Napoleon's Grave

Faint and sad was the moonbeam's smile,
Sullen the moan of the dying wave;
Hoarse the wind in St. Helen's isle,
As I stood by the side of Napoleon's grave.
And is it here that the hero lies,
Whose name has shaken the earth with dread?
And is this all that the earth supplies —
A stone his pillow — the turf his bed?
Is such the moral of human life?
Are these the limits of glory's reign?
Have oceans of blood, and an age of strife,
And a thousand battles been all in vain?
Is nothing left of his victories now
But legions broken — a sword in rust —
A crown that cumbers a dotard's brow —
A name and a requiem — dust to dust?
Of all the chieftains whose thrones he rear'd,
Was there none that kindness or faith could bind?
Of all the monarchs whose crowns he spared,
Had none one spark of his Roman mind?
Did Prussia cast no repentant glance?
Did Austria shed no remorseful tear,
When England's truth, and thine honour, France,
And thy friendship, Russia, were blasted here?
No holy leagues, like the heathen heaven,
Ungodlike shrunk from the giant's shock;
And glorious Titan, the unforgiven,
Was doom'd to his vulture, and chains, and rock.
And who were the gods that decreed thy doom?
A German Cjesar — a Prussian sage —
The dandy prince of a counting-room —
And a Russian Greek of earth's darkest age.
Men call'd thee Despot, and call'd thee true;
But the laurel was earn'd that bound thy brow;
And of all who wore it, alas! how few
Were freer from treason and guilt than thou!
Shame to thee, Gaul, and thy faithless horde!
Where was the oath which thy soldiers swore?
Fraud still lurks in the gown, but the sword
Was never so false to its trust before.
Where was thy veteran's boast that day,
"The old Guard dies, but it never yields!"
O! for one heart like the brave Dessaix,
One phalanx like those of thine early fields!
But, no, no, no! — it was Freedom's charm
Gave them the courage of more than men;
You broke the spell that twice nerved each arm,
Though you were invincible only then.
Yet St. Jean was a deep, not a deadly blow;
One struggle, and France all her faults repairs —
But the wild Fayette, and the stern Carnot
Are dupes, and ruin thy fate and theirs!