University of Virginia Library

“Mon ami!” no! that name is not
For one, who hath his faith forgot,—
My husband! oh! no more that word
Must from these faltering lips be heard,
No more this breaking heart may dare
To breathe its warm devotion there!
A loftier title they must learn,
A colder name must on them dwell—
Oh! thou canst teach them to be stern—
Napoleon! Emperor! Fare thee well!

I loved!—that feeling deep defied
What lighter love had shrunk beneath,—
Thy cold neglect, thy careless pride,
E'en dark suspicion's withering breath;
I loved;—I turned away from all,
That might a woman's mind enthrall,
To watch my hero's wayward smile,
To wait his fond—his lightning-glance,
And felt beneath it beat the while
The happiest heart in sunny France:
I loved;—the jewelled coronet,
Upon this favoured forehead set,
Well might I deem it bright and fair!
The hand I worshipped placed it there!
'Twas not the crown!—a wreath of flowers,
A simple wreath entwined by thee,
The gift of those unclouded hours,
Had been as fondly prized by me!
'Twas thou I loved;—the loveliest gem
In that resplendent diadem,
Was less to Josephine than one
Kind look from thee when all was done!
My foes have seen me by thy side,
And murmured at my titled pride,—
I had a title, dear as life,—
Not Empress—no!—Napoleon's wife!
Thy wife,—the true, the proud, the blest,
The first to mark thy changing mood,
The last beside thy couch of rest,
When pain that hero-heart subdued;—
Thy wife,—when all devoted France
Stood thrilling 'neath thy eagle glance,
When flatterers bent the ready knee,
And hailed their idol-lord in thee—
Who stood amid the joyous scene,
With gladder eyes than Josephine?
Whose smile of welcome flashed like hers,
Amid that throng of worshippers?

And must I leave thee? oh! to go,
In grief away, unloved, forgot!
And, far from thee, to feel, to know,
Another's smile may light thy lot!
To think—the while in lonely sorrow,
I turn, untired, to dream of thee,
And look to every wretched morrow,
In hopeless, heartless misery,—
That where my hand in fondness fell
So oft upon that kingly brow,
Another's touch unchecked may dwell,
Another's lip may bless thee now!
Oh! rather strike thy victim here!
Thus—at thy feet! that death were dear!

Yet fare thee well! when once again
Thou com'st, with glorious triumph flushed,
And thou art hailed, in bright Bretagne,
From where the red war-stream hath gushed;
Amid that sweet applause, I ween,
Thou'lt miss the voice of Josephine.
I know thy yet unchanging star,
Bright symbol of thy destiny,
Whose mystic radiance streamed afar,
Along thy path to victory;
And but to see in life's decline,
Its place in heaven undimmed and bright,
I'd bless the cloud that darkens mine,
And calmly watch its fading light!
But well I know that star may wane,
That conquering arm may strangely fail,
And Europe yet may rend the chain,
That bids her crowns before thee quail:—
'Twas wild ambition's voice that spoke,
When first thy warrior-spirit woke;
'Twas high ambition's lofty tone,
That led thee to the imperial throne;
'Tis stern ambition's accents now,
That bid thee break thy hallowed vow.
Yet pause! that syren voice erewhile,
Thy steps to ruin may beguile,
And thou wilt mourn, alas! too late,
Thy splendid dream of Empire fled,
And curse the cold inglorious fate
That hovers o'er thy haughty head.
Oh! in that hour of dark despair,
When thou art left, perchance, alone,
Will thou recal the voice that ne'er
Will lose for thee its soothing tone?—
And think that one, unchanged by all,
By wrong, misfortune, absence, time,
Still turns more fondly in thy fall,
To thee—to thee,—whate'er thy crime?
Content,—nay, blest, if by thy side,
When others leave thee, she might stay,
And smiling there, whate'er betide,
Forget thy once despotic sway!
Alas! that hour may never be,
Thy mandate all too rudely fell,—
Yet oh! the heart that breaks for thee,
Forgives and blesses!—Fare thee well!