FIFTEEN to TWENTY-FIVE! St. VINCENT's saw The gallant Briton give the Spaniard law.*

Next DUNCAN's prowess claim'd no less renown
When Holland struck her flag off CAMPER-
DOWN.†

Our pious Sovereign and his joyful Court,
In solemn state to PAUL'S proud fane resort;
Preceded by the lads whom VINCENT, HOWE,
And DUNCAN, led to fame; they grateful bow
Before the GIVER of success; display,

And consecrate the trophies of the day.
Impartial verity, alas! compels

What with reluctance the historian tells :
The bulwarks of our empire o'er the main,
Bring on their name a momentary stain;
Britain had ne'er such cause to mourn, before
Her Naval sons' defection at the Nore;

And never may such cause occur again.

Sir John Jervis with 15 sail attacked a Spanish fleet of 25, passed rapidly through their line, tacked, and separated one third from the main body, after a partial cannonade, which prevented their rejunction in the evening; by which manœuvre 4 line of battle ships were taken, and their whole fleet defeated with very trivial loss to the English.

+ Admiral Duncan broke the Dutch line, a-la-Jervis, and in two hours and a half took their Admiral and 9 ships of the line. The hero of Camperdown was in consequence created an English Peer, by the title of Earl St. Vincent.

The

The leader punish'd of the daring plot,
Alike his crime and mem'ry be forgot!

France sends her heroes to invade North Wales,
Thro' Taffy's zeal the well-meant project fails.
Lord MALMESBURY is sent once more to treat
Of peace, our foes the kind intent defeat.*
The King of PRUSSIA and JOHN WILKES, of whom
We twice have spoken, seek the silent tomb.
HIBERNIA, sister of our Isle !

With whom to share sweet Union's smile

Is ev'ry honest Briton's aim,

Why shou'd the Muse those ills proclaim 1798.

Which from our mutual foemen sprung !

To discord shall the harp be strung?

No, brother Pat, tho' rudely sung,

My wild attempt would fain combine
The blended beauties of the nine;

And above all to sing of thee

With most fraternal harmony.

The Frenchmen this year tried their luck,
Without success, at Ballinmuck;t

* Lord Malmesbury was sent to treat with the French Commissioners at Lisle, but was unable to procure honourable terms of peace.

↑ The French landed at Killala Bay, and were subsequently obliged to surrender.

Ireland

Ireland and England, hand in hand,
Repell'd the bold intrusive band.

Who next arrests bright vict'ries smile!
HORATIO NELSON OF THE NILE :

Cent❜ries to come shall hail the day
Of conquest in ABOUKIR Bay;

Not on the main each adverse fleet
With equal chance of conquest meet,-
But Gallia's leading warrior rides.

Guarded by shelter at his back,

While NELSON, whom time, place, nor tides,
Deterr'd from once-resolv'd attack.

So plied the foe with British thunder,
So rent his phalanx line asunder,

That, scarce recover'd from surprise,

Their ships, consuming, tint the skies:
And dread explosion tells the tremb'ling shore,
The floating pride of Frenchmen is no more;
That NELSON's warlike genius rules the fight,
And conquer'd L'Orient sets in endless night.*

Nine sail of the line were taken, L'Orient of 120 guns, another ship of the line, and a frigate were burned or blew up in action; two only of the French feet escaped; their Admiral Bruyes, lost his life in the engagement; for this brilliant and most important service, our hero was created Baron Nelson of the Nile, and his Sicilian Majesty confered on him the title of Duke of Bronti.

Say

Say, bitterest foe of British isles,

When thy best fortune on thee smiles,

Does not remembrance of that fearful night
Fill thine ambitious bosom with affright?
Did it not certainly foretell

That breasts of steel who fought so well
Would soon thy mad career appal,

AS SYDNEY did, at ACRE's Wall,
Wou'd put thy stoutest hearts to flight,
AS STEWART did at MAIDA fight;
Wou'd drive thy hordes from Egypt's shore,
AS ABERCROMBIE, now no more,
Began to do, while those he left

Of all thy laurels thee bereft?
Did no presentiment foretell

Thine upstart glory's passing bell,

When, starting from thy tyrant reign,
In fury rose awakened SPAIN,

Did nothing sadly prophecy

Of WELLINGTON and Victory?

Or didst thou never turn thine eyes
From JAFFA and thy cruelties?

To the, then little thought, bare chance
That all the pride and flow'r of France,

Led

Led by thy sateless thirst of pow'r,

In RUSSIAN climes, should curse the hour
When thy ambition lured them forth,
To perish in the hostile North ;

When millions, by thy schemes misled,
For whom?-A stranger-fought and bled.
Thou! prodigal of human blood,

Whom British senators descend to praise;
For thee and thy dire practices too good
Are even these most inexpressive lays.

1799.

The Gallic chief, with fury in his eye,
Beholds the British flag triumphant fly;
And, pow'rless to revenge great Nelson's deed,
The turban'd victims of his anger bleed;
And more of desolation had profaned
The sacred land, and Jaffa's conduits stained,
But that another Briton barr'd his way,
Cross'd his fell purposes from day to day;
And where, of yore, in a less holy cause,
Fierce CŒUR-DE-LION gave the battle laws;
In modern day did SYDNEY shake the tower
And pinnacle of NAPOLEON's power:

Who