Thus, like thee, proud Spain dismaying,
And her galleons leading home,
Though condemn'd for disobeying,

I had met a traitor's doom,
To have fallen, my country crying

He has play'd an English part,

Had been better far than dying
Of a griev'd and broken heart.

Unrepining at thy glory,

Thy successful arms we hail; But remember our sad story,

And let Hosier's wrongs prevail. Sent in this foul clime to languish,

Think what thousands fell in vain, Wasted with disease and anguish, Not in glorious battle slain.

Hence with all my train attending

From their oozy tombs below, Thro' the hoary foam ascending,

Here I feed my constant woe:

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Here the bastimentos viewing,

We recal our shameful doom,
And our plaintive cries renewing,
Wander thro' the midnight gloom.

O'er these waves for ever mourning
Shall we roam depriv'd of rest,
If to Britain's shores returning
You neglect my just request;
After this proud foe subduing,

When your patriot friends you see,
Think on vengeance for my ruin,

And for England sham'd in me.

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XXVI.

Jemmy Dawson.

James Dawson was one of the Manchester rebels, who was hanged, drawn, and quartered, on Kennington-common, in the county of Surrey, July 30, 1746.-This ballad is founded on a remarkable fact, which was reported to have happened at his execution. It was written by the late William Shenstone, Esq. soon after the event, and has been printed amongst his posthumous works, 2 vols. 8vo. It is here given from a MS. which contained some small variations from that printed copy.

COME listen to my mournful tale,

Ye tender hearts, and lovers dear;
Nor will you scorn to heave a sigh,
Nor will you blush to shed a tear.

And thou, dear Kitty, peerless maid,
Do thou a pensive ear incline;
For thou canst weep at every woe,
And pity every plaint, but mine.

Young Dawson was a gallant youth,

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A brighter never trod the plain;

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And well he lov❜d one charming maid,

And dearly was he lov'd again.

One tender maid she lov'd him dear,
Of gentle blood the damsel came,
And faultless was her beauteous form,
And spotless was her virgin fame.

But curse on party's hateful strife,
That led the faithful youth astray
The day the rebel clans appear'd:

O had he never seen that day!

Their colours and their sash he wore,

And in the fatal dress was found;

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And now he must that death endure,
Which gives the brave the keenest wound.

How pale was then his true love's cheek,

When Jemmy's sentence reach'd her ear!

For never yet did Alpine snows

So pale, nor yet so chill appear.

With faltering voice, she weeping said,
Oh, Dawson, monarch of my heart,
Think not thy death shall end our loves,
For thou and I will never part.

Yet might sweet mercy find a place,
And bring relief to Jemmy's woes,
O GEORGE, without a prayer for thee
My orisons should never close.

The gracious prince that gives him life

Would crown a never-dying flame,

And every tender babe I bore

Should learn to lisp the giver's name.

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But though, dear youth, thou should'st be dragg'd

To yonder ignominious tree,

Thou shalt not want a faithful friend

To share thy bitter fate with thee.

O then her mourning-coach was call'd,
The sledge mov'd slowly on before;

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Tho' borne in a triumphal car,

She had not lov'd her favourite more.

She followed him, prepar'd to view

The terrible behests of law;

And the last scene of Jemmy's woes
With calm and stedfast eye she saw.

Distorted was that blooming face,

Which she had fondly lov'd so long:

And stifled was that tuneful breath,

Which in her praise had sweetly sung :

And sever'd was that beauteous neck,

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Round which her arms had fondly clos'd:

And mangled was that beauteous breast,

On which her love-sick head repos'd: 60