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H O SI E R S
G H O S T. *
BY MR. GLOVER.
Tune, Come and listen to my ditty.
S near Porto-Bello lying
On the gently-swelling flood,
Our triumphant navy rode;
From the Spaniards late defeat,
Drank success to Englands fleet,
On a sudden, Thrilly sounding,
Hideous yells and shrieks were heard ;
A fad troop of ghosts appear'd;
Which for winding-sheets they wore,
Frowning on that hostile fhore.
* These elegant stanzas were written (chiefly, perhaps, with a design to incense the public against the maladministration of fir Robert Walpole) on the taking of Porto-Bello, from the Spaniards, by admiral Vernon, in 1739. The circumstances attending the death of admiral Hofier, which happened in those parts, 1726, are recorded in history nearly in the same manner as they are represented in the song.
On them gleam'd the moons wan lustre,
When the shade of Hofier brave
Rising from their wat’ry grave:
Where the Burford rear'd her fail,
And in groans did Vernon hail.
Heed, oh! heed our fatal story;
I am Hofiers injur'd ghoft;
At this place where I was lost,
You now triumph, free from fears,
You will mix your joys with tears.
See these mournful spectres, sweeping
Ghaftly o'er this hated wave,
These were English captains brave:
Who were once my sailors bold;
While his dismal tale is told.
I, by twenty fail attended,
Did this Spanish town affright,
But my orders, not to fight:
Oh! that in this rolling ocean
I had cast them with disdain,
To have quell'd the pride of Spain.
For resistance I could fear none,
But with twenty fhips had done
Haft atchiev'd with fix alone.
Had our foul dishonour seen,
of this gallant train had been.
Thus, like thee, proud Spain dismaying,
And her galleons leading home,
I had met a traitors doom ;
He has play'd an English part,
Of a griev'd and broken heart.
Unrepining at thy glory,
Thy successful arms we hail;
And let Hofiers wrongs prevail.
Think 'what thousands fell in vain,
Not in glorious battle lain.
Hence with all my train attending
From their oozy tombs below,
Here I feed my constant woe :
We recall our shameful doom,
Wander through the midnight gloom.
O’er these waves, for ever mourning,
Shall we roam, depriv'd of rest,
You neglect my just request:
When your patriot friends you see,
And for England - ham'd in me.
C Α Ρ Τ Α Ι Ν D Ε Α Τ Η. *
HE mufe and the hero together are fir'de
The same noble views have their bofoms inspird ;
* Written, as it is said, by one of his surviving crew.
His frip was the Terrible, dreadfal to fee!
A prize they had taken diminish'd their force,
Fire, thunder, balls, bullets, were feen, heard, and felt;
At lait the dread bullet came wing'd with his fate,
Called the Vengeance. The strange circumstance mentioned by some writers of one of the Terribles lieutenants being named Devil, the surgeon Ghost, and of her having been fitted out at Executigte dock, seems entirely void of foundation,