Thou, lonely tree, survivest still

Thy bloom is white, thy leaf is green; I hear the tinkling of a rill;

All else is silent: and the scene,

Where battle raged, is now serene Beneath the purple fall of night; Yet oft, beside the plough, appear, Casque, human bone, and broken spear, Sad relics of the fight!

NAPOLEON'S ADDRESS

TO THE

STATUE OF HIS SON.

My dearest thought-my darling son-
My beautiful Napoleon;

My dream by night, my waking care-
My only boy, so young and fair!—
As on thy sculptured lines I gaze,
Thou conjurest up my pride of days,
When my wide hopes, beyond control,
Survey'd the world—and grasp❜d the whole !

Thou beam'st to me a star of light,

From out the yawning womb of night;

Thou comest, a streak of hope all fair,
Piercing the depths of my despair,
And shedding o'er my cheek the while,
A transient, unaccustom'd smile!
Thou on my sunk heart dost impress
The very weight of happiness;
The visions that I cherish'd long,
To burning recollection throng,

And fill the chambers of the breast

With soothing calm, and placid rest !—
When thus thy filial face I see,

I seem myself renew'd to be,
And to my longing soul is given

All that the frail may taste of Heaven!

Farewell! ambition-lofty schemesHeroic deeds-and daring dreams! Farewell! the field of death and doomThe pealing gun-and waving plume! Farewell! the grandeur of the greatThe pomp and pageantry of state ! For, climbing, I have mock'd at fallDared everything, and master'd allFor what?-To find my bosom's pride, Possessing, was unsatisfied

Regardless of the past, and still
A slave to stern, regardless will;
'Mid pain and peril, pressing on

From field to field-from throne to throne.
From my proud eminence cast down;
Deprived of mine imperial crown;
Torn from the host of hearts away,
Whose swell exulted in my sway,
Here am I captived; I, whose soul
Did scan wide earth from pole to pole,
Disdain'd to rest, and loved to range,
Unsatisfied, in search of change!
Fearless as lions, when they haste
Athwart the long Numidian waste,

Were France's hosts, when I, their lord,
Forth to the battle front did fly,

With ardent soul, and flashing sword,
And cheer'd them on to victory—

Tameless as tempests, and as free,

Kings trembled when they thought of me,

And, in my sovereign nod, did own

The tie by which they held their throne !— From leaguer❜d walls, and tented war,

From courts and capitals afar,

Here am I captived ;-round my gate,

Frown precipices desolate ;

And nought disturbs the silence, save
The dashing of the far-off wave,
The wild wind's melancholy sigh,
Or sea-bird's shrill and savage cry ;
And nought is seen within the dell,
Save, to and fro, the sentinel

Pacing his round,—a sign to me

Of uttermost captivity.

Once, at my name's imperial sound,

France through her valleys echoed round
The citizen and soldier's cry,-

It spake of fame and victory;
And, terror-smitten, France's foes
Did quiver with convulsive throes,
As, like a harbinger of Fear,

'Twas wafted on the unwilling ear!—
Once, when my arm on high was rear'd,

The craven shook, the fearless fear'd ;
For danger and for death prepared,

Five hundred thousand blades were bared—
Five hundred thousand bosoms beat,

Expanding with heroic heat!