Th’ indignant Muse, severely taught to feel, Shrinks from a theme she blushes to reveal. Too oft example, armed with poisons fell, Pollutes the shrine where mercy loves to dwell: Thus Rodmond, trained by this unhallowed crew, The sacred social passions never knew. Unskilled to argue, in dispute yet loud, Bold without caution, without honours proud; In art unschooled, each veteran rule he prized, And all improvement haughtily despised. Yet, though full oft to future perils blind, With skill superior glowed his daring mind, Through snares of death the reeling bark to guide, When midnight shades involve the raging tide. To Rodmond, next in order of command, Succeeds the youngest of our naval band: But what avails it to record a name That courts no rank among the sons of fame; Whose vital spring had just began to bloom, When o’er it sorrow spread her sickening gloom? While yet a stripling, oft with fond alarms His bosom danced to Nature’s boundless charms; On him fair Science dawned in happier hour, Awakening into bloom young Fancy’s flower: But soon Adversity, with freezing blast, The blossom withered, and the dawn o’ercast. Forlorn of heart, and by severe decree Condemned reluctant to the faithless sea, With long farewell he left the laurel grove, Where science and the tuneful sisters rove. Hither he wandered, anxious to explore Antiquities of nations now no more; To penetrate each distant realm unknown, And range excursive o’er th’ untravelled zone: In vain—for rude Adversity’s command Still on the margin of each famous land, With unrelenting ire his steps opposed, And every gate of hope against him closed. Permit my verse, ye blest Pierian train! To call Arion this ill-fated swain; For like that bard unhappy, on his head Malignant stars their hostile influence shed: Both, in lamenting numbers, o’er the deep With conscious anguish taught the harp to weep: And both the raging surge in safety bore Amid destruction, panting to the shore: This last, our tragic story from the wave Of dark oblivion, haply, yet may save; With genuine sympathy may yet complain, While sad Remembrance bleeds at every vein. These, chief among the ship’s conducting train, Her path explored along the deep domain; Trained to command, and range the swelling sail, Whose varying force conforms to every gale. Charged with the commerce, hither also came A gallant youth, Palemon was his name: A father’s stern resentment doomed to prove, He came the victim of unhappy love! His heart for Albert’s beauteous daughter bled, For her a sacred flame his bosom fed: Nor let the wretched slaves of folly scorn, This genuine passion, Nature’s eldest born! ’Twas his with lasting anguish to complain,