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For though, while through our parts we fwell and pant,
We ftun your ears with mock-heroic rant,

We truft" to pay their fuff'rings through your eyes,"
By the bright fplendours of the gay difquife
In which our heroes, (nor let critics grin,)
Bedight in robes of "bunting lac'd with tin,"
As Kings or Emperors, with mimic rage,
Strut their fhort hour upon this "floating fage."
In times of yore, as grave old authors write,
Poets poffefs'd a kind of "fecond fight;"
And could (though, entre nous, 't was all a hum)
Inform you clearly of "events to come!"
Oh! could the bard, who, to amufe your time,
Has manufactur'd all this "doggrel rhyme,"
From mortal mifts clear his defiring eyes,
And pry into your future deftinies;

He would foretell-(nor ask you, as a charm,
Like other foothfayers-" to cross his palm,)"
What-yes! he fees-muft on your courage wait,
"A happy fortune, and a glorious fate!"
Yes!-he forefees-(confirm his profpects, Heaven!)
"Yon coop'd-up boafters *" to your withes given!
Sees their proud enfigns from their standards torn,
Their vanquish'd navies in glad triumph borne;
Sees added laurels grace our Nelfon's brow,
And victory hov'ring o'er his glowing prow;
His conqu'ring banners o'er the waves unfurl'd,
And Britain's thunder rule the watʼry world!
If aught of prefcience to the mufe belong,"
Soon, foon the fcenes that animate her fong,
In glowing colours fhall falute your eyes,
And Heav'n fhall bid th' aufpicious morn arife,
When France and Spain fhall be again fubdu'd,
And your "brave leader's" victories renew'd!
Then, to reward your perfevering toils,,

With honours crown'd-enrich'd with hoftile fpoils,
(Her braveft fons-her guardian failors' friend,)
"Your grateful country" hall her arm extend,

*The Combined Fleets, who, though fuperior to the British blockading fleet, by eight fail of the line, remain under the protection of their batteries in difgraceful fecurity.

Το

To greet your glad return with confcious pride,
And in her bofom bid your cares fubfide!
And, while our fam'd Britannia fhall refort,
In awful grandeur, to her with'd-for port,
Her loveliest daughters fhall with pleasure meet
And bless “the heroes of the British fleet !”

Your wives, your children, and your friends fhall come, With tears of joy, to bid you "welcome home!" Nor ftorms nor battle more your bliss shall mar, "But, peace and plenty crown the toils of war!" October 14, 1805:

BRITANNICUS.

24th October.-After the above was compofed, the great and important victory, of which it almoft appears a prophetic anticipation, was actually achieved; but, alas! at the expenfe of the life of the brave and amiable Lord Nelfon; who died as he had lived, a hero, in the arms of victory.

TRAFALGAR.—OCTOBER 21, 1805.

TRANSLATED FROM THE ITALIAN.

[From the Morning Chronicle.]

To the calm river haul your boats again,

Nor truft, ye fishermen! the threatening main.
The fun turns pale, and o'er the affrighted fails
A gloomy darknefs through the air prevails.
He who triumphant fpreads the fwelling fheet,
And guides to victory a faithful fleet,
The fure defence of British fame and lives,
The great avenger of the Nile, arrives.
If his ftrong arm deftroy yon hoftile wood,

Whole cumbrous weight o'erloads the foaming flood;
Proclaim to France and Europe's diftant climes
A fecond Pompey lives in modern times.

The fea-weed trembles, waves diforder'd roar ;
Horror prevails along the laughing fhore,
The verdant plains and hills of Trafalgar ;
The falling wind loud bellows from afar :

The

For though, while through our parts we fwell and pant,
We ftun your ears with mock-heroic rant,

We truft" to pay their fuff'rings through your eyes,”
By the bright fplendours of the gay difquife
In which our heroes, (nor let critics grin,)
Bedight in robes of "bunting lac'd with tin,"
As Kings or Emperors, with mimic rage,
Strut their fhort hour upon this "floating ftage."
In times of yore, as grave old authors write,
Poets poffefs'd a kind of “second fight ;”
And could (though, entre nous, 't was all a hum)
Inform you clearly of " events to come!”
Oh! could the bard, who, to amuse your time,
Has manufactur'd all this "doggrel rhyme,"
From mortal mifts clear his defiring eyes,
And pry into your future deftinies;

He would foretell-(nor ask you, as a charm,
Like other foothfayers" to cross his palm,"
What-yes! he fees-muft on your courage wait,
"A happy fortune, and a glorious fate!"
Yes!-he forefees-(confirm his profpects, Heaven!)
"Yon coop'd-up boafters *" to your wishes given !
Sees their proud enfigns from their standards torn,
Their vanquish'd navies in glad triumph borne;
Sees added laurels grace our Nelfon's brow,
And victory hov'ring o'er his glowing prow;
His conqu'ring banners o'er the waves unfurl'd,
And Britain's thunder rule the watʼry world!
If aught of prefcience to the mufe belong,
Soon, foon the scenes that animate her fong,
In glowing colours fhall falute your eyes,
And Heav'n fhall bid th' aufpicious morn arife,
When France and Spain fhall be again fubdu❜d,
And your
"brave leader's" victories renew'd!

Then, to reward your perfevering toils,,

With honours crown'd-enrich'd with hoftile spoils, (Her braveft fons-her guardian failors' friend,)

"Your grateful country" Thall her arm extend,

*The Combined Fleets, who, though fuperior to the British blockading fleet, by eight fail of the line, remain under the protection of their batteries in difgraceful fecurity.

To

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To greet your glad return with confcious pride,
And in her bofom bid your cares fubfide!
And, while our fam'd Britannia fhall refort,
In awful grandeur, to her with'd-for port,
Her loveliest daughters fhall with pleasure meet
And bless “the heroes of the British fleet!"

Your wives, your children, and your friends fhall come, With tears of joy, to bid you "welcome home!" Nor ftorms nor battle more your blifs fhall mar, "But, peace and plenty crown the toils of war!" October 14, 1805.

BRITANNICUS.

24th October.-After the above was compofed, the great and important victory, of which it almoft appears a prophetic anticipation, was actually achieved; but, alas! at the expenfe of the life of the brave and amiable Lord Nelfon; who died as he had lived, a hero, in the arms of victory.

TRAFALGAR.—OCTOBER 21, 1805.

TRANSLATED FROM THE ITALIAN.

[From the Morning Chronicle.]

To the calm river haul your boats again,

Nor truft, ye fifhermen! the threatening main.
The fun turns pale, and o'er the affrighted fails
A gloomy darknefs through the air prevails.
He who triumphant fpreads the fwelling fheet,
And guides to victory a faithful fleet,
The fure defence of British fame and lives,
The great avenger of the Nile, arrives.
If his ftrong arm deftroy yon hoftile wood,

Whole cumbrous weight o'erloads the foaming flood;
Proclaim to France and Europe's diftant climes
A fecond Pompey lives in modern times.

The fea-weed trembles, waves diforder'd roar ;
Horror prevails along the laughing fhore,

The verdant plains and hills of Trafalgar;

The falling wind loud bellows from afar :

The

The broken billows o'er each other roll,
And wild commotion overwhelms the whole.
The tempeft reigns! when, with uplifted hand,
(Tremendous fign!) the hero gives command:
"Ere from your quarters or the helm you fly,
Your anxious country calls on you to die."
Like the thrill note the filver trumpet founds,
The voice magnanimous, with speed, rebounds
From fhip to fhip:-a warlike ardour flew
Threatening and fierce, through every valiant crew,
Eager and burning, in the raging fight,

To fnatch the new-rais'd eagle from its height.
O thou, great Neptune's ever-honour'd fon!
What by a conquer'd foe can now be done?
Nought (though his manly heart be firm and brave,)
But bafely yield, or meet a watery grave.

Victorious chief! Death ftops his great career!
Can that strong breast, infenfible of fear,
That mortal fire which blaz'd the nations round,
Be quench'd by founding iron's cruel wound?
The world's delight-his country's glorious boaft,
Fall, as by funbeams ice, or flowers by frost?
Ah! with too ftrong, too certain valour grac'd!
Sure, the laft laurel had the gods difpleas'd:
Jove would have kill'd him in fome future wars,
Left he made England richer than the stars.

To deck his tomb, from diftant realms explore
The finest marble and the pureft ore.
Let his great deeds the fculptor's art employ,
And on his urn mix equal tears and joy.
Let Envy's figure on the base be plac'd
Her tatter'd garments hanging from her waift.
Nor from the mufe's pen his praises seek,
He fpeaks, has fpoken, will for ever speak.
From his example, Britons, ne'er depart,
Preferve his living image in your heart.

Glory enough, if on his tomb appears
NELSON, alone in golden characters.
How Nelfon liv'd, how gloriously he fell,
Fame, and fame only, has the right to tell.

THE

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