A Cenotaph, Poem by William Lisle Bowles

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.