Bewail the frantic fury of their lives, Which forced down all the vengeance of the gods. Was murther, whose delight was death, who thought, Their transient glories, live upon their breath; JOHN MAYLEM. CONCERNING this writer, we can collect no information, except that he was graduated at Harvard College, in 1715. He wrote two poems upon the wars with the French and Indians. These are entitled, “Gallic Perfidy,” and “The Conquest of Louisbourg." The first is a narrative in blank verse. Of the second we shall give a few passages. THE CONQUEST OF LOUISBOURG. NoT to Aonian spring, Parnassian mount, O God! Immortal Deity-Supreme! Æthereal vigor in each line display, While I the man and glitt'ring arms essay: In that warm season of the rolling year, And now the drums beat up, and now appears With hearts elate, twelve thousand volunteers. Fired with ambition in their country's cause, Resolved to purchase fame, and loud applause, The ample sea-ports each assiduous man Their floating bulwarks for the mighty plan. The gather'd navy, glorious in her pride, In Plymouth's safe, capacious harbor ride. Till the fair summons of a genial breeze, Call forth to weigh, and cut the briny seas. Then for Cape Breton the Atlantic plough, While joy sat smiling on each martial brow, Urge their swift passage through the liquid green, Till all Britannia sinks behind the scene. The dancing castles, fann'd by easy gales, Hide half the circuit with their canvass sails. Thus forty days, the yielding deep explore, See Amhurst now his warlike squadrons range, Portending dreadful death, and loud revenge. Forms his fierce legions in embattled ranks With van, and rear guard, and important flanks— Then at their head, heroic and serene, March'd like young Scipio to a bloodier scene, To a high battery, or winding length, Of double embrasures, of double strength, Whose mighty walls the enemy immure, And the long trenches, aid their great secure. Now o'er the heath his brave myrmidons leads, While the shrill music sounds to noble deeds, And the warm sunbeams on their firelocks play, Strike off in spires, and aid the blaze of day. A general halt ensues-nor yet the van Had the fierce onset of attack began, Six deep the front a martial grace disclose, That dared the thunder of their Gallic foes. But lo! while ready for the charge they stood, Death, blunderbuss, artillery, and blood! Blue smoke, and purple flame, around appear, And the hot bullets hail from front to rear. Tremendous fate by turns incessant flies, While the black sulphur clouds the azure skies. And ghastly savages, with fearful yell, Invoke their kindred of profoundest hell. * Whose hoarse shrill powaws valiant Amhurst scorns, Ten thousand beams spire from the flaming steel, Till thundering Mars no more the sight could bear, sung. And each fierce veteran maintain'd the field. Who valiant fought on this important land, As yet hangs dubious—you fatigued and spent, With dreadful phalanx, change the face of day; See! Whetmore, yonder, moving o'er the heath, Makes it one sad continued scene of death. Or, bending victor o'er the ample soil, With Lawrence there, whose gen'rous bosom warms, Whose wielding broad-sword flames a circling sun. So a young lion with amazing dread, * * * * * Opposed to where their famed asylum stood, Was a fair rising by a neighb'ring wood, An easy eminence, whose top accline, To their strong ramparts bore a level line. To this grand object of their martial scenes, Through fierce encounters move the huge machines. Now Wolf's long trenches and fascines appear, And conquer'd batteries ope each embrasure, With horrid mortars gaping on their tier, And the fix'd cannon point their fatal maws, While peals of thunder issue from their jaws. Boscawen now his naval vengeance hurls, And clouds of sulphur fleet away in curls; Intrepid Hardy, from his floating force, Wings fate on fate, with an incessant course, And brave Durell his keen combustions throw, While shells or break above or burst below. Thus long the sun in his diurnal race, Saw the dire conflict from his radiant space: When now a bomb of huge diameter, From a vast mortar, flamed a livid sphere, With dire combustion fill'd, and death innate, The last sad prelude to their final fate! Aloft in ambient ether now it spires, Strikes on the sunbeams, interchanging fires; Now prone inclines in terrible display, Like the last comet at the judgment day; On the French admiral, tremendous cracks, And swift as lightning drops beneath the decks. Meanwhile, alternate deaths promiscuous fly, * |