Volume V

*OETRY.gThe Dutchman has talked ere now of his pow'rs,And tried the old Ocean to sweep !But alas ! he soon found that the ocean was ours,And he bent to the Lords of the Deep.But the days of our own, Sir, surpass all by far,Who ever has heard of the like ?When a Briton e'er meets with a Dutch man of war,Pray doesn't the Enemy strike ?'Tis strangethat experience won't make people wise,But when folk are so stubborn and vain ;With her brave wooden walls let old England arise,And defend her own right on the main.For the days of our own, Sir, surpass all by far,Who ever has heard of the like ?When a Briton e'er meets with a foe's man of war,Pray doesn't the Enemy strike ?1801. JAMES JOHNSON.ON 7HE DEATH OFTHE RIGHT HON. EARL HOWE.By a NAVAL OFFICER.HAT meed of sorrow can the Muse bestow,To soothe the mind, and sympathize with woe !How fades the poet's bays, and shrinks from view,When grief deje&ed courts the sable yew JThe idle pageants of delusive art,But faintly note the feelings of the heart ;While more congenial to the gloomy bierIs pensive sadness, and the silent tenr.If worth departed ever claim'd a sigh,Or dimm'd with pious drops the beaming eye jIf excellence, enshrin'd in mortal frame,Could grace respect, and sanctify a name,'Twas gallant HOWE'S, whose elevated mindEmbrac'd each virtue of the purest kindRever'd by friends, and by the world approv'd ;In death lamented, as in life belov'd !His gentle shade hath wing'd its peaceful flight,To mix with Angels in the realms of light!H. E, BOWES.