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EPISTLE TO ADMIRAL KEPPEL.
[Price One Shilling.]
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EPISTLE TO ADMIRAL KEPPEL.
INFAMIA INTACTUM, INVIDIA QUA POSSUNT URGENT. LIVY.
LONDON: PRINTED FOR FIELDING AND WALKER, PATER NOSTER ROW.
M. DCC. LXXIX.
ERRATA.
[]Page 16. Line 10. read Who coarſe of thought, and coarſe of language cry.
Page 18. Line 3. read and inſtead of or.
EPISTLE, &c.
[]SWIFTLY ye Spirits of the ſea and air!
Who viewleſs make this generous Iſle your care,
Guardians of honour, and of injur'd worth!
Spread the glad tidings round the liſt'ning Earth!
Truth ſhines triumphant o'er inſidious Craft;
Defeated Slander drops her feeble ſhaft:
While Juſtice, gazing on the ſphere of Fame,
Points with fond pride to KEPPEL'S cloudleſs name;
[6] Emerging like the Sun, with double light,
From the dark tranſit of the orb of night.
What ſhouts, re-echoed from our naval hoſt,
Fill the wide air, and ſhake the crouded coaſt!
The ſpreading tranſport circles round our ſhore,
As if the foes of Britain were no more.
Wak'd by theſe ſhouts from ſcenes of hallow'd reſt,
And to the Muſe's eye alone confeſt,
Departed Naval Chiefs, an airy band,
To ſhare this triumph hover o'er the ſtrand.—
Forth from that oozy bed, and coral cave,
Where the great Seaman found his watery grave,
Comes Drake *,—whoſe flag, by Glory's hand unfurl'd,
Trac'd the firſt circle round th' aſtoniſh'd world—
[7] With Hawkins; names, by Charity confeſt
The generous founders of her naval cheſt!
The great chaſtiſers of invading Spain:
Howard, the leader of that patriot train:
Monſon, whoſe pen his own bright labours crown'd:
And Blake, for Roman diſcipline renown'd:
Monk, at whoſe tomb both Earth and Ocean weep,
Great in the field, and greater on the deep:
Then the firſt S ****, who, ſelf-doom'd to die,
Fix'd to his burning ſhip, diſdain'd to fly;
Frowning juſt wrath he comes, and ſcorns to own
An heir, ſucceeding to his name alone:
Undaunted Ayſcue: Sprag, by Dryden ſung:
Ruſſel, whoſe arm the bolts of Freedom flung
On that proud Gallic fleet, which dar'd to bring
A tyrant's aid to an apoſtate king:
[8] Herbert, to whom the worn-out ſeaman owes
A public refuge, and well-earn'd repoſe:
Benbo, whom wounds but animate to fame,
Whoſe great ſoul triumph'd o'er his ſhatter'd frame:
Cloudeſly ill-ſtarr'd! with him *, whoſe deeds remain
'Grav'd on the conquer'd rock of humbled Spain:
And the great Seaman of our later days,
Anſon, who born a ſunk marine to raiſe,
Reform'd our fleets, and ſent them to proclaim
Around the globe, familiar with his name,
His guiding genius, and his country's fame:
Theſe Chiefs—and with them an extended line
Of names, that bright in naval annals ſhine—
Theſe to thy triumph with delight repair,
And thus ſalute thee as they float in air:
[9]
"Hail! gallant Seaman, on whoſe ſolid fame
"Envy's wild rage, reduc'd to ſilent ſhame,
"Falls like the threat'ning wave, whoſe furious ſhock
"Ends but in foam againſt th' unſhaken rock!
"Hail to thee, KEPPEL! Hail, from perils ſav'd,
"Worſe than thy courage on the deep has brav'd!
"Trying the hour, when by the whirlwind's breath
"The billow teems with darkeſt forms of death;
"Trying, when England's dauntleſs ſons oppoſe
"The ſhatter'd ſhip againſt her trebled foes;
"But far more trying is Detraction's dart,
"And the dark ſtab of miniſterial art:
"By theſe our glory, and Iberia's dread,
"Brave injur'd name! th' accompliſh'd Raleigh bled:
"A ſtill ſuperior name, and Ocean's pride,
"By theſe oppreſs'd, the great Columbus died.
[10] "But in thy cauſe, ſolicitous to heal
"The wounds of honour with parental zeal,
"Juſtice and Freedom glory to defend,
"From theſe deteſted foes, their injur'd friend;
"Our ſouls reſponſive join their joyous cry;
"Give thy untarniſh'd flag again to fly!
"Confeſt the Guardian of a grateful land,
"Late be Thou number'd with our ſainted band,
"Rich in thy gather'd fame, and grac'd with long com⯑mand."
To thee, O KEPPEL! while the Muſe conveys
Theſe hallow'd accents of no mortal praiſe,
May ſhe with glory all thy wrongs repay!
May her bright ſubject conſecrate her lay!
'Tis hers, all furious party rage above,
The faithful herald of a nation's love,
[11] With naval oak to twine her laurel leaf,
And crown the temples of her fav'rite Chief:
'Tis hers, while warm her indignation glows,
Hurling contempt on thy defeated foes,
With an impartial and avenging hand,
The bluſhing front of Calumny to brand.—
Worſt of all evils, of all peſts the chief,
Diffuſing general, or domeſtic grief;
Pernicious child of a corrupted ſtate,
With private horror mark'd, and public hate,
Falſe Accuſation ſtands: whoſe ſerpent tooth
Delights to faſten on diſtinguiſh'd Truth.
In Greece, in Rome, when guardian freedom fled,
On nobleſt blood this fatten'd monſter fed:
[12] There every bribe, that could allure the ſlave,
All that diſtinction once to virtue gave,
Debas'd by tyrants to the villain's pay,
Tempted this lurking fiend to brave the open day,
O! P******* the Muſe diſdains to think
A naval ſon of England e'er could ſink
To ſell his fame, and as an hireling rend
The unſuſpecting boſom of a friend:
No! 'twas wild paſſion; pride and ſpleen combin'd
To rob of reaſon thy diſorder'd mind;
Which, while delirious dreams its powers enthrall,
Miſtook a ſtateſman's ſmile for honour's call:
At length awaking, Freedom, like the Sun,
Shews thee the fatal courſe thy frenzy run;
[13] And that of all by public hatred curſt,
The baffled Falſe Accuſer ranks the firſt.
In * Stuckley's end their dreadful fate we view,
Whoſe plots the ruin of the brave purſue:
Stuckley! that knight of perfidy! who ſold
The blood of Raleigh for a tyrant's gold:
Full on himſelf his own dire arts recoil'd;
Firſt of the wages of his ſin deſpoil'd,
Then juſtly doom'd his head abhorr'd to hide,
In frantic penury the traitor died;
[14] Worſt of bad men!—Yet ſee a name appear,
Which deeper brands of deteſtation ſear;
Whoſe ſoul would rob, by baſeſt paſſion led,
The brave of honour, and the poor of bread:
Who, plac'd the ſtream of Charity to guide,
And o'er her hallow'd temple to preſide,
In darkneſs entering at a private door,
Profanes, with vile abuſe, her ſacred ſtore:
O! if our Iſle, who boaſts a generous race,
Could rear a being of a ſoul ſo baſe,
May public vengeance all his guilt proclaim,
And injur'd honour execrate his name!
While in full day his deepeſt crimes are ſeen,
Give him to feel, how wide the ſpace between
Th eſelf-perplexing wiles of courtly art,
And the clear conduct of a KEPPEL'S heart:
[15] That generous heart, with public virtue fraught,
Of private vengeance will deſpiſe the thought:
For thy Accuſer, KEPPEL! ſtill retain
Silent abhorrence, and a brave diſdain!
Whate'er his motives, if of envy born,
(Diſeaſe of little minds!) they merit ſcorn:
If ſprung from public zeal, with paſſion blind,
They claim the pity of thy nobler mind;
Thy mind! which ſcorn'd to play the accuſer's part,
Or doubt the courage of an Engliſh heart,
E'en in thoſe galling hours, when rear'd in vain
Thy warlike ſignal call'd a tardy train;
And diſobedience join'd with envious night
To rob thy valour of the promis'd fight.—
Full oft have Chiefs, diſguſted with command,
Abjur'd the ſervice of a thankleſs land;
[16] Untaught "to bear the wrongs of baſe mankind,
The laſt, and hardeſt conqueſt of the mind!"
May'ſt thou, O KEPPEL! every wrong forget!
And pay thy Country ſtill a Briton's debt!
Clear as thy own may England's honour grow,
Prov'd by the voice of each applauding foe!
Tho' ſpeculation, in dark viſions toſt,
Has long pronounc'd her mighty Empire loſt.
There are, who o'er the fancied ruin ſigh,
Who courſe of thought, and courſe of language cry,
"That England fell, in that diſaſtrous hour,
When the Scotch ſerpent climb'd the tree of power;"
Who, hid in government's perplex'd machine,
Yet lives malignant, and corrodes unſeen:—
[17] Thus, while th' imperial ſhip ſublimely rides
In awful ſplendor on the ſubject tides;
Beneath her keel a foe inſidious lurks;
Thro' the ſtrong oak the mining miſchief works:
The lofty fabric, tho' in ſemblance firm,
Sinks the proud victim of a foreign worm.
Whate'er this voice by ſceptics may be found,
Faction's falſe cry, or Truth's prophetic ſound,
Let ev'ry Briton, with bold Blake, proclaim,
His ruling paſſion is his Country's fame!
What men ſo'er her ſeats of counſel fill,
The brave muſt feel, ſhe is their country ſtill:
Let them for her the worſt of perils dare,
And never, never of the ſtate deſpair!
Not e'en, when doom'd with darkneſs to o'erſpread
The ſacred glory round Britannia's head,
[18] The evil genius of the pale ****
Prompts the weak pauſe, or plans the dire campaign,
The curſe of Minden's field, or Saratoga's plain!
Yet dare to hope, that built by Freedom's hand,
The ſplendid pile of Britain's fame ſhall ſtand;
Tho' her weak ſtateſmen ill ſuſtain its weight,
Mere mould'ring vain pilaſters of the ſtate!
Yet Britiſh Virtue, theme of nobleſt ſong!
Strong in her fleets, and in her armies ſtrong,
Like the firm cement of an ancient tower,
Deſies the rage of time, and ev'ry hoſtile pow'r.
This Virtue ſtill, the Bard's peculiar care!
Shall prompt the patriot ſong, and martial pray'r:
"Thou! God of hoſts! whoſe ſacred breath imparts
Valour's unclouded flame to Britiſh hearts;
Whoſe hand has ſpread our triumphs round the globe,
And dreſt the Queen of Iſles in glory's gorgeous robe:
[19] May thy protecting ſpirit, ſtill the ſame,
Suſtain her tott'ring on the throne of Fame!—
But if prepar'd th' avenging Angel ſtand
To pour thy wrath on this devoted land;
If her brave ſons their forfeit lives muſt pay,
Grant them to periſh in the face of day!
For Britain periſh 'mid the combat's clang,
Where Honour's ſmile endears the dying pang!
Let Courage, when enſnar'd by Falſhood's breath,
Still burſt the toils of ignominious death!
And Juſtice prove, that Truth will ne'er depart
From her firm ſeat, the genuine Sailor's heart.
O ye! our Iſland's Pride! and Nature's boaſt!
Whoſe peerleſs valour guards and gilds our coaſt,
Ye gallant Seamen! in this trying hour,
Remember union is the ſoul of power!
[20] Nor let diſſention, with infectious hand,
Shake the firm ſtrength of your fraternal band!
Your injur'd country bids you join to throw
Avenging thunders on your common foe:
Let anger ſcorn the rancorous debate,
The low and little jars of private hate,
And nobly ſacrifice each ſelfiſh aim,
On the bright Altar of Britannia's Fame."
FINIS.
Notes
*
Sir Francis Drake and Sir John Hawkins, were inſtitutors of that noble fund the Cheſt at Chatham.—For the perſonal hiſtory of theſe great men, and moſt of thoſe mentioned with them, ſee Campbell's Lives of the Admirals.
*
Sir George Rooke.
*
Sir Lewis Stuckley, Vice Admiral of Devonſhire, and the kinſ⯑man of Raleigh, whoſe deſign of eſcaping he perfidiouſly betrayed, was ſurprized in Whitehall, clipping the gold beſtowed on him as a reward of his treachery; and being condemned for that crime, and reduced to the neceſſity of ſtripping himſelf to his ſhirt, to raiſe money to purchaſe a pardon, withdrew himſelf from the odium of mankind to the iſland of Lundy, in the Severn Sea, where he died mad, 1620, in leſs than two years after Raleigh.
Birch's Life of Sir W. Raleigh.
- Zitationsvorschlag für dieses Objekt
- TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 5175 Epistle to Admiral Keppel. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-5902-E