Not ours to count the cruel scars,
And groans, and wounds of ocean-wars.
Let others note how, side by side,
The virtuous and the valiant died.
Where gun, 'gainst gun, encount'ring lay
So near, they cross'd each other's way!
And from the suff'ring and the slain,
The life stream mingled with the main !
Till Conquest grasp'd his laurel'd crown,
Less as a symbol of renown,
Than to conceal from eight, from thought,
Proofs of the price at which 'twas bought.
Thou, Ocean, thou, the seamen's sire!
Witness for us while deeds like those
Approv'd our prowess to our foes,
Did they not, 'mid ourselves, inspire
In all, the emulous desire
As well to act, as to a mire!
Witness, as well it may,
That One could unattended roam
To Albin's very channel home,
In vain, but hold essay; ‡
And One could bid his cannon sound
To St. Salvador's fartherest ground,
Till Andes might the shock rebound,
Of challenging the fray §
And soon, with streamers waving nigh
On thy blue throne exalted high,
We hair'd another naval son-
Grac'd with the gift his arm had won;
A rare and goodly gift, to greet
A country ever proud to meet
The same chivalrous chief, who bore
Rich tributes once from Barb'ry's shore,
As Allah's sons can tell;
But now a nobler trophy shows,
The cruise of commodore Rodgers.
§ The challenge of captain Lawrence to the Bon Citoyen.
Wrested from mightier, manlier foes,
Who fought so long-so well! {}
Vict'ry was ours, and, conflict o'er,
Found mercy had been ours before;
And kindness from elation free,
And frank, high-minded courtesy.
In losing peace, we have not lost
Tha: gentle grace she prizes most.
So may the goddess, when again
She re-ascends her sacred faue-
That fane, whose gates, alas! now closed,
Have stood to force and fraud exposed; ·
Find still upon her altar's urn
Unquenched its lambent lustre burn.
Without is all the storm and din-
The vestal flame yet lives within.
Once more, upon thy list of fame,
Ocean, inscribe another name!
Surely we may not ask in vain
For him who ne'er can ask again!
For him, most priz'd yet pitied most,
For LAWRENCE honour'd-EAWRENCE lost!
For him, who erst the fight maintain'd,
And erst the conq'ror's chaplet gain'd,
And better, nobler far!
Who sprang where battle fiercest bled,
Between the living and the dead,
And stay'd the waste of war.
For him, whose virtues were declar'd
By enemies his sword had spar'd,
What time his arm bumanely dar'd
The reeling captive to sustain,
And snatch the sinking from the main.
The life, in fight half lost before,
Was now to peril risk'd once more;
Till, aiding in the great emprize,
His comrades sunk before his eyes.
The capture and safe conduct home, of the " Macedonian " by commodere Decatur.
This, this, may fame's sublimest song
In everlasting note prolong!
O glorious end! O death of pride!
The victors for the vanquish'd died!"
But be the shouts of triumph o'er ;
Strike the high warbling harp no more!
And let the minstrel's measure know
No tones, but tones of martial wo!
O'er the slow undulating tide
Let only mournful musick glide,
And but the solemn-sounding oar
Awake the silence of the shore,
Let fancy to the tufted steep,
For sad, sepulchral sights retire,
Where wildly o'er the moaning deep
The mermaids tear
Their golden hair,
And fling it on the funeral pyre.
Such sorrows, to the patriot dear,
Befit a hero's bloody bier;
Such, Lawrence! to thy name be paid,
All that can greet thy gallant shade.
Oh thou, whose gen'rous arm could save
Thy fellows from an early grave,
What blessings had to him belong'd,
Who had a life like thine prolong'd?
Long on the sadden'd mind shall stay
The thought of that disastrous day,
When, with thy few brave followers round,
Thou dard'st dispute th' unequal ground,
'Till sunk beneath thy mortal wound.
• The extraordinary exertions of the officers and crew of the "Hornet,” after their victory over the "Peacock," for the safety and comfort of their prisoners, must be fresh in the minds of every American, and we trust, of every Briton. For obvious reasons we have not noticed our naval actions exactly in the order in which they occurred; and for reasons equally obvious, have avoided the introduction of any individual names, except of those deparfed commanders, to whom, alas! nothing bat a name remains.
Nor, then-in the recording line
Ne'er be it said-to yield was thine;
'Till reeling sense and fainting life
Withheld thee from the desp'iate strife;
Ne'er was that bloody banner down,
So lately star'd with thy renown.
Long as thy arm could wield a sword—
Long as thy lips could breathe a word,
Thy deeds, thy voice, this truth reveal'd-
That Lawrence never knew to yield!
Nought but the final enemy
Who conquers all-has conquer'd thee!
Yet still, the tributary verse
Must flow lamenting round thy hearse!
For partial Heaven in thee combin'd
The sternest with the softest mind.
Seem'd that thou wert but lent, to show
The rest of Ocean's race below,
How all the charities might blend,
Of father, brother, husband, friend:
'Till perfecting the patriot plan,
The warrior mellow'd in the man!
But hark! E'en now what tidings swell?
Last, but not least, they speed to tell
Where Burrows the invader spoil'd,
His arms, his arts, o'erpower'd and foil'd,
But in the struggle fell!
Then be it so! An end so great,
No sighs but sighs of envy wait!
What could a Roman triumph more,
Than pass'd his closing eye before
With falt'ring hand and bosom gor'd,
'Twas his to grasp a conq'ror's sword,
Like gallant Wolfe, "well satisfied,"
In that he conquer'd and he died.
Ocean, when storms of conflict o'er,
Shall desolate our coasts no more;
But that firm race of thine shall come
To dignify a peaceful home-
O grant that race to prove them, then,
Better, as well as braver men;
Wise, to forbear, in civil life,
As bold to dare in hostile strife!
For angel-eyes, that turn afar
Abhorrent from the scenes of war,
Have yet beheld, with tears of joy,
Virtues which war could not destroy,
That, in the hot and tempring hour
Of mad Success and lawless Power,
When Av❜rice, Pride, Revenge, contend,
For mastery in the buman-fund,
Could chain these furies to their den,
And make the victors more than men.
Nor solely to the chieftian free
This might of magnanimity :
Round many an humbler head it glowed→→→
Through many a humbler heart it flowed;
Those who, whate'er their leaders claim,
Must fall, themselves unknown to fame ;
Theirs the toil, without the praise—
The conquest theirs—but not its bays.
Then grant, great Ruler of the main,
These virtues they may long retain !
So shall thy waters ne'er be viewed
Without a burst of gratitude.
So, when War's angry flame retires,
And, ling'ring, on thy bed expires;
These, tried and purified, shall rise,
And, phoenix-like, ascend the skies.
SONG.
SMILES AND TEARS.
O SWEET is the glow that the golden hair'd star
At evening sheds mildly, all mingled with dews;
When, silently gleaming, the moist heams afar |
Their brilliance and fragrance together diffuse.
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