AN ELEGY ON Captain William Harman, Late Commander of His Majesties Ship Guernsey. Occasioned by a former Copy of Verses on the same Subject.
Has't Thou for this, by thy calm valour, taught
How Young men can fight, and how Old men ought?
Is this the guerdon of the Stout, and Brave?
Are these the Flow'rs strew'd on thy Watry Grave?
Must we confess, to th' honour of Argier,
Thou 'wer't Kill'd ith' Streights, but thou wer't Murder'd here?
Dear Sir, could I as well acquainted be
With thy bless'd Ghost, as once I was with Thee,
Thou would'st (what thou did'st never yet,) complain,
That thou wer't now by Goose-shot basely slain.
Thou, who so oft, when Bullet, Ball, and Fire
Did joyntly, to thy ruine, all conspire,
Stood'st on the Billowes, as on Native Ground,
Fix'd like the Poles, when all the World turn'd round.
Thy Father's Courage was so tri'd and known,
'Twas fit to be bequeath'd to Thee alone.
Valour in Thee would scarce for Vertue go,
(For Harman's Son must like a Harman do:)
Had not thy Brain commanded still thy Heart,
Improving Nature by well-measur'd Art.
This the brave Sprag foresaw, when Thee he chose
To run the Gauntlet, through 'our then Belgic foes:
When the disabled Cambridge breathless lay;
Though (like a Stag imbauch'd) she stood at Bay,
Till Thou Her, as Aeneas did his Sire,
Brought'st nobly off, and spitd'st out all their Fire.
At Eighteen to so high a pitch to soar,
Had bin a mir'acle, were not Harman More.
— But did not I a Poetaster blame?
And am I not my self become the same?
Pardon, dear Friend, if Sorrow make me mad:
Men know not what they say, when they are throughly sad.
Take but a parting Tear—But why on Thee
Are Drops bestow'd, when cover'd with a Sea?
Yet Thou wer't so belov'd, that had the Shore
Receiv'd thy Corps, thou'had'st bin intomb'd in More.
For though thy Courage did the Stoutest awe,
Thy Gen'erous Mildness equally gave law.
Thy 'obliging temper with it's potent charms
Vi'ed conquests ev'en with Thy victorious arms.
Nor Friend, nor Foe thy 'unbounded power controuls;
Thou 'or'ecom'st Their Forces, and inslav'st Our Souls.
What Valour, Art, and Prudence could command
Was still perform'd by Thy successfull hand:
And when resistless Fate thy Foe appear'd,
Though ne'r so pow'erfull, yet she was not fear'd.
Nay though her Pow'er has plac'd her among the Gods,
She dar'ed not to attacque Thee, but with Odds.
Methinks I see the Great Leviathan fly
With winged hunger to devour the fry:
Sure of her Prey, she sports upon the Main,
And hugs the thought of what she ne'r shall gain.
A greater Rage the Guernsey does inspire,
She spreads her Sails, and fills them with her Fire:
Only complains One single Ship to meet;
Shee, and her Captain, us'd to 'ingage a Fleet.
They stand not long at distance to dispute,
But with warm breath each other's sides falute.
The' insulting Turk with Bulk and Numbers swell'd
The English Valour not by Monsters quell'd.
The Infidel twice seiz'd the Noble Prey:
Twice from her rave'nous jaws she's snatch'd away.
English ne'r lose what they 'are resolv'd to save:
Nor can the Bulky over-pow'er the Brave.
This Harman sees and does; with his bold Hand
Example gives: with his wise Head, Command.
'Midst his own wounds he makes the rest secure:
His Courage keeps them Stout, his Conduct Sure.
And though the Shot thrice pierce his valiant breast,
The Soul, he's losing, he imparts to th' rest.
A Soul so active, and diffus'edly great,
'Twould serve, alone, to animate a Fleet;
And 'spight of all Argier, command the Main;
'Twould quickly 'have brought their Cressent to her wane.
Nor will we now thy Death Misfortune call:
He never bravely stands, that fears to fall.
Shall we bewail that man, who 'has lost his blood
In his King's Favour, for his Countrey's Good?
No, 'tis Our Selves that we commiserate,
Who are depriv'd by this thy early fate:
Thy early fate, which did designs defeat
As great as could be good, as good as great.
Live then, bless'd Friend, thy life's remainder out
In the hearts of all that Loyal are, or Stout.
May our great Charles, revenge thy death, and all
Their Fleet a Victim to 'His just fury fall.
May Harmans daily from the Waves arise
To spread His Conquests through all Seas and Skies:
Till's Flag command, where'ere it doe's appear:
But may 'He ne're buy, ev'en Victory, so dear.
Licensed according to Order.
London, Printed in the Year, 1678.