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1762–1850

A CENOTAPH,

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.

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A CENOTAPH, · William Lisle Bowles · Poetry Cove