No. XXV.

April 30, 1798.

As at the Shakespeare Tavern dining,O’er the well replenished boardPatriotic chiefs reclining,Quick and large libations poured;While, in fancy, great and glorious,’Midst the democratic storm,Fox’screw, with shout victorious,Drank toRadical Reform;Sudden, up the staircase sounding,Hideous yells and shrieks were heard;Then, each guest with fear confounding,A grim train of Ghosts appeared:Each a head, with anguish gasping,(Himself a trunk deformed with gore),In his hand, terrific, clasping,Stalked across the wine-stained floor.On them gleamed the lamp’s blue lustre,When sternBrissot’sgrizzly shadeHis sad bands was seen to muster,And his bleeding troops arrayed.Through the drunken crowd he hied him,Where the chieftain sate enthroned,There, his shadowy trunks beside him,Thus in threatening accents groaned:“Heed, oh heed our fatal story,(I amBrissot’sinjured Ghost),You who hope to purchase gloryIn that field where I was lost!Though dreadPitt’sexpected ruinNow your soul with triumph cheers,When you think on our undoing,You will mix your hopes with fears.“See these helpless, headless spectres,Wandering through the midnight gloom:Mark their Jacobinic lecturesEchoing from the silent tomb;These, thy soul with terror filling,Once were Patriots fierce and bold”—(Each his head, with gore distilling,Shakes, the whilst his tale is told).“Some from that dread engine’s carvingIn vain contrived their heads to save—SeeBarbarouxandPétion[236]starvingIn the Languedocian cave!See, in a higgler’s[237]hamper buckled,HowLouvet’ssoaring spirit lay!How virtuousRoland,[238]helpless cuckold,Blew what brains he had away.“How beneath the power ofMarat,Condorcet, blaspheming, fell,Begged some laudanum ofGarat,[239]Drank;—and slept,—to wake in hell!Oh that, with worthier souls uniting,I in my country’s cause had shone!Had died my Sovereign’s battle fighting,Or nobly propp’d his sinking throne!—“But hold!—I scent the gales of morning—Covent-Garden’s clock strikes One!Heed, oh heed my earnest warning,Ere England is, like France, undone!To St. Stephen’s quick repairing,Your dissembled mania end;And, your errors past forswearing,Stand at length your Country’s Friend!”

As at the Shakespeare Tavern dining,

O’er the well replenished board

Patriotic chiefs reclining,

Quick and large libations poured;

While, in fancy, great and glorious,

’Midst the democratic storm,

Fox’screw, with shout victorious,

Drank toRadical Reform;

Sudden, up the staircase sounding,Hideous yells and shrieks were heard;Then, each guest with fear confounding,A grim train of Ghosts appeared:Each a head, with anguish gasping,(Himself a trunk deformed with gore),In his hand, terrific, clasping,Stalked across the wine-stained floor.

Sudden, up the staircase sounding,

Hideous yells and shrieks were heard;

Then, each guest with fear confounding,

A grim train of Ghosts appeared:

Each a head, with anguish gasping,

(Himself a trunk deformed with gore),

In his hand, terrific, clasping,

Stalked across the wine-stained floor.

On them gleamed the lamp’s blue lustre,When sternBrissot’sgrizzly shadeHis sad bands was seen to muster,And his bleeding troops arrayed.Through the drunken crowd he hied him,Where the chieftain sate enthroned,There, his shadowy trunks beside him,Thus in threatening accents groaned:

On them gleamed the lamp’s blue lustre,

When sternBrissot’sgrizzly shade

His sad bands was seen to muster,

And his bleeding troops arrayed.

Through the drunken crowd he hied him,

Where the chieftain sate enthroned,

There, his shadowy trunks beside him,

Thus in threatening accents groaned:

“Heed, oh heed our fatal story,(I amBrissot’sinjured Ghost),You who hope to purchase gloryIn that field where I was lost!Though dreadPitt’sexpected ruinNow your soul with triumph cheers,When you think on our undoing,You will mix your hopes with fears.

“Heed, oh heed our fatal story,

(I amBrissot’sinjured Ghost),

You who hope to purchase glory

In that field where I was lost!

Though dreadPitt’sexpected ruin

Now your soul with triumph cheers,

When you think on our undoing,

You will mix your hopes with fears.

“See these helpless, headless spectres,Wandering through the midnight gloom:Mark their Jacobinic lecturesEchoing from the silent tomb;These, thy soul with terror filling,Once were Patriots fierce and bold”—(Each his head, with gore distilling,Shakes, the whilst his tale is told).

“See these helpless, headless spectres,

Wandering through the midnight gloom:

Mark their Jacobinic lectures

Echoing from the silent tomb;

These, thy soul with terror filling,

Once were Patriots fierce and bold”—

(Each his head, with gore distilling,

Shakes, the whilst his tale is told).

“Some from that dread engine’s carvingIn vain contrived their heads to save—SeeBarbarouxandPétion[236]starvingIn the Languedocian cave!See, in a higgler’s[237]hamper buckled,HowLouvet’ssoaring spirit lay!How virtuousRoland,[238]helpless cuckold,Blew what brains he had away.

“Some from that dread engine’s carving

In vain contrived their heads to save—

SeeBarbarouxandPétion[236]starving

In the Languedocian cave!

See, in a higgler’s[237]hamper buckled,

HowLouvet’ssoaring spirit lay!

How virtuousRoland,[238]helpless cuckold,

Blew what brains he had away.

“How beneath the power ofMarat,Condorcet, blaspheming, fell,Begged some laudanum ofGarat,[239]Drank;—and slept,—to wake in hell!Oh that, with worthier souls uniting,I in my country’s cause had shone!Had died my Sovereign’s battle fighting,Or nobly propp’d his sinking throne!—

“How beneath the power ofMarat,

Condorcet, blaspheming, fell,

Begged some laudanum ofGarat,[239]

Drank;—and slept,—to wake in hell!

Oh that, with worthier souls uniting,

I in my country’s cause had shone!

Had died my Sovereign’s battle fighting,

Or nobly propp’d his sinking throne!—

“But hold!—I scent the gales of morning—Covent-Garden’s clock strikes One!Heed, oh heed my earnest warning,Ere England is, like France, undone!To St. Stephen’s quick repairing,Your dissembled mania end;And, your errors past forswearing,Stand at length your Country’s Friend!”

“But hold!—I scent the gales of morning—

Covent-Garden’s clock strikes One!

Heed, oh heed my earnest warning,

Ere England is, like France, undone!

To St. Stephen’s quick repairing,

Your dissembled mania end;

And, your errors past forswearing,

Stand at length your Country’s Friend!”

[The preceding ballad is parodied from the one by Glover, entitled—

ADMIRAL HOSIER’S GHOST.

As near Porto-Bello lyingOn the gently swelling flood,At midnight with streamers flying,Our triumphant navy rode:There whileVernonsat all-gloriousFrom the Spaniard’s late defeat,And his crews, with shouts victorious,Drank success to England’s fleet:On a sudden, shrilly sounding,Hideous yells and shrieks were heard,Then each heart with fear confounding,A sad troop of ghosts appeared:All in dreary hammocks shrouded,Which for winding-sheets they wore,And with looks by sorrow clouded,Frowning on that hostile shore.On them gleam’d the moon’s wan lustre,When the shade ofHosierbraveHis pale bands was seen to muster,Rising from their wat’ry grave:O’er the glimmering wave he hied him,Where the Burford rear’d her sail,With three thousand ghosts beside him,And in groans didVernonhail.Heed, O heed, our fatal story,I amHosier’sinjured ghost.You who now have purchas’d glory,At this place where I was lost;Though in Porto-Bello’s ruinYou now triumph free from fears,When you think on our undoing,You will mix your joy with tears.See these mournful spectres sweepingGhastly o’er this hated wave,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,See each hangs his drooping forehead,While his dismal tale is told.I by twenty sail attendedDid this Spanish town affright,Nothing then its wealth defendedBut my orders not to fight.O! that in this rolling oceanI had cast them with disdain,And obey’d my heart’s warm motionTo have quell’d the pride of Spain.For resistance I could fear none,But with twenty ships had doneWhat thou, brave and happyVernon,Hast achiev’d with six alone.Then the Bastimentos neverHad our foul dishonour seen,Nor the sea the sad receiverOf this gallant train had been.Thus, like thee, proud Spain dismaying,And her galleons leading home,Though condemned for disobeying,I had met a traitor’s doom:To have fallen, my country cryingHe has play’d an English part,Had been better far than dyingOf a griev’d and broken heart.Unrepining at thy glory,Thy successful arms we hail;But remember our sad story,And letHosier’swrongs 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 attendingFrom their oozy tombs below,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 sham’d in me.]

As near Porto-Bello lying

On the gently swelling flood,

At midnight with streamers flying,

Our triumphant navy rode:

There whileVernonsat all-glorious

From the Spaniard’s late defeat,

And his crews, with shouts victorious,

Drank success to England’s fleet:

On a sudden, shrilly sounding,Hideous yells and shrieks were heard,Then each heart with fear confounding,A sad troop of ghosts appeared:All in dreary hammocks shrouded,Which for winding-sheets they wore,And with looks by sorrow clouded,Frowning on that hostile shore.

On a sudden, shrilly sounding,

Hideous yells and shrieks were heard,

Then each heart with fear confounding,

A sad troop of ghosts appeared:

All in dreary hammocks shrouded,

Which for winding-sheets they wore,

And with looks by sorrow clouded,

Frowning on that hostile shore.

On them gleam’d the moon’s wan lustre,When the shade ofHosierbraveHis pale bands was seen to muster,Rising from their wat’ry grave:O’er the glimmering wave he hied him,Where the Burford rear’d her sail,With three thousand ghosts beside him,And in groans didVernonhail.

On them gleam’d the moon’s wan lustre,

When the shade ofHosierbrave

His pale bands was seen to muster,

Rising from their wat’ry grave:

O’er the glimmering wave he hied him,

Where the Burford rear’d her sail,

With three thousand ghosts beside him,

And in groans didVernonhail.

Heed, O heed, our fatal story,I amHosier’sinjured ghost.You who now have purchas’d glory,At this place where I was lost;Though in Porto-Bello’s ruinYou now triumph free from fears,When you think on our undoing,You will mix your joy with tears.

Heed, O heed, our fatal story,

I amHosier’sinjured ghost.

You who now have purchas’d glory,

At this place where I was lost;

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.

See these mournful spectres sweepingGhastly o’er this hated wave,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,See each hangs his drooping forehead,While his dismal tale is told.

See these mournful spectres sweeping

Ghastly o’er this hated wave,

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,

See each hangs his drooping forehead,

While his dismal tale is told.

I by twenty sail attendedDid this Spanish town affright,Nothing then its wealth defendedBut my orders not to fight.O! that in this rolling oceanI had cast them with disdain,And obey’d my heart’s warm motionTo have quell’d the pride of Spain.

I by twenty sail attended

Did this Spanish town affright,

Nothing then its wealth defended

But my orders not to fight.

O! 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 doneWhat thou, brave and happyVernon,Hast achiev’d with six alone.Then the Bastimentos neverHad our foul dishonour seen,Nor the sea the sad receiverOf this gallant train had been.

For resistance I could fear none,

But with twenty ships had done

What thou, brave and happyVernon,

Hast achiev’d with six alone.

Then the Bastimentos never

Had our foul dishonour seen,

Nor the sea the sad receiver

Of this gallant train had been.

Thus, like thee, proud Spain dismaying,And her galleons leading home,Though condemned for disobeying,I had met a traitor’s doom:To have fallen, my country cryingHe has play’d an English part,Had been better far than dyingOf a griev’d and broken heart.

Thus, like thee, proud Spain dismaying,

And her galleons leading home,

Though condemned for disobeying,

I had met 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 griev’d and broken heart.

Unrepining at thy glory,Thy successful arms we hail;But remember our sad story,And letHosier’swrongs prevail.Sent in this foul clime to languish,Think what thousands fell in vain,Wasted with disease and anguish,Not in glorious battle slain.

Unrepining at thy glory,

Thy successful arms we hail;

But remember our sad story,

And letHosier’swrongs 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 attendingFrom their oozy tombs below,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.

Hence with all my train attending

From their oozy tombs below,

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 sham’d in me.]

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 sham’d in me.]

Back to Index Next