The New Hampshire Gazette

On the News of the Arrival of our FLEET.

Bella, horrida bella,
Et Tyrrhenum multo spumantem sanguine cerno.
VIRG.

There shall an infant Muse such Numbers find,
As may be equal to our Joy of Mind,
For the good News that decorates this Sheet,
Admiral Boscawen's arriv'd with his Fleet.
Swift as the Lightnings cross the Hemisphere,
So swift the Tidings fly from Ear to Ear,
Creating Joy and Gladness where they go;
As when cool Streams thro' dry Arabia flow.
Not Zephyr's Gales, refresh so much the Sky,
When the hot Dog-Star fires the Realms on high;
Nor Sol's warm Beams, so much the Northern Climes
As the Arrival on our Coast betimes
Of great Boscawen, with his Men of War.
Whose Valour Gallick Ships has felt before.
Let now your mortal Tubes discharging roar,
And warm St. Lawrence, to her frozen Shore;
Let now the British Cannons thund'ring shake,
Louisburg's Walls, and every Echo wake,
That long has slept in circumambient Air.
Making their Gallick Hearts to quake for Fear;
While both the Admirals display, this Spring,
The greatest Valour, for our GOD and KING.
Let Abercrombie now, the Head and Chief,
Of our New England Armies, speed Relief,
To this distress'd Land, awake to Arms,
Rouse up his Troops to Action, beat Alarms.
Let nought retard Canada's destin'd Doom,
Since that Boscawen with his Fleet is come,
Let now the Trump's terrible from far,
In louder Clangor animate the War,
While rumbling Drums in fuller Concerts beat,
And echoing Hills the loud Alarm repeat;
That Canada which breeds us Foes in swarms,
Might timely feel the Vengeance of our Arms.
Mean Time, my Countrymen, I pray take Care,
You trust not in the Armament you prepare,
But in the Name of Israel's Mighty GOD,
Let every British Soldier draw his Sword,
And let JEHOVAH do what seemeth to him good.