'Twas Jones, brave Jones, to battle led As bold a crew as ever bled Upon the sky-surrounded main; The standards of the western world Were to the willing winds unfurl'd, Denying Britain's tyrant reign. The Good-Man-Richard led the line; The Alliance next: with these combine The Gallic ship they Pallas call, The Vengeance arm'd with sword and flame; These to attack the Britons came-- But _two_ accomplish'd all. Now Phoebus sought his pearly bed: But who can tell the scenes of dread, The horrors of that fatal night! Close up these floating castles came: The Good-Man-Richard bursts in flame; Serapis trembled at the sight. She felt the fury of _her_ ball: Down, prostrate, down the Britons fall; The decks were strew'd with slain: Jones to the foe his vessel lash'd; And, while the black artillery flash'd, Loud thunders shook the main. Alas! that mortals should employ Such murdering engines to destroy That frame by heaven so nicely join'd; Alas! that e'er the god decreed That brother should by brother bleed, And pour'd such madness in the mind. But thou, brave Jones, no blame shalt bear, The rights of man demand your care: For _these_ you dare the greedy waves. No tyrant, on destruction bent, Has plann'd thy conquest--thou art sent To humble tyrants and their slaves. See!--dread Serapis flames again-- And art thou, Jones, among the slain, And sunk to Neptune's caves below?-- He lives--though crowds around him fall, Still he, unhurt, survives them all; Almost alone he fights the foe. And can your ship these strokes sustain? Behold your brave companions slain, All clasp'd in ocean's cold embrace; STRIKE, OR BE SUNK--the Briton cries-- SINK IF YOU CAN--the chief replies, Fierce lightnings blazing in his face. Then to the side three guns he drew (Almost deserted by his crew), And charg'd them deep with woe; By Pearson's flash he aim'd hot balls; His main-mast totters--down it falls-- O'erwhelming half below. Pearson had yet disdain'd to yield, But scarce his secret fears conceal'd, And thus was heard to cry-- "With hell, not mortals, I contend; What art thou--human, or a fiend, That dost my force defy? "Return, my lads, the fight renew!"-- So call'd bold Pearson to his crew; But call'd, alas! in vain; Some on the decks lay maim'd and dead; Some to their deep recesses fled, And hosts were shrouded in the main. Distress'd, forsaken, and alone, He haul'd his tatter'd standard down, And yielded to his gallant foe; Bold Pallas soon the Countess took,-- Thus both their haughty colors struck, Confessing what the brave can do. But, Jones, too dearly didst thou buy These ships possest so gloriously, Too many deaths disgrac'd the fray: Thy barque that bore the conquering flame, That the proud Briton overcame, Even she forsook thee on thy way;