ON GENERAL MIRANDA'S EXPEDITION

To execute a vast design,

The soul, Miranda, was not thine:

With you the fates did not combine

To make an empire free.

We saw you spread Leander's sail,

We saw the adverse winds prevail,

Sad omen that the cause would fail

That led you to the sea.

By feeble winds the sail was fill'd

By feebler hands the helm was held —

We saw you from the port repell'd

You might have made your own.

We saw you leave a manly crew

To the base spaniard, to imbrue

His hands in blood — and not a few

Were on his mercy thrown: