 | The Poetry of Real Life |  |
TO NAPOLEON.
Great instrument indeed, but not great Man—Means of great good, by thyself not designed:
Unconscious giver of light unto the blind,
Of freedom unto slaves—thy course began
In purposed good, but widened, as it ran,
To headlong evil: leaving thee to find
Power with it, or to be left behind,
As one who could the storm he raised not span!
Thou wert a thunderbolt, that smit the thrones
Of Kings, dismaying all earth's crownëd drones,
And rousing nations who were half asleep.
So the much good, thou didst not mean, atones
The more ill thou didst mean: letting the deep,
True fountains of Man's Thought their free course keep!
| The Poetry of Real Life | |