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:

In dungeons vile they pass'd the day,
Far from their country, far away
From pitying friends, from liberty!
That years could scarce retrieve!
Twas thus Miranda play'd his game;
But who with him should share the blame?
Perhaps if we the men did name,
Credulity would not believe!