 | The Poetical Works of (Richard Monckton Milnes) Lord Houghton |  |
THE FUNERAL OF NAPOLEON.
All nature is stiff in the chill of the air,
The sun looks around with a smile of despair;
'Tis a day of delusion, of glitter and gloom,
As brilliant as glory, as cold as the tomb.
The sun looks around with a smile of despair;
'Tis a day of delusion, of glitter and gloom,
As brilliant as glory, as cold as the tomb.
The pageant is passing—the multitude sways—
Awaiting, pursuing, the line with its gaze,
With the tramp of battalion, the tremor of drums,
And the grave exultation of trumpets he comes.
Awaiting, pursuing, the line with its gaze,
With the tramp of battalion, the tremor of drums,
And the grave exultation of trumpets he comes.
It passes! what passes? He comes! who is He?
Is it Joy too profound to be uttered in glee?
Oh, no! it is Death, the Dethroner of old,
Now folded in purple and girded with gold!
Is it Joy too profound to be uttered in glee?
Oh, no! it is Death, the Dethroner of old,
Now folded in purple and girded with gold!
It is Death, who enjoys the magnificent car,
It is Death, whom the warriors have brought from afar,
It is Death, to whom thousands have knelt on the shore,
And sainted the bark and the treasure it bore.
It is Death, whom the warriors have brought from afar,
It is Death, to whom thousands have knelt on the shore,
And sainted the bark and the treasure it bore.
272
What other than He, in his terrible calm,
Could mingle for myriads the bitter and balm,
Could hush into silence this ocean of men,
And bid the wild passion be still in its den?
Could mingle for myriads the bitter and balm,
Could hush into silence this ocean of men,
And bid the wild passion be still in its den?
What other than He could have placed side by side
The chief and the humblest, that serving him died,
Could the blood of the past to the mourner atone,
And let all bless the name that has orphaned their own?
The chief and the humblest, that serving him died,
Could the blood of the past to the mourner atone,
And let all bless the name that has orphaned their own?
From the shades of the olive, the palm, and the pine,
From the banks of the Moskwa, the Nile, and the Rhine,
From the sands and the glaciers, in armament dim,
Come they who have perished for France and for Him.
From the banks of the Moskwa, the Nile, and the Rhine,
From the sands and the glaciers, in armament dim,
Come they who have perished for France and for Him.
Rejoice, ye sad Mothers, whose desolate years
Have been traced in the desert of earth by their tears,
The Children for whom ye have hearts that still burn,
In this triumph of Death—it is they that return.
Have been traced in the desert of earth by their tears,
The Children for whom ye have hearts that still burn,
In this triumph of Death—it is they that return.
And Ye in whose breast dwell the images true
Of parents that loved Him still better than you,
No longer lament o'er a cenotaph urn,
In this triumph of Death—it is they that return.
Of parents that loved Him still better than you,
No longer lament o'er a cenotaph urn,
In this triumph of Death—it is they that return.
From legion to legion the watchword is sped—
“Long life to the Emperor—life to the dead!”
The prayer is accomplished—his ashes remain
'Mid the people he loved, on the banks of the Seine.
“Long life to the Emperor—life to the dead!”
The prayer is accomplished—his ashes remain
'Mid the people he loved, on the banks of the Seine.
273
In dominions of Thought that no traitor can reach,
Through the kingdoms of Fancy, the regions of Speech,
O'er the world of Emotions, Napoleon shall reign
'Mid the people he loved, on the banks of the Seine.
Through the kingdoms of Fancy, the regions of Speech,
O'er the world of Emotions, Napoleon shall reign
'Mid the people he loved, on the banks of the Seine.
Paris, December, 1840.
| The Poetical Works of (Richard Monckton Milnes) Lord Houghton | |