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LONDON, Printed by and for J. NICHOLS and SON,
at Cicero's Head, Red Lion Paffage, Fleet-Street;

where LETTERS are particularly requested to be fent, POST FAID.
And fold by J. HARRIS (Succeffor to Mrs. NEWBERY),
the Corner of St. Paul's Church Yard, Ludgate-Street. 1905.

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Beato in ciel nello fplendore eterno,
Lai noi, cui dolore acuto, interno
Rode 'l cor, fenza te, fra' tuoi trofei!
Sublimi e' fono, degni degli Dei,
Che ti dotaro di valor fuperno.
Per la PATRIA'l morir prendefti a scherno;
Verfafti 'I fangue, SOMMO EROE, per lei
Chiamata dal tuo fulmine tremendo,
Prized VITTORIA a te l'ufato volo,
E Morte irata 'I fiero colpo orrendo!
Voce immortal le diffe: corpo folo
Fia tuo: ma la fua GLORIA rifulgendo
Rimbombi ognor, qual tuon, da polo a
palo.

HENRY JAMES Pys, Ejq, the Poet Lauseat, kes had the goodness to honour the foregoing Sognet with the following fairdod and clegant Tray/lation, for which the Author Mr. SASTRES) feels great obligation.

WE mourn, but not for thee, illuftrious

Chief,

To realms of blifs in light eternal bome; NELSON, our hearts are pierced with poignant grief, [mourn. And, reft of thee, thy widowed trophies Trophies fublime, worthy the heavenly hoft. [endowed. With matchlefs courage who thy breaft Deipifing death-thy proudest, desvent [lood. To shed in Britain's caufe thy patrick Roufed by thy thunderbolts tremendous [gatTo the Victer wing'd her wonted Death Degod, and vengeful thook the fatal Reel!

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peal,

To triumph o'er his duft-His fame fhall rife,

[Ikies. And thake from pole to pole the echoing

E

VERSES

ON THE GLORIOUS BATTLE OF
TRAFALGAR.

CHOING from th' Atlantic main
Shouts of battle rend the sky;

Britain's Hero once again
Weaves the warp of Victory

Madly urg'd by wild defpair,
Gaul again his fury braves:
Sulph'rous clouds pollute the air,
Heaps of carnage tinge the waves.
See, fublime, the Hero ftands;
Proud defiance in his eye:

"On," he cries, "ye gen'rous Bands, > "On to Death, or Victory,"

Now the deep-mouth'd thunders roar;
Britain's foes the billows whelm;
Bought with floods. of Gallic gore,
Glory fits on NELSON'S helm.
Low the daring Chief is laid.

Vengeance on th' infulting foe!
Never hall his glories fade;

Check, oh check the tide of woe. Now they drive the ftorm amain”Hark! Britannia's warriors cry, Vengeance for a Hero Дain; NELSON, GEORGE, and VICTORY. OXONIENSIS.

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tread,

And pay a tribute to the honor'd dead!
Daklaguich'd thus the Heroand the Dome,
His Counto's pride! most glorious when
Their name thallan for ages yet to come!
Whence came the stroke? thinfidions Foe
(can tell.
Bat-'mongst her bravekt ions courign'd
to Fame,

When thus a rece immortal-Thine Britain well ever count her Nuses's

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