Yet, ere he flew, he did enquire,
How many ships were then on fire,
And others that had struck:
Well pleased the hero then was seen,
When told the number was fifteen;
For England was his care.
Then with a bright benignant smile,
Imploring blessings on our isle,
Bade Collingwood farewell:
To the Supreme, all good and just,
His ashes we consign, in trust,
They’ll be revived in heav’n.
WRITTEN EXTEMPORE,
On Receipt of a Letter, dated Sept. 26, 1806.
I’ve read your letter o’er and o’er again,
Happy to find you faithful do remain,
Besides forgiveness; though too much I fear,
I long have made you victim to despair.
You say two years with fervency I strove
To keep affection, constancy, and love;
But soon as crosses came upon my mind,
Was careless of you, and appear’d unkind.
I knew my home was neat, serene, and nice;
But, ah! that home I lost, allured by vice.
Soon as you fled, a different scene in view,
Gone all attention soon as I lost you.
The quick retort was always in my ears,
You’ve drown’d a virtuous wife in sorrow’s tears.
Soon as I found all hopes to meet you fled,
I pray’d I might be number’d with the dead:
Oblivion’s aid I oft invoked by drink,
I could not meditate nor dared to think.
You say it cost you tears to write to me;
But they’ll disperse when you a convert see.
Long I’ve invoked a pardon from above,
To make me worthy of the wife I love:
Return, and till my days are at an end,
I’ll prove protector, guardian, and a friend.
The converse delicate, the smile sincere,
Will check the sigh, and stop the rising tear;
Cheerful as formerly we’ll pass our life,
A happy husband I, and you the wife.
Kitton, Printer, Norwich.