*
There, ships are prisons, void of masts or sails,
In which describing, even description fails.—
[Page 8]
CANTO II. The PRISON-SHIP.
THE various horrors of these hulks to tell,
These Prison-Ships where pain and sorrow dwell;
Where death in tenfold vengeance holds his reign,
And injur'd ghosts, in reason's ear complain;
This be my task—ungenerous Britons you,
Conspire to murder those you can't subdue;
Why else no art of cruelty untry'd,—
Such heavy vengeance and such hellish pride?—
Death has no charms—his empires barren ly,—
A desart country and a clouded sky;—
Death has no charms except in British eyes,—
See how they court the bleeding sacrifice!
See, how they pant to stain the world with gore,
And millions murdered, still would murder more;
This selfish race from all the world disjoin'd,
Eternal discord sow among mankind;
Aim to extend their empire o'er the ball,
Subject, destroy, absorb and conquer all;
As if the power that form'd us did condemn
All other nations to be slaves to them;—
"A generous nation"—is their endless cry,
But truth revolts against the daring lie;
Compassion shuns them, an unwelcome guest,
They to humanity are foes profest;
In their dark bosoms pity claims no share,
For God in anger never plac'd it there:
A brutal courage is their ruling pride,
For one short hour of fame have thousands dy'd;
All nations they abhor, detest, decry,
But their dear race emblazon to the sky;
[Page 9]As if the sun for Britain only shone,
And all mankind were made for her alone.
Weak as I am, I'll try my strength to day,
And my best arrows at these hell-hounds play;
To future years their bloody deeds prolong,
And hang them up to infamy in song.
So much I suffer'd, from the race I hate,
So near they shov'd me to the brink of fate;
When seven long weeks in these damn'd hulks I lay
‖
Barr'd down by night and fainting through the day;
In the fierce fervours of the solar beam,
Cool'd by no breeze on Hudson's mountain stream;
That not unsung these horrid deeds shall fall,
To black oblivion that wou'd cover all;
Not unreveng'd shall all the woes we bore,
Be swallow'd up inglorious as before:
The dreadful secrets of these prison caves,
Half sunk, half floating on
my Hudson's waves;
The muse shall tell nor shall her voice be vain,
Mankind must shrink with horror at the strain;
To such a race the rights of men deny,
And blame the tardy vengeance of the sky.
See with what pangs yon' wasted
victim dies,
With not a friend to close his languid eyes!—
He late, perhaps too eager for the fray,
Chas'd the vile Briton o'er the watry way;
Or close array'd—a stranger to all fear,—
Hurl'd the loud thunder from his privateer.
Thus do our warriors, thus our heroes fall,
Imprison'd here quick ruin meets them all;
Or sent afar to Britain's barbarous shore,
There die neglected and return no more.—
Ah, when shall quiet to my soul return,
And anguish in this bosom cease to burn;—
[Page 10]What frequent deaths in midnight vision rise!
(Once real) now all ghastly to my eyes,
Youths there expiring for their country lay,
And burnt by fevers breath'd their souls away;
Where, now so cruel to deny a grave,
They plung'd them downward in the parting wave▪
The parting wave received them to its breast;
And Hudson's sandy bed is now their place of rest▪
In slumbers deep I hear the
farewell sigh,
Pale, plaintive ghosts with feeble accent cry;
At distance far with sickly aspect move,
And beg for vengeance at the throne of Jove.
End of Canto II.
CANTO III. The Prison-Ship, continued.
NO masts nor sails these sickly hulks adorn,
Dismal to view! neglected and forlorn;—
Here mighty ills oppress the imprison'd throng,
Dull were our slumbers and our nights were long;
From morn to night throughout the decks we lay,
Scorcht into fevers by the solar ray;
Wretched and poor, insulted and distrest,
The eye dejected, and the heart depress'd;
Stript of our all—affronted and derided,
For cruel
Iris had our cloaths divided—.
No friendly
awning cast a welcome shade,
Once was it promis'd but was never made;
No favours could these sons of death bestow,—
'Twas endless cursing—ever-during woe;—
Immortal hatred doth their breasts engage,
And this lost empire arms their souls with rage.
Two hulks on Hudson's rugged bosom ly;
Two, farther south, affright the gazing eye.
[Page 11]There the black Scorpion at her mooring rides,
There swings Strombolo, yielding to the tides;
Here bulky Jersey fills a larger space,
And Hunter to all hospitals disgrace.
Thou Scorpion fatal to thy crouded throng,
Dire theme of horror and Plutonian song;
Requir'st my lay—thy sult'ry decks I know,
And all the evils of thy holds
below;
Must nature shudder at this scene of fears,
And must I tell what must provoke thy tears;
American!—inactive rest no more,
But drive those murd'rous Britons from your shore;
And ye that o'er the troubled ocean go,
Strike not your standards to this cruel foe;
Better the greedy wave should swallow all,
Better to meet the death-conducting ball;
Better to sleep on ocean's Oozy bed,
At once destroy'd and number'd with the dead;
Than thus to perish in this dismal den,
Starv'd and insulted by the worst of men.
Some cruel ruffian o'er these hulks presides,
Clinton to
such the imprison'd host confides;
Some wretch who banish'd from the navy crew,
Grown old in blood would here his trade renew;
Whose 'venom'd tongue when on his charge let loose;
Utters reproaches, scandal and abuse;
Gives all to hell who dare
his king disown,
And swears the world was made for George alone.
Such are the men who rule the captives there,—
A menial tribe their brutal feelings share;
Stewards and Mates whom fam'd Britannia bore,
Cut from the gallows on their native shore;
Heavens! may I never feel the poignant pain,
To live subjected to such brutes again;
[Page 12]Their ghastly looks and vengeance-bearing eyes,
Still to my view in all their horrors rise;
O may I ne'er review these dire abodes,
These piles for slaughter floating on the floods;
Nature recoils in agonies of woe,
And truth astonish'd, asks, Can this be so?—
American, on thy own plains expire,
A glorious victim to the hostile fire;
In thy own ship expect the deadly blow,
But be no captive to this tyrant foe;
Yield not alive to glut their greedy jaws,
First faint, first perish in thy country's cause;
Prefer to meet the winged, wasteful ball,
And cut to atoms for lov'd freedom fall.
Such scenes are acted in these gloomy cells,
Such horror in these doleful mansions dwells;
So many ills these loathsome hulks defame,
That
to be here and
suffer is the same;
Death has its woes and sickness claims its share,
But both are trifles if you die not there;
When to the ocean dives the parting sun,
And the scorcht tories fire their evening gun;
*
A scene of horror rises to the view,
Such as the boldest painter never drew;
Three hundred prisoners banish'd from the light,
Below the decks in torment, spend the night;
Some for a bed their tatter'd cloathing join,
And some on chests and some on floors recline;
Shut from the blessings of the cooling air,
Pensive they ly, all anguish and despair;
Meagre and sad and scorch'd with heat below,
They look like ghosts 'ere death had made them so:
[Page 13]How should they bloom where heat and hunger join,
Thus to debase the human form divine;
Where cruel thirst the parching throat invades,
Dries up the man, and fits him for the shades.
No waters laded from the bubbling spring,
To these dire ships the
generous Britons bring;
Oft through the night in vain their captives ask,
One drop of water, from the stinking cask;
No drop is granted to the earnest prayer,
To
Dives in the regions of despair;
The loathsome cask, a fatal dose contains,
Its poison bearing through the alter'd veins;
Hence fevers rage where health was seen before,
And the lank veins abound with blood no more:
O how they long to taste the woodland streams,
For these they pine in frantic feverish dreams;
To springs and brooks with weary steps they go,
And seem to hear the gushing waters flow;
Along the purling wave they think they ly,
Quaff the sweet stream and all contented die;—
Then start from dreams that fright the restless mind,
And still new torments in their prison find.
Dull flow the hours till from the sky display'd,
Sweet morn dispels the horrors of the shade;
But what to them is morn's delightful ray,
Sad and distressful as the close of day;
At distance far appears the dewy green,
And leafy trees on mountain tops are seen;
But they no groves nor grassy mountains tread,
Markt for a longer journey to the dead.
At every hatch a group of centries stands,
Cull'd form the Scottish or the English bands;
As tigers fierce for human blood they thirst,
Rejoice in slaughter, as in slaughter nurst;
[Page 14]Of restless, cruel, angry, iron soul,
Take these my friend as samples of the whole;
Black as the clouds that shade St. Kilda's
* shore,
Wild as the winds that round her mountains roar;
Their hearts with malice to our country swell,
Because in former days we us'd them well!
Ingratitude! no curse like thee is found,
Throughout this jarring world's expanded round;
But such a host of various ills are found,
So many evils in these hulks abound;
That on them all a poem to prolong,
Would endless make the horrors of my song:
To what shall I their
ruin'd bread compare,
Bak'd for old
Cesar's armies you would swear;
So great its age, that hard and flinty grown,
You ask'd for bread, and they present a stone;
Why should I tell what putrid oil they deal,
Why the dread horrors of a scanty meal?
The rotten pork, the lumpy damag'd flour,
Soak'd in salt water, and with age grown sour;
Say, must I tell how famish'd
messes
† join,
And on these offals of creation dine;—
For once a-day, we touch'd the
royal meat,
Once and but once at the king's charges eat;
(Such hosts he feeds upon our ravag'd shore,
How cou'd the heartless, mean soul'd wretch do more;)
If from your purse the gold has run to waste,
At morn nor evening look for no repast;
Then 'ere you sail your purse with gold supply,
For on the royal bounty you would die.
Was by these petty tyrants here with-held;
[Page 15]While yet they deign'd that healthy juce to lade,
The putrid water felt its powerful aid;
But when deny'd—to aggravate our pains,—
Then fevers rag'd and revel'd through our veins;—
Throughout my frame I felt its deadly heat,
I felt my pulse with quicker motions beat;
A ghastly paleness o'er my face was spread,
Unusual pains attack my fainting head;—
No physic here—no doctor to assist,—
My name was enter'd on the sick man's list;—
Twelve wretches more the-self same symptoms took,
And these were enter'd on the doctor's book;
The loathsome
Hunter was our destin'd place,
The Hunter to all hospitals disgrace;
With soldiers sent to guard us on our road,
Joyful we left the Scorpion's dire abode;
Some tears we shed for the remaining crew,
Then curs'd the hulk, and from her sides withdrew.
End of Canto III.
CANTO IV. The HOSPITAL-PRISON SHIP.
NOW tow'rd the
Hunter's black abode we came,
A slaughter house, yet hospital in name;
For none came there (to pass thro' all degrees)
Till half consum'd and dying with disease;—
But when too near with labouring oars we ply'd,
The mate with curses drove us from the side;
Ten thousand times to irritate our woe,
He wish'd us founder'd in the gulph below;
Ten thousand times he brandish'd high his stick,
[Page 16]And swore as often that we▪ were not sick;—
—And yet so pale—that we were thought by some▪
A freight of ghosts from death's dominions come;—
But calm'd at length, for who can always rage,
Or the fierce war of endless passion wage;
He pointed to the
stairs that led below,
To damps, disease and varied shapes of woe;—
Down to the gloom we took our pensive way,
Along the deck the dying captives lay;
Some struck with madness, some with scurvy pain'd,
But still of
putrid fevers most complain'd;
On the hard floors these wasted objects laid,
There toss'd and tumbled in the dismal shade;
Of leaky decks I heard them much complain,
Drown'd as they were in deluges of rain;
Deny'd the comforts of a dying bed,
And not a pillow to support the head;
How could they else but pine and grieve and sigh,
Detest a wretched life and wish to die!
Soon as I came to this detested place,
A wasted
phantom star'd me in the face;
"And art thou come (death heavy on his eyes)
And art thou come to these abodes, he cries;
Why didst thou leave the
Scorpion's dark retreat,
And hither come, a surer death to meet;
Why didst thou leave thy damp infected cell,
If
that was purgatory,
this is hell;
Here wastes away
Autolycus the brave,
Here young
Orestes finds an early grave;
Here gay
Alexander ▪ gay, alas, no more,
Dies, far sequester'd from his native shore;
Ah, rest in peace, poor injur'd parted shade,
By cruel hands too soon in death array'd;
But happier climes where orbs unclouded shine,
Light undisturb'd and endless peace are thine;"—
[Page 17]He said and struggling in the pangs of death,
Gave his last groan and yielded his last breath▪
A Hessian
Doctor from
Long-Island came,
Not great his skill nor greater much his fame;
Fair
science never call'd the wretch her
son,
And
art disdain'd the stupid man to own:—
Can you admire why science was so coy,
Or art refus'd his genius to employ?—
On rocky hills can Eden's blossoms blow?
Do
Trees of God in barren desarts grow,
Are loaded vines to
Aetna's summit known;
Or swells the
peach beneath the frozen Zone?—
Yet still he puts his genius to the rack,
And as you may suppose, became a
quack.
He on his charge the healing work begun,
With
antimonial mixtures by the tun;
Ten minutes was the
time he deign'd to stay,
The
time of grace allotted once a-day;
He drencht us well with bitter draughts I know,
Peruvian Barks and Cremor-Tartar too;
On those refusing he bestow'd a kick,
Or menac'd vengeance with his walking stick;—
Hence came our deaths: by his defective skill,
By sending, one, another's purge or pill;
By frequent blows we from his cane endur'd,
He kill'd at least as many as he cur'd:
Some did not seem obedient to his will,
And swore he mingled poison with his pill;—
But I acquit him by a fair confession,
He was no Englishman, he was a Hessian;—
Although a dunce he had some sense of sin,
Or else the Lord knows where we now had been;
Doubtless in that far country sent to range,
Where never prisoner meets with an exchange;—
[Page 18]Then had we all been banish'd out of time,
Nor I return'd to plague the world with rhime!
Our doctor had a master, chief physician,
To all the hospitals in their possession;
Once and but once by some strange fortune led,
He came to see the dying and the dead;
He came—but anger so deform'd his eye,
And such a faulchion glitter'd on his thigh;
And such a gloom his visage darken'd o'er,
And two such pistols in his hands he bore;—
That
by the Gods—with such a load of steel,
He came, we thought to murder, not to heal;
Had he so dar'd—but fate with-held his hand,—
He came—blasphem'd—and turn'd again to land.
From this poor vessel and her sickly crew,
An English ruffian all his titles drew;
Captain, esquire, commander too in chief,
And hence he gain'd his
bread and hence his
beef;—
But, sir, you might have searcht creation round,
'Ere such another devil could be found;
Tho' unprovok'd, an angry face he bore,
We stood astonish'd at the oaths he swore;
He swore—till every mortal stood aghast,
And thought him Satan in a brimstone blast;
He wish'd us banish'd from the public light,
He wish'd us bury'd in eternal night;
That were
he king, no mercy would he show,
But drive all rebels to the
world below;
That if we scoundrels did not scrub the decks,
His staff should break our damn'd rebellious necks;
He swore besides, not waiting for his turn,
That if the ship took fire, we too should burn;
And meant it so—this monster I engage,
Had lost his post to gratify his rage.—
[Page 19]If where he stood a loathsome carcase lay,
Not alter'd was the language of the day;—
He call'd us dogs—and would have us'd us so,
But
vengeance checkt the meditated blow;
The vengeance from our injur'd country due,
To him and all the base unmanly crew.
Each Day at least three carcases we bore,
And scratch'd them graves along the sandy shore;
*
By feeble hands the shallow tombs were made,
No stone memorial o'er the corpses laid;
In barren sands and far from home they ly,
No friend to shed a tear when passing by:
O'er the slight graves insulting Britons tread,
Spurn at the sand and curse the rebel dead.
When to your arms these fatal
islands fall,
(For first or last, they must be conquer'd all;)
Americans, to rites sepulchral just,
With gentle footstep press this kindred dust;
And o'er the tombs, if tombs can then be found,
Place the green turf, and plant the myrtle round.
These all in freedom's sacred cause ally'd,
For freedom ventur'd and for freedom dy'd;
To base subjection they were never broke,
They could not bend beneath a tyrant's yoke;
Had these surviv'd, perhaps in thraldom held,
To serve proud Britain they had been compell'd;
Ungenerous deed—can she the charge deny?—
In such a case to triumph was to die.
Americans, a just resentment show,
And let your minds with indignation glow;
While the warm blood shall swell each glowing vein,
Let fierce resentment in your bosoms reign;
[Page 20]Can you forget the vengeful Briton's ire,
Your fields in ruin and your domes on fire;
No age no sex from lust and murder free,
And black as night the hell-born refugee;
Must York forever see your sons expire,
In ships, in prisons and in dungeons dire;
How long shall foes that trading city keep,
Built, like old Tyre for commerce, or the deep?
Rouse from your sleep and crush the thievish band,
Defeat, destroy and sweep them from the land;
Ally'd like you what madness to despair,
Destroy the ruffians while they linger there;
There Tryon sits, a monster all complete,
See Clinton there with vile Knyphausen meet;
And every wretch whom
virtue should detest,
There finds a home—and
Arnold with the rest;—
Ah! monsters, lost to every sense of shame,
Unjust supporters of a tyrant's claim;
Foes to the rights of freedom and of men,
Stain'd with the blood of thousands you have slain▪
To the just doom the righteous skies decree,
We leave you toiling still in cruelty;
The years approach that shall to ruin bring,
Your lords, your chiefs, your monster of a
king;
Whose boldest deeds but crown his arms with shame,
And vice itself shall execrate his name.
THE END.
[Page 21]
On the Death of Captain NICHOLAS BIDDLE,—who was blown up in the RANDOLPH Frigate. 1776.
I.
WHAT distant thunders rend the skies,
What clouds of smoke in volumes rise,
What means this dreadful roar!
Is Aetna from her basis torn,
Is sky-topt Atlas over-thrown;
Or is the Earth no more!
II.
Shock after shock torments my ear,
And lo, two hostile ships appear,
Red lightnings round them glow;
The Yarmouth boasts of sixty-four,
The Randolph thirty-two—no more,—
And will she fight this foe!
III.
O, who commands that dismal blaze,
Where yonder
starry streamer plays,
Does Mars with Jove engage!—
'Tis Biddle wings those angry fires,
Biddle, whose bosom Jove inspires,
With more than mortal rage.
[Page 22]
IV.
Tremendous flash—and hark, the ball
Drives through old
Yarmouth, flames and all
Her bravest sons expire;
Had Mars himself approach'd so nigh,
Even Mars without disgrace might fly,
From Biddle's fiercer fire.
V.
The Briton eyes his mangled crew,
And shall we strike to thirty-two,
Said
Hector stain'd with gore;
Shall Britain's flag to
these descend,—
Rise, and the glorious conflict end,
Britons, I ask no more.
VI.
He spoke—they charg'd their cannon round,—
Again the vaulted heavens resound,
The Randolph bore it all;—
Then fixt her pointed cannon true,—
Away the winged vengeance flew,—
Britain, thy warriors fall!
VII.
The Yarmouth saw with dire dismay,
Her wounded hull—shrouds shot away,—
Her boldest heroes dead;—
She saw amidst her floating slain,
Biddle triumphant stem the main,
She saw—she turn'd and fled.—
VIII.
That hour, great, chief had she been thine,
Dear Biddle had the powers divine,
Been kind as
thou wert brave;
But Jove surmis'd that such a deed,
Would mortals from this temple lead,
And Biddle all his honours have.—
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IX.
When thus to Mars said Heaven's great fire,
"Receive this arrow tipt with fire,
And haste—make haste away;
To yonder conquering ship depart,
And midst her entrails shoot this dart;—
Shall she with lightnings play?—
X.
But when she bursts with horrid roar,
And the fam'd Randolph swims no more,
Observe my sworn decree;
Let her brave lads demand thy care,
To Heaven's best seats bid them repair,—
But Biddle bring to me.—
XI.
Of all the chiefs that stem the main,
Who war against proud Britain's reign,
He best deserves my love;
Apollo shall his praise rehearse,
And Clio stile him in her verse,
Companion to the son of Jove.
XII.
The Randolph soon on Stygian streams,
Shall coast along the land of dreams,
The islands of the dead;
While I—who part them on the deep,
Preserve the Briton still to weep,
His ancient honours fled."—
XIII.
He spoke—and Mars with tears obey'd,
The Randolph her last volley play'd,
The Yarmouth own'd the contest o'er;
But Mars his flaming arrow threw,—
To heaven triumphant Biddle flew,—
The Randolph swam no more.
FINIS.