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HOSIER'S GHOST. To the Tune of Come and Listen to My Ditty.
As near Porto Bello lying
On the gently swelling flood, At midnight, with streamers flying,
Our triumphant navy rode ; There while Vernon sat all glorious
From the Spaniards' late defeat, And his crew 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 appear'd, All in dreary hammocks shrouded,
Which for winding-sheets they wore, And with looks by sorrow clouded,
Frowning on that hostile shore.
On them gleam'd the moon's wan lustre,
When the shade of Hosier brave His pale band was seen to muster,
Rising from their watery grave. O'er the glimmering wave he hied him,
Where the Burford rear'd her sail, With three thousand ghosts beside him,
And in groans did Vernon hail.
' Heed, O heed our fatal story,—
I am Hosier's injur'd 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 stain'd with weeping—
These were English captains brave !