Rage in his heart, and mischief in his head,
He gloomed destruction, and had smote us dead
Had he so dared, but fear withheld his hand,
He came, blasphemed, and turned again to land
THE BENEVOLENT CAPTAIN
From this poor vessel, and her sickly crew
A british seaman all his titles drew,
Captain, Esquire, Commander, too, in chief,
And hence he gained his bread and hence his beef:
But sir, you might have searched creation round,
And such another ruffian not have found
Though unprovoked an angry face he bore,--
All were astonished at the oaths he swore
He swore, till every prisoner stood aghast,
And thought him Satan in a brimstone blast
He wished us banished from the public light;
He wished us shrouded in perpetual night;
* * * * *
He swore, besides, that should the ship take fire
We, too, must in the pitchy flames expire--
That if we wretches did not scrub the decks
His staff should break our base, rebellious necks;
* * * * *
If, where he walked, a murdered carcase lay,
Still dreadful was the language of the day;
He called us dogs, and would have held us so,
But terror checked the meditated blow
Of vengeance, from our injured nation due,
To him, and all the base, unmanly crew
Such food they sent to make complete our woes
It looked like carrion torn from hungry crows
Such vermin vile on every joint were seen,
So black, corrupted, mortified, and lean,
That once we tried to move our flinty chief,
And thus addressed him, holding up the beef--
"See, Captain, see, what rotten bones we pick,
What kills the healthy cannot cure the sick,
Not dogs on such by Christian men are fed,
And see, good master, see, what lousy bread!"
"Your meat or bread," this man of death replied,
"Tis not my care to manage or provide
But this, base rebel dogs I'd have you know,
That better than you merit we bestow--
Out of my sight!" nor more he deigned to say,
But whisked about, and frowning, strode away
CONCLUSION
Each day at least six carcases we bore
And scratched them graves along the sandy shore
By feeble hands the shallow graves were made,
No stone memorial o'er the corpses laid
In barren sands and far from home they lie,
No friend to shed a tear when passing by
O'er the mean tombs insulting Britons tread,
Spurn at the sand, and curse the rebel dead.
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