On the Loss of the Royal George.

Τ

OLL for the brave?

The brave! that are no more!

All funk beneath the wave,

Fast by their native shore!

Eight hundred of the brave,
Whofe courage well was tried,
Had made the veffel heel,

And laid her on her fide.

A land breeze fhook the shrouds,
And fhe was overfet ;

Down went the Royal George,
With all her men complete.

Toll for the brave!

Brave Kempenfelt is gone;
His laft fea-fight is fought;
His work of glory done.

It was not in the battle;
No tempeft gave the shock:
She sprang no fatal leak;
She ran upon no rock.

His fword was in its fheath;
His fingers held the pen,

When Kempenfelt went down,
With twice four hundred men.

Weigh the veffel up,

Once dreaded by our foes! And mingle with our cup,

The tear that England owes.

Her timbers yet are found,
And she may float again,

Full charg'd with England's thunder,
And plough the distant main.

But Kempenfelt is gone,.

His victories are o'er;

And he and his eight hundred men,
Shall plough the wave no more.

CowPER.

To Mr Pope on his Translation of Homer.

O much, dear Pope, thy English Iliad charms,
When pity melts us, or when paffion warms,

That after ages fhall with wonder feek,
Who 'twas tranflated Her into Greek.

FINIS

NEWCASTLE UPON TYNE: PRINTED BY
S. HODGSON.