;'r».>^" '^j^^; 'M C-'.K. (GEORGE GORDON, Lord), ODE to NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE Expende Annibalem : — quot libras in duce summo Invenies? JUVENAL Sat. X. LONDON. Printed for John Murray, Albemarle- street, By W. Bulmer and Co., Cleveland-Row, St. James's. 1814. FIRST EDITION. 8vo, stained caj-f extra, gilt edges, by Riviere a7id Son. EXCESSIVELY RARE. £16 16s Telephone: " WHITEHALL 4086. ODE, 4-c. (Cntcrcb at i&tationcrsf' fall. Digitized by the Internet Arciiive in 2012 witii funding from Duke University Libraries http://arcliive.org/details/odetonapoleonbuo01byro ODE T O NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. Expende Annibalem : — quot libras in duce summo Invenies ? Juvenal, Sat. X. LONDON PRINTED FOR JOHN MURRAY^ ALBEMARLE-STREET;, BY W. BULMER AND CO. -CLEVELAND-ROW, ST. James's. 1814. '^ The Emperor Nepos was acknowledged by the " Senate, by the Italians, and by the Provincials of " Gaul ; his moral virtues, and military talents, were " loudly celebrated ; and those who derived any pri- ** vate benefit from his government, announced in " prophetic strains the restoiation of public felicity. ****** * * * * * * ^* By this shameful abdication, he protracted his life " a few years, in a very ambiguous state, between an " Emperor and an Exile, till ■ Gibbon's Decline and Fall, vol. 6, p. 220. Tb^S'fel ODE TO NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. I. 1 IS done — but yesterday a King ! And arm'd with Kings to strive — And now thou art a nameless thing So abject — yet alive ! Is this the man of thousand thrones^ Who strewM our Earth with hostile bonesj And can he thus survive ? Since he^ miscall'd the Morning Star^ Nor man nor fiend hath fall'n so far. [8] II. Ill-minded man ! why scourge thy kind Who bow'd so low the knee ? By gazing on thyself grown blind. Thou taught' st the rest to see. With might unquestion'd, — power to saye- Thine only gift hath been the grave To those that worshipp'd thee ; Nor till thy fall could mortals guess Ambition's less than littleness ! III. Thanks for that lesson — -it will teach To after-warriors more Than high Philosophy can preachy And vainly preached before. That spell upon the minds of men Breaks never to unite again. That led them to adore Those Pagod things of sabre-sway. With fronts of brass, and feet of clay. [9] The triumph J and the vanity. The rapture of the strife * — ^ The earthquake voice of Victory, To thee the breath of life ; The sword, the sceptre, and that sway ^ Which man seem'd made but to obey. Wherewith renown was rife — All queird ! Dark Spirit ! what must be The madness of thy memory ! V. He who of old would rend the oak^ Dreamed not of the rebound ; Chained by the trunk he vainly broke Alone — how looked he round ? Thou in the sternness of thy strength An equal deed hast done at length. And darker fate hast found : He fell, the forest-prowlers' prey ; But thou must eat thy heart away ! * Certaminis gaudia, the expression of Attila in his harangue to his army, previous to the battle of Chalons, given in Cassiodorus. [ 10 ] VI. The Roman, when his burning heart Was slaked with blood of Rome, Threw down the dagger — dared depart. In savage grandeur^ home. — He dared depart in utter scorn Of men that such a yoke had borne. Yet left him such a doom ! His only glory was that hour Of self-upheld abandon'd power. VII. The Spaniard;, when the lust of sway Had lost its quickening spell. Cast crowns for rosaries away. An empire for a cell ; A strict accountant of his beads, A subtle disputant on creeds. His dotage trifled well : Yet better had he neither known A bigot's shrine, nor despot's throne. C 11 ] VIII. But thou — from thy reluctant hand The thunderbolt is wrung — ► Too late thou leav'st the high command To which thy weakness clung ; All Evil Spirit as thou art;, It is enough to grieve the heart. To see thine own unstrung ; To think that God's fair world hath been The footstool of a thing so mean ; IX And Earth hath spilt her blood for hinl^ Who thus can hoard his own ! And Monarchs bowed the trembling limb^, And thanked him for a throne ! Fair Freedom ! we may hold thee dear^ When thus thy mightiest foes their fear In humblest guise have shown. " Oh ! ne'er may tyrant leave behind A brighter name to lure mankind ! [12] Thine evil deeds are writ in gore^ Nor written thus in vain— Thy triumphs tell of fame no more. Or deepen every stain— If thou hadst died as honour dies. Some new Napoleon might arise. To shame the world again — But who would soar the solar height. To set in such a starless night ? XI Weigh'd in the balance, hero dust Is vile as vulgar clay ; Thy scales. Mortality ! are just To all that pass away ; But yet methought the living great Some higher sparks should animate. To dazzle and dismay ; Nor deem'd Contempt could thus make mirth Of these, the Conquerors of the earth. [ 13] XII. And she, proud Austria's mournful flower. Thy still imperial bride ; How bears her breast the torturing hour ? Still clings she to thy side ? Must she too bend, must she too share Thy late repentance, long despair. Thou throneless Homicide ? If still she loves thee, hoard that gem, 'Tis worth thy vanished diadem ! XIII. Then haste thee to thy sullen Isle, And gaze upon the sea ; That element may meet thy smile. It ne'er was ruled by thee ! Or trace with thine all idle hand In loitering mood upon the sand That Earth is now as free ! That Corinth's pedagogue hath now Transferred his bye- word to thy brow. [14] XIV. Thou Timour ! in his captive's cage What thoughts will there be thine. While brooding in thj prisoned rage ? But one — " The world was mine ;'* Unless, like he of Babylon, All sense is with thy sceptre gone. Life will not long confine That spirit poured so widely forth— So long obeyed — so little worth ! XV. Or like the thief of fire from heaven. Wilt thou withstand the shock ? And share with him, the unforgiven. His vulture and his rock ! Foredoomed by God — by man accurst. And that last act, though not thy worst. The very Fiend's arch mock ; * He in his fall preserv'd his pride. And, if a mortal, had as proudly died 1 * " The fiend's arch mock. " To lip a wantota, and suppose her chaste." — Shaksfeare. Lately were published. New Editions in Octavo of the following Poems, By the Right Hon. LORD BYRON. 1 Childe Harold, Eighth edition, 12s. 2 The Giaouk, Eleventh edition, 5s. 6d. 3 The Bride of Abydos, Seventh edition, 5«. 6d. 4 The Corsair, Sixth edition, 5s. 6d. London : Printed by W. Bulmcr and Co. Cleveland- Row, St. James's. mrnB..