O happy souls, by death at length set free From the dark prison of mortality, By glorious deeds, whose memory never dies— From earth's dim spot exalted to the skies! What fury stood in every eye confessed! What generous ardor fired each manly breast, While slaughtered heaps distained the sandy shore, And the tinged ocean blushed with hostile gore! O'erpowered by numbers, gloriously ye fell: Death only could such matchless courage quell; Whilst dying thus ye triumphed o'er your foes— Its fame the world, its glory heaven, bestows!
sonnet on the fort.
From 'midst these walls, whose ruins spread around, And scattered clods that heap the ensanguined ground, Three thousand souls of warriors, dead in fight, To better regions took their happy flight. Long with unconquered souls they bravely stood, And fearless shed their unavailing blood: Till, to superior force compelled to yield, Their lives they quitted in the well-fought field. This fatal soil has ever been the tomb Of slaughtered heroes, buried in its womb: Yet braver bodies did it ne'er sustain, Nor send more glorious soul the skies to gain.
i.
Tossed in a sea of doubts and fears, Love's hapless mariner, I sail, Where no inviting port appears, To screen me from the stormy gale.
ii.
At distance viewed, a cheering star Conducts me through the swelling tide; A brighter luminary, far, Than Palinurus o'er descried.