 | The third Napoleon |  |
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THE THIRD NAPOLEON.
I
Poet! graced by royal feelingWith Britannia's laurel crown,
Whose fair round—the light revealing
Both of late and old renown—
Yet shall shine with added splendour,
Ere thy brows the gift surrender—
II
Poet! deal no more in fiction;Trick no hero of the brain;
Measured verse, and gorgeous diction,
Spent on Myths, are spent in vain.
Look around. Behold the Real
Far transcend thy loved Ideal.
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III
Take a Boy, by birth connectedWith Imperial pomp and state,
And describe him thence dejected
By a thunderbolt of fate,
Which—into his young House driven—
Strews it to each point of heaven!
IV
Sing the youthful Outcast wanderingOver lands that hold but foes;
Yet where'er he wanders, pondering
To his ills a glorious close;
One sad Spirit hovering o'er him,
And a hero's path before him!
V
Paint that path beset with peril—More attractive, so beset!
Paint the ground it leads through, sterile—
That, be sure, will blossom yet!
Paint it dark—the night is breaking,
And the dawn shall see a waking!
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VI
Sing him watching the first ray breakThrough yon clouds so thick and grim—
Ah! that gleam is not the daybreak
Which is yet to shine on him!
That is but a meteor risen,
And it lures him to a—prison!
VII
Sing him to a prison hurried,In the land he hoped to rule—
All his schemes of grandeur buried
With the Madman or the Fool.
So the world, with bent distressful,
Still thinks of the Unsuccessful!
VIII
Sing him to a prison taken,And when Fear his life would claim,
Lo! his Captor—awed and shaken
By the spell-word of his Name—
Spares it,—the damnation dreading
Which would follow his blood-shedding!
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IX
Paint him hoping still—though fettered;Still confiding—though immured;
Heart, in every impulse, bettered;
Mind, in every power, matured.
Length of durance will but find him
Fitter for the part assigned him.
X
Paint his prison guarded slackly,And his fetters from him hurled—
When a smoke-cloud rises blackly,
And an Earthquake shakes the world.
How he watches that appearance!
What beholds he at the clearance?
XI
One proud Throne—his Captor's—shattered,Which seemed built for stable sway;
One proud King, but last night flattered,
Flying in disguise to-day;
And a hundred eager Claimants
For his Office—and its payments!
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XII
Sing him Claimant too, as one who,Born a Prince, the land would serve;
And, among his rivals, none who
Touch, like him, the public nerve!
How hath he each heart enraptured?
By the word which saved him—captured!
XIII
That same word—the Name bequeathed himBy a Hero idolised—
That Name hath as Victor wreathed him
O'er a hundred Chiefs—despised!
Millions call him forth to govern,
And the Outcast stands—a Sovereign!
XIV
Vain have been proscription—exile;Vain the brand on name and race;
Monarch firm, and Monarch flexile,
Each resigns the destined place;
He—the Banned and Banished—fills it:
An exulting Nation wills it!
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XV
Sing him hampered yet by factions,All of whom have tried—to fail;
Yet who form disgraceful pactions
To obstruct, annoy, assail;
Men who—proud, pretentious, hollow—
Can not lead, and will not follow!
XVI
One—not all—must be commander;Who shall loose the knotted cord?
He—another Alexander—
Boldly cuts it with his sword!
Turn not from some blood, abhorrent—
That slight stream hath saved a torrent!
Severity, in revolutionary tumults, is often true mercy. A single word spoken by Louis Philippe to his general, might have saved his throne, and prevented the butchery which took place in the streets of Paris only three months afterwards; compared with which the blood-shed of the coup d'état was as nothing.
XVII
Sing him Power Imperial wielding,Not as one to empire born;
But the toiling millions shielding,
Whom a king by birth might scorn.
Pamper, kings! the favoured classes—
He is Monarch of the Masses!
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XVIII
Paint him now as busied onlyFor their weal in councils grave:
But his halls—shall they be lonely?
Shall the fair not bless the brave?
Lo! a more than Poet's Vision
Turns his bowers to bowers Elysian!
XIX
Paint him generous, not forgettingHow a captive he had lain;
And a glorious Chieftain setting
Free from an unworthy chain.
Bound by craven fears he finds him—
Fearless Clemency unbinds him!
XX
Sing him—heir to war and glory—Slighting glory gained by war;
Coveting, for laurels gory,
Bloodless palm-wreaths—fairer far;
Marshalling—a moral Movement;
Heading armies—of Improvement!
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XXI
Objects noble! But his subjects,Madly fond of fame in arms,
Will they find those noble objects
Clothed, to them, with equal charms?
Can he, while such dreams disturb them,
Curb—and yet not seem to curb—them?
XXII
Aye!—Before that powerful spirit,And that firm, determined will,
Each war-bias they inherit,
Shrinks, discouraged—and is still.
Valour, till the time's expedient,
Sheaths his half-drawn blade—obedient!
XXIII
Sing him thus triumphant—wantingBut one spell to fix his sway;
And his wondrous Fortune granting
That too, in her wondrous way—
War which, waked in distant regions,
Gratifies his martial legions;
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XXIV
War—to rescue from oppressionWeak states, overborne by strong;
War—to check unjust aggression,
Help the Right, and crush the Wrong;
War—to spill men's blood like water,
Waged for Ends that hallow Slaughter!
XXV
Sing him in that War a Leader,Prompt, for those high Ends, to strike;—
Then, concluding, bid thy reader
Show, in tale or song, his Like!
Proudly for thy Hero claim him,
And The Third Napoleon name him!
| The third Napoleon | |