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"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 dishonour 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 condemn'd for disobeying,
I had met a traitor's doom,
To have fallen, my country crying
He has play'd 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.

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'O'er these waves for ever 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.'

GLOVER.

LENORA*.

AT break of day, with frightful dreams
Lenora struggled sore:

My William, art thou slaine, say'd she,
Or dost thou love no more?

He went abroade with Richard's host,
The Paynim foes to quell;

But he no word to her had writt,

An he were sick or well.

With sowne of trump and beat of drum,

His fellow soldyers come;

Their helmes bedeckt with oaken boughs,
They seeke their long'd-for home.

And every roade and every lane

Was full of old and young,

To gaze at the rejoicing band,

To hail with gladsome toung.

"Thank God!' their wives and children saide,

'Welcome!' the brides did saye:

But greete or kiss Lenora gave

To none upon that daye.

*From Burger.

She askte of all the passing traine
For him she wisht to see:

But none of all the passing traine
Could tell if lived hee.

And when the soldyers all were bye,
She tore her raven haire,

And cast herself upon the growne

In furious despaire.

Her mother ran and lyfte her up,

And clasped in her arme,

'My child, my child, what dost thou ail? God shield thy life from harm!'

'O mother, mother! William's gone!
What's all besyde to me?

There is no mercye, sure, above!
All, all were spared but hee!'

'Kneel downe, thy paternoster saye,
"Twill calm thy troubled spright:
The Lord is wyse, the Lord is good;
What hee hath done is right.'

'O mother, mother! say not so; Most cruel is my fate:

I prayde, and prayde; but watte avayl❜d? 'Tis now, alas! too late,'

'Our Heavenly Father, if we praye,

Will help a suffering childe:

Go take the holy sacrament;

So shall thy grief grow milde.'

'O, mother, what I feel within
No sacrament can staye;

No sacrament can teache the dead
To bear the sight of daye.'

'May be, among the heathen folk
Thy William false doth prove,
And puts away his faith and troth,
And takes another love.

Then wherefore sorrow for his loss?
Thy moans are all in vain :
And when his soul and body parte,
His falsehode brings him paine.'
'O mother, mother! gone is gone;
My hope is all forlorne;

The grave mie onlye safeguard is—
O, had I ne'er been born!

'Go out, go out, my lampe of life;
In grislie darkness die:

There is no mercye, sure, above!
For ever let me lie.'

'Almighty God! O do not judge
My poor unhappy childe;

She knows not what her lips pronounce,
Her anguish makes her wilde.

'My girl, forget thine earthly woe,
And think on God and bliss;
For so, at least, shall not thy soule
Its heavenly bridegroom miss.'
'O mother, mother! what is blisse,
And what the fiendis' celle?
With him, 'tis heaven any where,
Without my William, helle. :
'Go out, go out, my lamp of life;
In endless darkness die:
Without him I must loathe the earth,
Without him scorne the skye.'

And so despaire did rave and rage
Athwarte her boiling veins,
Against the Providence of God

She hurlde her impious strains.

She bet her breaste, and wrung her hands,
And rollde her tearlesse eye,

From rise of morne till the pale stars
Again did freeke the skye.

When harke! abroade she hearde the trampe
Of nimble-hoofed steed;

She hearde a knighte with clanke alighte,
And climb the staire in speede.

And soon she herde a tinkling hande,
That twirled at the pin;

And through her door, that open'd not,
These words were breathed in.

What ho! what ho! thy dore undoe;
Art watching or asleepe?

My love, dost yet remember mee,
And dost thou laugh or weep?'

'Ah! William here so late at night!
Oh! I have watchte and waked:
Whence dost thou come? For thy return
My herte has sorely aked.'

'At midnight only we may ride;

I come o'er land and sea:
I mounted late, but soone I go;
Aryse, and come with me.'

'O William, enter first my bowre,
And give me one embrace:

The blasts athwarte the hawthorne hiss;
Awayte a little space.'

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