A CENOTAPH,

Oh, hadst thou fall'n, brave youth! on that proud day,

When our victorious fleet o'er the red surge

Rolled in terrific glory, thou hadst fall'n

Most honoured; and Remembrance, while she thought

Upon thy gallant end, had dried her tear!

Now far beyond the huge Atlantic wave

Thy bones decay; the withering pestilence,

That swept the islands of the western world,

Smote thee, untimely drooping to the tomb!

But‘ tis enough; whate'er a soldier's fate,

That firm he hied him, where stern honour bade;

Though with unequal strength, he sunk and died.