A Bundle of Ballads Part 25

O'er the water, and o'er the sea, O'er the water to Charlie; I'll gie John Ross another bawbie, To boat me o'er to Charlie.

A pinch o' snuff to poison the whigs, A gill o' Geneva to drown them; And he that winna drink Charlie's health, May roaring seas surround him.

O'er the water, and o'er the sea, And o'er the water to Charlie; I'll gie John Brown another half-crown, To boat me o'er to Charlie.

ADMIRAL HOSIER'S GHOST.

As near Porto-Bello lying On the gently swelling flood, At midnight with streamers flying Our triumphant navy rode; There while Vernon sate all-glorious From the Spaniards' late defeat: And his crews, with shouts victorious, Drank success to England's fleet:

On a sudden shrilly sounding, Hideous yells and shrieks were heard; Then each heart with fear confounding, A sad troop of ghosts appeared, All in dreary hammocks shrouded, Which for winding-sheets they wore, And with looks by sorrow clouded Frowning on that hostile sh.o.r.e.

On them gleamed the moon's wan l.u.s.tre, When the shade of Hosier brave His pale bands were seen to muster Rising from their watery grave.

O'er the glimmering wave he hied him, Where the Burford reared her sail, With three thousand ghosts beside him, And in groans did Vernon hail.

"Heed, oh heed our fatal story; I am Hosier's injured ghost, You who now have purchased glory At this place where I was lost!

Though in Porto-Bello's ruin You now triumph free from fears, When you think on our undoing, You will mix your joy with tears.

"See these mournful spectres sweeping Ghastly o'er this hated wave, Whose wan cheeks are stained with weeping; These were English captains brave.

Mark those numbers pale and horrid, Those were once my sailors bold: Lo, each hangs his drooping forehead While his dismal tale is told.

"I, by twenty sail attended, Did this Spanish town affright; Nothing then its wealth defended But my orders not to fight.

Oh! that in this rolling ocean I had cast them with disdain, And obeyed my heart's warm motion To have quelled the pride of Spain!

"For resistance I could fear none, But with twenty s.h.i.+ps had done What thou, brave and happy Vernon Hast achieved with six alone.

Then the Bastimentos never Had our foul dishonour seen; Nor the sea the sad receiver Of this gallant train had been.

"Thus, like thee, proud Spain dismaying, And her galleons leading home, Though condemned for disobeying, I had met a traitor's doom, To have fallen, my country crying He has played an English part; Had been better far than dying Of a grieved and broken heart.

"Unrepining at thy glory, Thy successful arms we hail; But remember our sad story, And let Hosier's wrongs prevail.

Sent in this foul clime to languish, Think what thousands fell in vain, Wasted with disease and anguish, Not in glorious battle slain.

"Hence with all my train attending From their oozy tombs below, Through the h.o.a.ry foam ascending, Here I feed my constant woe: Here the Bastimentos viewing, We recall our shameful doom, And our plaintive cries renewing, Wander through the midnight gloom.

"O'er these waves for ever mourning Shall we roam deprived of rest, If to Britain's sh.o.r.es returning You neglect my just request; After this proud foe subduing, When your patriot friends you see, Think on vengeance for my ruin, And for England shamed in me."

JEMMY DAWSON.

Come listen to my mournful tale, Ye tender hearts, and lovers dear; Nor will you scorn to heave a sigh, Nor will you blush to shed a tear.

And thou, dear Kitty, peerless maid, Do thou a pensive ear incline; For thou canst weep at every woe, And pity every plaint but mine.

Young Dawson was a gallant youth, A brighter never trod the plain; And well he loved one charming maid, And dearly was he loved again.

One tender maid she loved him dear, Of gentle blood the damsel came, And faultless was her beauteous form, And spotless was her virgin fame.

But curse on party's hateful strife, That led the faithful youth astray The day the rebel clans appeared: Oh had he never seen that day!

Their colours and their sash he wore, And in the fatal dress was found; And now he must that death endure, Which gives the brave the keenest wound.

How pale was then his true love's cheek, When Jemmy's sentence reach'd her ear!

For never yet did Alpine snows So pale nor yet so chill appear.

With faltering voice she weeping said, "Oh, Dawson, monarch of my heart, Think not thy death shall end our loves, For thou and I will never part.

"Yet might sweet mercy find a place, And bring relief to Jemmy's woes, O GEORGE, without a prayer for thee My orisons should never close.

"The gracious prince that gives him life Would crown a never-dying flame, And every tender babe I bore Should learn to lisp the giver's name.

"But though, dear youth, thou should'st be dragged To yonder ignominious tree, Thou shalt not want a faithful friend To share thy bitter fate with thee."

O then her mourning-coach was called, The sledge moved slowly on before; Though borne in a triumphal car, She had not loved her favourite more.

She followed him, prepared to view The terrible behests of law; And the last scene of Jemmy's woes With calm and stedfast eye she saw.

Distorted was that blooming face, Which she had fondly loved so long: And stifled was that tuneful breath, Which in her praise had sweetly sung:

And severed was that beauteous neck, Round which her arms had fondly closed: And mangled was that beauteous breast, On which her love-sick head reposed:

And ravished was that constant heart, She did to every heart prefer; For though it could his king forget, 'Twas true and loyal still to her.

Amid those unrelenting flames She bore this constant heart to see; But when 'twas mouldered into dust, "Now, now," she cried, "I'll follow thee.

"My death, my death alone can show The pure and lasting love I bore: Accept, O heaven, of woes like ours, And let us, let us weep no more."

The dismal scene was o'er and past, The lover's mournful hea.r.s.e retired; The maid drew back her languid head, And sighing forth his name expired.

Though justice ever must prevail, The tear my Kitty sheds is due; For seldom shall she hear a tale So sad, so tender, and so true.

WILLIAM AND MARGARET.

'Twas at the silent, solemn hour When night and morning meet; In glided Margaret's grimly ghost And stood at William's feet.

Her face was like an April morn, Clad in a wintry cloud: And clay-cold was her lily-hand, That held her sable shroud.

So shall the fairest face appear, When youth and years are flown: Such is the robe that kings must wear, When death has reft their crown.

Her bloom was like the springing flower, That sips the silver dew; The rose was budded in her cheek, Just opening to the view.

But Love had, like the canker-worm, Consumed her early prime: The rose grew pale, and left her cheek; She died before her time.