Sent in this foul clime to languish
Think what thousands fell in vain,
Wasted with disease and anguish,
Not in glorious battle slain.
— Richard Glover
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As, near Porto Bello lying,
On the gently swelling flood,
At midnight, with streamers flying,
Our triumphant navy rode.
Hence with all my train attending
From their oozy tombs below,
Through the hoary foam ascending
Here I feed my constant woe.
Heed, oh heed! my fatal story,
I am Hosier's injur'd ghost;
You who now have purchas'd glory
At this place where I was lost.
To have fall'n, my country crying,
He has play'd an English part,
Had been better far than dying
Of a griev'd and broken heart.
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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