After this proud foe subduing

To have fall'n, my country crying, He has play'd an English part, Had been better far than dying Of a griev'd and broken heart.

Hence with all my train attending From their oozy tombs below, Through the hoary foam ascending Here I feed my constant woe.

Heed, oh heed! my fatal story, I am Hosier's injur'd ghost; You who now have purchas'd glory At this place where I was lost.

As, near Porto Bello lying, On the gently swelling flood, At midnight, with streamers flying, Our triumphant navy rode.

Sent in this foul clime to languish Think what thousands fell in vain, Wasted with disease and anguish, Not in glorious battle slain.

To act the part of a true friend requires more conscientious feeling than to fill with credit and complacency any other station or capacity in social life.