“Heed, oh heed our fatal story, (I am BRISSOT’S injured Ghost), You who hope to purchase glory In that field where I was lost! Though dread PITT’S expected ruin Now your soul with triumph cheers, When you think on our undoing, You will mix your hopes with fears. “See these helpless, headless spectres, Wandering through the midnight gloom: Mark their Jacobinic lectures Echoing from the silent tomb; These, thy soul with terror filling, Once were Patriots fierce and bold”— (Each his head, with gore distilling, Shakes, the whilst his tale is told). “Some from that dread engine’s carving In vain contrived their heads to save— See BARBAROUX and PÉTION[236] starving In the Languedocian cave! See, in a higgler’s[237] hamper buckled, How LOUVET’S soaring spirit lay! How virtuous ROLAND,[238] helpless cuckold, Blew what brains he had away. “How beneath the power of MARAT, CONDORCET, blaspheming, fell, Begged some laudanum of GARAT,[239] Drank;—and slept,—to wake in hell! Oh that, with worthier souls uniting, I in my country’s cause had shone! Had died my Sovereign’s battle fighting, Or nobly propp’d his sinking throne!— “But hold!—I scent the gales of morning— Covent-Garden’s clock strikes One! Heed, oh heed my earnest warning, Ere England is, like France, undone! To St. Stephen’s quick repairing, Your dissembled mania end; And, your errors past forswearing, Stand at length your Country’s Friend!” [The preceding ballad is parodied from the one by Glover, entitled— 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 sat all-glorious From the Spaniard’s 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 shore.