‘Whence flies your sloop full sail before so fierce a gale, When all others drive bare on the seas? Say, come ye from the shore of the holy Salvador, Or the gulf of the rich Caribbees?’
‘From a shore no search hath found, from a gulf no line can sound, Without rudder or needle we steer; Above, below, our bark dies the sea-fowl and the shark, As we fly by the last Buccaneer.
To-night there shall be heard on the rocks of Cape de Verde A loud crash and a louder roar; And to-morrow shall the deep with a heavy moaning sweep The corpses and wreck to the shore,’
The stately ship of Clyde securely now may ride In the breath of the citron shades; And Severn's towering mast securely now hies fast, Through the seas of the balmy Trades.
From St Jago's wealthy port, from Havannah's royal fort, The seaman goes forth without fear; For since that stormy night not a mortal hath had sight Of the flag of the last Buccaneer.
Macaulay.
[LXXXVII]
A JACOBITE'S EPITAPH
To my true king I offered free from stain Courage and faith; vain faith, and courage vain. For him, I threw lands, honours, wealth, away, And one dear hope, that was more prized than they. For him I languished in a foreign clime, Grey-haired with sorrow in my manhood's prime; Heard on Lavernia Scargill's whispering trees, And pined by Arno for my lovelier Tees; Beheld each night my home in fevered sleep, Each morning started from the dream to weep; Till God, who saw me tried too sorely, gave The resting-place I asked—an early grave. Oh thou, whom chance leads to this nameless stone, From that proud country which was once mine own, By those white cliffs I never more must see, By that dear language which I speak like thee, Forget all feuds, and shed one English tear O'er English dust. A broken heart lies here.
Macaulay.