The New Hampshire Gazette

On Our many glorious and Rapid Victories.

Tempora mutantur, et nos mutamur in illis. Ovid.

LONG had sad Albion mourn'd her coward Race
As long her Navy sinking in Disgrace;
Wept her own Shame in each degenerate Son,
Who sully'd all their great Fore Fathers won:
But pleas'd, at length, a brighter Aera sees,
And now resumes her Empire of the Seas.
And well her valiant Sons assert her Right
For Britons now, like ancient Britons fight!
The same brave Spirit which her Wolfe inspir'd,
Has all her Troops, in every Quarter fir'd;
And not one B--r S--n now is found,
To stain her Glory, or her Honour wound.
See, all at once, ten Thousand Heroes rise,
Whose noble Deeds exalt her to the Skies,
Which, could the Muse in equal Numbers tell,
This humble Verse might to an Iliad swell.
What Cities sack'd! fair Colonies o'er run!
Strong Fortresses, and fruitful Islands won!
With all her num'rous Triumphs, on the Main!
Almost within the Space of one Campaign!
And now, my Muse, exert thy noblest Strain,
To sing the Heroes of her Naval Reign.
See brave Boscawen in the Van appear,
In greatest Dangers never known to fear;
The daring Chief, for Valour so renown'd,
Whom Victory often has with Laurels crown'd.
Lo! distant India rings with Pocock's Name;
And the whole World reounds with Anson's Fame.
Yet still the Muse th' heroic List may swell
With Osborn, Saunders, Hardy, and Durell.
While Fame, no less, exhibits to our View
Howe, Hervey, Keppel, Lockhart, Gilchrist too.
These, and a Thousand more, demand my Song,
A Crowd of Heroes! an illustrious Throng!
But, Chief of all, the gallant Hawke survey.
Bold as the Eagle, darting on his Prey!
As swift as whom the active Hero slew,
And hurl'd his Thunder on the prostrate Crew:
With Horror seiz'd, the trembling Moniteurs stood,
And saw the Ocean dy'd with Gallic Blood!
The gaudy Conflans flew, with dire Dismay,
Like a scar'd Goldfinch from the Bird of Prey:
His gilded Bark, which glittered on the Wave,
From British Thunder no Protection gave.
Presumptuous Chief! now fallen from thy Sun;
Whose Fate is worse than that of Phaeton,
For lo! thy flaming Rival of the Day
Is set forever in the fatal Bay.

CYnTHIO.