ON A YOUNG SOLDIER WHO DIED IN INDIA .

What though the youth who silent rests below,
Has prematurely met his earthly doom
What though his generous breast no more shall glow
With love, nor friendship call the wand'rer home:

Yet the same hour which summons from their graves
His mould'ring kindred on Britannia's shore,
And the same trump, resounding o'er the waves,
Shall bid the Indian dead to sleep no more.