Classic Poem

WRITTEN ON THE TAKING OF CARTHAGENA FROM THE SPANIARDS, 1739

A S near Portobello lying
— On the gently-swelling flood,
At midnight, with streamers flying,
— Our triumphant navy rode;
There while Vernon sat all-glorious
— From the Spaniards' 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 gleamed the moon's wan lustre,
— When the shade of Hosier brave
His pale bands was seen to muster,
— Rising from their watery grave:
O'er the glimmering wave he hied him,
— Where the Burford reared her sail,
With three thousand ghosts beside him,
— And in groans did Vernon hail.

" Heed, oh, heed our fatal story!
— I am Hosier's injured ghost;
You who now have purchased glory
— At this place where I was lost:
Though in Portobello's ruin,
— You now triumph free from fears,
When you think on our undoing,
— You will mix your joys with tears.

" See these mournful spectres sweeping
— Ghastly o'er this hated wave,
Whose wan cheeks are stained with weeping;
— These were English captains brave.
Mark those numbers, pale and horrid,
— Who were once my sailors bold;
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 my orders — not to fight!
Oh! that in this rolling ocean
— I had cast them with disdain,
And obeyed my heart's warm motion,
— To have quelled the pride of Spain!

" For resistance I could fear none;
— But with twenty ships had done
What thou, brave and happy Vernon,
— Hast achieved with six alone.
Then the Bastimentos never
— Had our foul dishonor 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 crying,
— " He has played an English part,"
Had been better far than dying
— Of a grieved and broken heart.

" Unrepining at thy glory,
— 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,
Through the hoary foam ascending,
— Here I feed my constant woe.
Here the Bastimentos viewing,
— We recall our shameful doom,
And, our plaintive cries renewing,
— Wander through the midnight gloom.

" O'er these waves forever 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. "