Back to the pass in gentle march he leads The embattled warriors. They, behind the shrubs, Where Medon sent such numbers to the shades, In ambush lie. The tempest is o'erblown. Soft breezes only from the Malian wave O'er each grim face, besmeared with smoke and gore, Their cool refreshment breathe. The healing gale, A crystal rill near Oeta's verdant feet, Dispel the languor from their harassed nerves, Fresh braced by strength returning. O'er their heads Lo! in full blaze of majesty appears Melissa, bearing in her hand divine The eternal guardian of illustrious deeds, The sweet Phoebean lyre. Her graceful train Of white-robed virgins, seated on a range Half down the cliff, o'ershadowing the Greeks, All with concordant strings, and accents clear, A torrent pour of melody, and swell A high, triumphal, solemn dirge of praise, Anticipating fame. Of endless joys In blessed Elysium was the song. Go, meet Lycurgus, Solon, and Zaleucus sage, Let them salute the children of their laws. Meet Homer, Orpheus, and the Ascraean bard, Who with a spirit, by ambrosial food Refined, and more exalted, shall contend Your splendid fate to warble through the bowers Of amaranth and myrtle ever young, Like your renown. Your ashes we will cull. In yonder fane deposited, your urns, Dear to the Muses, shall our lays inspire. Whatever offerings, genius, science, art Can dedicate to virtue, shall be yours, The gifts of all the Muses, to transmit You on the enlivened canvas, marble, brass, In wisdom's volume, in the poet's song, In every tongue, through every age and clime, You of this earth the brightest flowers, not cropt, Transplanted only to immortal bloom Of praise with men, of happiness with gods. ADMIRAL HOSIER'S GHOST. ON THE TAKING OF PORTO-BELLO FROM THE SPANIARDS BY ADMIRAL VERNON--Nov. 22, 1739. 1 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 crews, with shouts victorious, Drank success to England's fleet: 2 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. 3 On them gleamed the moon's wan lustre, When the shade of Hosier brave His pale bands was seen to muster, Rising from their watery grave: O'er the glimmering wave he hied him, Where the Burford[1] reared her sail, With three thousand ghosts beside him, And in groans did Vernon hail: