 | [Poems by Wilde in] Richard Henry Wilde |  |
NAPOLEON'S GRAVE
Faint and sad was the moon-beam'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.
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?
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?
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!
But legions broken—a sword in rust,
A crown that cumbers a dotard's brow,
A name and a requiem—dust to dust!
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Of all the chieftains whose thrones he reared
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?
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 faith, and thine honor France,
And thy friendship Russia, were blasted here?
Did Austria shed no remorseful tear
When England's faith, and thine honor 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 doomed to his vulture and chains and rock.
Ungodlike shrunk from the giant's shock
And glorious Titan, the unforgiven,
Was doomed to his vulture and chains and rock.
And who were the gods that decreed thy doom?
A German Caesar—a Prussian Sage—
The Dandy Prince of a counting-room
And a Russian Greek of Earth's darkest age.
A German Caesar—a Prussian Sage—
The Dandy Prince of a counting-room
And a Russian Greek of Earth's darkest age.
Men called thee despot, and called thee true,
But the laurel was earned that bound thy brow
And of all who wore it alas! how few
Were freer from treason and guilt than thou.
But the laurel was earned 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 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!
“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 magic that nerv'd each arm
Though you were invincible only then.
Gave them the courage of more than men
You broke the magic that nerv'd 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 mild Fayette and the stern Carnot
Are dupes and ruin thy fate and theirs!
One struggle and France all her faults repairs—
But the mild Fayette and the stern Carnot
Are dupes and ruin thy fate and theirs!
| [Poems by Wilde in] Richard Henry Wilde | |