"Do, Fanny, go and boil some tea:
Come hither, love, and comfort me:
A glass of wine! my spirits sink!
The last perhaps that I shall drink!—
Or go—unlock the brandy case
And let us have a dram a piece;—
No matter if your nose is red,
We shall be sober when we're dead.
"In fancy's view the mine is sprung,
The rudder from the stern unhung,
My valiant sailors torn asunder,
The ship herself a clap of thunder,
From fathoms down, a deadly blast
Unbolts the keel, unsteps the mast,
While Fulton, with a placid grin
Exulting, views the infernal scene!
The sails are vanish'd, tack and clue,
The rigging burnt, by lord knows who,
The star that glitter'd on my breast
Is gone to Davy Jones's chest;
The glorious ensign of st. George,
Of Spain the dread, of France the scourge,
Is from the staff, unpitied, torn
And for a cloak by satan worn:
The Lion mounted on the prow,
To awe the subject sea below
With flames that Lion is oppress'd—
They will not spare the royal beast.—
O vengeance! why does vengeance sleep?
The yards are scatter'd o'er the deep,
Our guns are buried in the seas,
And thus concludes the Ramillies!
"The world, I think, can witness bear
My name was never stain'd by fear:
At least the british fleet can say
I never shunn'd the face of clay:
But Fulton's black, infernal art—
Has stamp'd me—coward—to the heart!
"When Nelson met the spanish fleet,
And every pulse for conquest beat,
At Nelson's side I had my stand;
When Nelson fell I took command:
Not Etna's self, with all her flames—
Vesuvius—such description claims;
Not Hecla, in her wildest rage,
Does with such fires the heavens engage,
As on that day, in mourning clad,
Was thunder'd from the Trinidad.[A]
[A] The Santa Trinidada, the spanish admiral's ship, of 112 guns, from the mizen top of which admiral Nelson was mortally wounded by a musket shot. Another account says, he received his death wound from the Redoubtable, french 74.—Freneau's note.
"And yet, amidst that awful scene,
I stood unhurt, composed, serene;
Though balls, by thousands, whistled round,
Not one had leave to kill or wound—
But here! in this torpedo war
I perish, with my glittering star,
The laurels that adorn my brow—
My laurels are surrender'd now.
O Fanny! these envenom'd states
Have doom'd our deaths among the rats,
In one explosion, to the sky
Our chaplain, rats, and sailors fly.
"To deal in such inhuman war
Is more than English blood can bear;
It brings again the gothic age,
Renews that period on the stage,
When men against the gods rebell'd,
And Ossa was on Pelion piled:
The trojan war, when Diomede
In battle, made fair Venus bleed;
Or, when the giants of renown
Attempted Jove's imperial crown:—
From such a foe, before we meet,
The safest way, is to retreat,
To leave this curst unlucky shore
And come to trouble them no more.
"But, should it be my fate to-night
Not to behold to-morrow's light
But mingle with the vulgar dead,
With all my terrors on my head—
Should such a fate be mine, I say,
Dear Fanny, you must lead the way;—
You are the saint that will atone
For what amiss I might have done:
If such as you will intercede
The chaplain may a furlow plead,
While you and I in raptures go
Where stormy winds no longer blow,
Where guns are not, to shed our blood,
Or if there be, are made of wood;
Where all is love, and no one hates;
No falling kings or rising states;
No colors that we must defend,
If sick, or dead, or near our end;
Where yankees are admitted not
To hatch their damn'd torpedo plot:
Where you will have no beds to make,
Nor I be doom'd to lie awake."
[201] It is a fact well ascertained that during a great part of the summer of 1814 the knight was under such serious apprehensions of being blown up by the Torpedo men, that he enjoyed no sleep or rest for many nights together. With such feelings, and under such impressions, he is supposed to begin his soliloquy abruptly, under all the emotions of horror, incident to such an occasion.—Freneau's note.