Should he so will-with one infuriate blow,
A navy rocks in agony of woe.
To whom the youth: could not our main-deck tier
Cope with the prowess of his triple spear?
Rash boy, forbear! go broach the Pacha's cask,
And hither bear some liquor in a flask,
A proud tiara, glorious to behold,
Surmounts the bung, in many a curving fold. 1235
How far'd friend Bainbridge* when you saw him last, Bore he a blue broad pendant on his mast?
He did: I hail him as my Commodore-
By him detach'd to Afric's sultry shore.
And hence these guns run out in long array,
O'er the wide ocean spreading dire dismay- 1235
* Bainbridge commanded the United States frigate Constitution, in the hard fought action between her and the Java, off the coast of Brazil. When the English frigate surrendered, she lay an unmanageable wreck-rolling her main-deck guns under water-without a spar standing-and her flag was lowered from the stump of the mizenmast. It was Bainbridge who observed, when the Chesapeake was taken, that it would be necessary for the British to give more than one solitary instance to convince the American officers and seamen of their superiority.
Hence these proud banners bright with stripe and
The warrior's triumph, and the pomp of war.
The baleful spirit of revenge ne'er sleeps
In vain the orphan mourns-the widow weeps→
Vain my attempt with circling arms to bind
In one great social compact all mankind;
Love to infuse, and wake the kindred soul
To mutual intercourse from pole to pole.
For this arose the oak, for this the pine,
On the tall cliffs that beetle o'er my brine;
But man, infuriate man, despoils the shade
That soothes the forest, snd adorns the glade,
To rib the floating fortress, and deform
The deep beyond the rancour of the storm.
What boot your race war's deeds? or can they claim
Aught but blood-spots upon the face of fame?
O that a false renown should so much blind
The godlike part of man, th' immortal mind,.
And headlong urge him to despise the laws
Of weeping nature, for a crowd's applause;
A fleeting vapour, and a vagrant wind,
An echo, or a sound-to none confin'd.
Then thus the chief: Thrice happy he whose name
Lives in the sweet, recording voice of fame.
Without this cheering impulse of the soul,
Dreary the billows of thy deep would roll,
No gallant ship would on its bosom stray,
Spread the white sail, the glittering flag display.
Who roams the sea, to his own bliss is blind,
Hope mounts his prow-Care follows fast behind.
Why not retire, and seek some safe retreat
Where on the pebbly shore the billows beat;
Some cottage on a knoll, or rising plain,
Whose sun-bright casements overlook the main.
Where landward, from the airy mountains steep,
The grey-clad shepherd drives his nibbling sheep
Down to the vale--and where, on rocks fast by,
The goats frisk to and fro for jollity,
Such pleasant scenes by verdant nature set
Before your eyes, would make you soon forget 1275 Your crazy vessel with her wave-drench'd side, Toiling to windward on the stormy tide.
The hill, the valley, and the waving wood,
Charm not these eyes like thy rebounding flood.
Here on the heaving ocean let me prove
The din and danger of the life I love.
Ill brook these ears the voice of shepherd-lout-
Give me the swelling of the sea-ward shout.
While to great Neptune's hand the fresh bowl grew,
On the chief's face he bent his earnest view: 1285
Have you no music that with dear controul
In folds of joy can lap the yielding soul?
Such notes as my bold Argonauts* once cheer'd,
When by the steeps of Thessaly they steer'd?
What time to Orpheus' harp they ply'd their oars,
And left behind Pelasgia's fertile shores.
The Captain heard, and beckoning to him near
His young Lieutenant, whisper'd in his ear:
Bid renegado Shelty hither haste,
And with his bag-pipe charm the wat'ry waste-
Congenial is his music to my soul-
When the Scot pipes, my thoughts on Ossian roll
He said--the minstrel with his pipe appears,
Bending alas! beneath the yoke of years;
Apollonius Rhodius, in his muster-roll of the crew of the good ship Argo, numbers several of Neptune's descendants. Pindar, in his fourth Pythian Ode, where he adverts to the Argonautic expedition, makes mention of two.
From their orbs wither'd were his balls of sight,
Long, long denied the cheering smile of light.
A little sea-boy held his tartan fold,
Eyes to the blind, and succour to the old;
Who watch'd his feeble step with filial care,
And taught him aft in safety to repair,
And helpless age's delegated stay
Would petulently bid the crew make way.
Hugging his pealing bagpipe to his side, Shelty advances with a minstrel's pride, While his small foot-page hums a border song, 1310 "None here reside that would a piper wrong;" And as he hum'd, the child the guests survey'd With form half hid behind the old man's plaid.
In humble guise the floor the piper press'd,
And bow'd his head low bending o'er his breast;
Then sat him down, and the full cup constrain'd,
That to his wither'd palm the boy sustain❜d.
Come, Shelty, drink-the chieftain mildly cried-
Once in thy hand, the wine-cup wants no guide-
|