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A land-breeze shook the shrouds,

And she was overset;
Down went the Royal George,
With all her crew complete!

Toll for the brave!

Brave Kempenfelt is gone; His last sea-fight is fought; His work of glory done.

It was not in the battle;

No tempest gave the shock;
She sprang no fatal leak;
She ran upon no rock.

His sword was in the sheath;
His fingers held the pen,

When Kempenfelt went down
With twice four hundred men,

Weigh the vessel up,

Once dreaded by our foes

And mingle with our cup

The tears that England owes.

Her timbers yet are sound,

And she may float again,

Full charged with England's thunder,

And plough the distant main.

But Kempenfelt is gone,

His victories are o'er ;

And He and his Eight Hundred

Must plough the wave no more.

IN SUBMERSIONEM NAVIGII,

CUI GEORGIUS REGALE NOMEN INDITUM.*

[TRANSLATION OF THE PRECEDING.]

LANGIMUS fortes. Periêre fortes,
Patrium propter periêre littus
Bis quatèr centum; subitò sub alto
Æquore mersi.

Navis, innitens lateri, jacebat,

Malus ad summas trepidabat undas,
Cùm levis, funes quatiens, ad imum
Depulit aura.

Plangimus fortes. Nimis, heu, caducam
Fortibus vitam voluêre Parcæ,

Nec sinunt ultrà tibi nos recentes
Nectere laurus.

Magne, qui nomen, licèt incanorum,
Traditum ex multis atavis tulisti!
At tuos olim memorabit ævum

Omne triumphos.

Non hyems illos furibunda mersit,
Non mari in clauso scopuli latentes,
Non fissa rimis abies, nec atrox

Abstulit ensis.

* Hayley, 1803, vol. in. p. 163. Cowper's manuscript is Additional MS. British Museum, 24,155, folio 40a.

Navitæ sed tum nimium jocosi
Voce fallebant hilari laborem,

Et quiescebat, calamoque dextram im-
pleverat heros.

Vos, quibus cordi est grave opus piumque, 25
Humidum ex alto spolium levate,
Et putrescentes sub aquis amicos
Reddite amicis !

Hi quidem (sic Diis placuit) fuêre:
Sed ratis, nondùm putris, ire possit
Rursus in bellum, Britonumque nomen
Tollere ad astra.

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THE VALEDICTION.*

AREWELL, false hearts! whose best affections fail,

Like shallow brooks which summer suns

exhale !

* We have stated in our Memoir (vol. I. p. ci.) the circumstances under which Cowper gave vent to his disappointment at the culpable silence of his friends Thurlow and George Colman, in these indignant lines. He sent them to his friend Unwin in a letter dated 10th November, 1783, and commented upon his remarks on them in another letter, dated the 24th of the same month. Until lately the lines have not been completely published. Hayley gave a harmless extract from them, and other editors, not having access (except Dr. John Johnson) to the omitted passages, necessarily followed in his wake. The lines are now in the British Museum (Additional MS. 24,155, folio 146), and, as Southey remarked, there is no longer any reason for suppressing any portion of them.

Forgetful of the man whom once ye chose,
Cold in his cause, and careless of his woes,
I bid you both a long and last adieu,
Cold in my turn, and unconcerned like you.

5

First, farewell Niger!* whom now duly proved, I disregard as much as once I loved.

Your brain well furnished, and your tongue well taught

To press with energy your ardent thought,
Your senatorial dignity of face,

Sound sense, intrepid spirit, manly grace,
Have raised you high as talents can ascend,
Made you a Peer, but spoiled you for a friend!
Pretend to all that parts have e'er acquired,
Be great, be feared, be envied, be admired,
To fame as lasting as the earth pretend,
But not, hereafter, to the name of friend!
I sent you verse, and, as your Lordship knows,
Backed with a modest sheet of humble prose,
Not to recall a promise to your mind,

Fulfilled with ease had you been so inclined,
But to comply with feelings, and to give

Proof of an old affection still alive

Your sullen silence serves at least to tell

Your altered heart-and so, my Lord, farewell!
Next, busy actor on a meaner stage,†
Amusement-monger of a trifling age,
Illustrious histrionic patentee,

Terentius, once my friend, farewell to thee!
In thee some virtuous qualities combine
To fit thee for a nobler post than thine,

* Lord Thurlow, raised to the Peerave 3rd June, 1778. † George Colman, the elder

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Who, born a gentleman, hast stooped too low,
To live by buskin, sock, and raree-show.
Thy schoolfellow and partner of thy plays

Where Nichol swung the birch and twined the bays,
And having known thee bearded and full grown,
The weekly censor of a laughing Town,

I thought the volume I presumed to send,
Graced with the name of a long absent friend, 40
Might prove a welcome gift, and touch thine heart,
Not hard by nature, in a feeling part.
But thou, it seems (what cannot grandeur do,
Though but a dream!) art grown disdainful too,
And strutting in thy school of Queens and Kings,
Who fret their hour and are forgotten things,
Hast caught the cold distemper of the day,
And, like his Lordship, cast thy friend away.

Oh friendship! cordial of the human breast!
So little felt, so fervently professed!
Thy blossoms deck our unsuspecting years;
The promise of delicious fruit appears:
We hug the hopes of constancy and truth,
Such is the folly of our dreaming youth;
But soon, alas! detect the rash mistake
That sanguine inexperience loves to make;
And view with tears the expected harvest lost,
Decayed by time, or withered by a frost.
Whoever undertakes a friend's great part
Should be renewed in nature, pure in heart,
Prepared for martyrdom, and strong to prove
A thousand ways the force of genuine love.
He may be called to give up health and gain,
To exchange content for trouble, ease for pain,
To echo sigh for sigh, and groan for groan,

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