Assist me, Clio! while in verse I tell The dire misfortunes that a ship befell, Which outward bound, to St. Eustatia's shore, Death and disaster through the billows bore. From Philadelphia's crowded port she came; For there the builder plann'd her lofty frame, With wond'rous skill, and excellence of art He form'd, dispos'd, and order'd every part, With joy beheld the stately fabric rise To a stout bulwark of stupendous size, 'Till launch'd at last, capacious of the freight, He left her to the Pilots, and her fate. First from her depths the tapering masts ascend, On whose firm bulk the transverse yards depend, By shrouds and stays secur'd from side to side Trees grew on trees, suspended o'er the tide, Firm to the yards extended, broad and vast They hung the sails susceptive of the blast, Far o'er the prow the lengthy bowsprit lay, Supporting on the extreme the taught Gib-stay, Twice ten six pounders at their port holes plac'd And rang'd in rows, stood hostile in the waist: Thus all prepar'd, impatient for the seas, She left her station with an adverse breeze, This her first outset from her native shore, To seas a stranger, and untry'd before. From the bright radiance that his glories spread Ere from the east gay Phoebus lifts his head, From the sweet morn, a kindred name she won, _Aurora_ call'd, the offspring of the sun, Whose form projecting, the broad prow displays, Far glittering o'er the wave, a mimic blaze. The gay ship now, in all her pomp and pride, With sails expanded, flew along the tide; 'Twas thy deep stream, O Delaware, that bore This pile intended for a southern shore, Bound to those isles where endless summer reigns, Fair fruits, gay blossoms, and enamell'd plains; Where sloping lawns the roving swain invite, And the cool morn succeeds the breezy night, Where each glad day a heaven unclouded brings And sky-topt mountains teem with golden springs. From Cape Henlopen, urg'd by favouring gales, When morn emerg'd, we sea-ward spread our sails, Then east-south-east explor'd the briny way, Close to the wind, departing from the bay; No longer seen the hoarse resounding strand, With hearts elate we hurried from the land, Escap'd the dangers of that shelvy ground, To sailors fatal, and for wrecks renown'd.-- The gale increases as we stem the main, Now scarce the hills their sky-blue mist retain, At last they sink beneath the rolling wave That seems their summits, as they sink, to lave; Abaft the beam the freshening breezes play, No mists advancing to deform the day, No tempests rising o'er the splendid scene, A sea unruffled, and a heaven serene. Now Sol's bright lamp, the heav'n born source of light, Had pass'd the line of his meridian height, And westward hung--retreating from the view Shores disappear'd, and every hill withdrew, When, still suspicious of some neighbouring foe, Aloft the Master bade a Seaman go, To mark if, from the mast's aspiring height Through all the round a vessel came in sight. Too soon the Seaman's glance, extending wide, Far distant in the east a ship espy'd, Her lofty masts stood bending to the gale, Close to the wind was brac'd each shivering sail; Next from the deck we saw the approaching foe, Her spangled bottom seem'd in flames to glow When to the winds she bow'd in dreadful haste And her lee-guns lay delug'd in the waste: From her top-gallant flow'd an English Jack; With all her might she strove to gain our track, Nor strove in vain--with pride and power elate, Wing'd on by hell, she drove us to our fate; No stop no stay her bloody crew intends, (So flies a comet with its host of fiends) Nor oaths, nor prayers arrest her swift career, Death in her front, and ruin in her rear. Struck at the sight, the Master gave command To change our course, and steer toward the land-- Swift to the task the ready sailors run, And while the word was utter'd, half was done: As from the south the fiercer breezes rise Swift from her foe alarm'd Aurora flies, With every sail extended to the wind She fled the unequal foe that chac'd behind; Along her decks dispos'd in close array Each at its port, the grim artillery lay, Soon on the foe with brazen throat to roar; But, small their size, and narrow was their bore; Yet faithful they their destin'd station keep To guard the barque that wafts them o'er the deep, Who now must bend to steer a homeward course And trust her swiftness rather than her force, Unfit to combat with a powerful foe; Her decks too open, and her waist too low.