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Thou might'st reign now hadst thon but will d'it so,

Ungrateful son of Liberty : but thou
Wast leagued against thy mother with her foe,

To hurl ber from her sacred throne and bow,

Her head into the dust. For ihon didst vow
To crush her 'reath ihy o'erstretch'd power. Anon,

The cypress wreath ihai's twined for Freedom's brow

By tyranny, is ever placed upon
The tyravi's own : he falls and dies but she lives on.

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Oh! was there nothing which thou couldst respect,

Rights, Instice, Oaths ! must all of these, yea, all, On ihy ambition's fatal rock be wrecked ?

Spain was our sister, and at glory's call

She sbared our dangers, yet thou madest her fall, Wishing her for a slave that thou might'st see

Her laurels chairs, her standard made a pall,

But what iby pride had hoped was not to be ; Still thou didst give her crown io vne too like to thee.

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'Twas night, the hour when solemn dreams come oʻer

The troubled mind, with visions from the dead,
The hour when Brulis his sad Gevins saw,

Rising with awful viswas round bis head;

The hour when Richard on bis troubled bed,
Saw the avenging manes, wild and agbast,

Oi murder d relatives, with awe and dread,

Flil by his curtains, and as each one pass'd, It cursed a curse, and cried “ Behold this nigbi's thy last."

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'Twas such a night, Napoleon watched alone

Tu silence and in iloughi; beture his face
An outstretch'd map was placed, u'er which were thrown

His eagle glances, seeking there to trace

Sume secret road, sonde fue's strong lurking-place. Or else some lackless kingdow which was spent

With wars and the misdeeds of rulers base,

He ruised bis eyes, and lo ! Llore him went
Three sister-warriors' forms, and stood beneath his teuta

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The first was like a Roman maid, for pride

Was mix'd with sweel simplicity of mein.
Poor, and ennobled but by deeds, she eyed

Those of a higher caste with ances keen.

Her bronze skin told what sunny lands she'd seen, And round her noble brow was ligbuy twined

A virgin-wreaih of oak, so young, so green,

She leanı her on a flng ibal waived behind, And brought a day of fame eternal to the mind.

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Three tinted says shone on the sacred cloth;

The rays of Truth, of Justice and of Fame,
It was all blacken'd by the ibundei's wrath,

And torn and bloody ; but it's wide rents came
In the proud strite of glory, not of sbanıc,
Twas torn by Victory's band, - The maiden she

Address'd him thuis, “ Soldier, lhy late I claim,

My' sister, dread Marengo, must with ibee, Bow to my bigber deeds, and take place aller me.

""Twas I who guided on thy steps, was I

First pointed out iby wild, thy bright career,
And whisper'd ibee that word that mighly cry,

Which nerved the trembling arm and stariled fear,

Oh! when it fell upon the list'ning ear,
It warmd iby soldiers' bearls. For all were filled

With sop eibing noi of man when thou vast near,

'Neath Arcole's walls when death grasped all he will'da He shirauk away froni ibee, bis Sury busld and still d.

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« Thou'st changed my colors which led thee to fame,

And deck'd with glory uby triumphał car,
For a dark brazen sceptre. Oh! shame! shame! .

But soldier iremble, lur I see alar

In the high heavens, thy bright, thy splendid star, Eclipsed and paling at the opening day,

The sons of Force grow belpless when they are

Without a curh, and have muboutidied sway, Adieu! thy reiga expires, thy glory fudes away."

The second came from where the Palm trees waive

D'er the parch'd desart of the burning sand; Where Egypt's spoils were gather'd by the brave.

The sun-lit fires that scorch'd her native land,

Live in her glances. conquest aims her hand, Which as she lifts is dropping with ibe gore,

Of Islam's sons, that proud and tyrant band. She holds at once great Cæsar's sword of war, And we gold compass pl Piplemy of yore.

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"Oh! King, I've known thee banish'd hence," said she,

Of Mount Thabor the celebrated day, In thy bright records takes place aller me.

Th' eternal name, the spoils I brought away

From the proud Pyramids' feet, all these I lay To thee and thine, O! man of mighty deeds.

I see outstretch,'d upon the Nile's dark clay Full many a Moslem corpse that lays and bleeds, While the white turban's rode p'er by lay gaulisk steede.

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"Ti ihon didst wander in 'thy glorions Higbt,

"Twas as ihe bird that sought the sun's bright car, And lost himself amidst a world of hyho.

Yet thou would'sı hide il. --Tremble, for áfar,

In the high heavens I see thy gorgeous star,
Eclipsed aud paling at th' approach of day:

The sons of Force grow belpless when they are
Without a çıb and have unbounded sway.
Adieu ! by reign is o'er, iby glory's puss'd away!".

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The last, ! piteous sigbl, O! shame, disgrace!

Her arms were bound with irons, aud her eye Fell to the ground, where each step lelt a trace

Bloody and deep. She moved uw wiih a sigh, Muttering these words, “not conquer'd ihu die!" She brought no victor's spoils, and her renowu

Was not proclaim'd where captive colors fly,
But round lier brow, where dwell a troubled Irown
Cypress as fair as luurels iwiued a sombre cruwu.,

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"Oh ! list and tremble, monarch for I say,

11 ibine elernal records after me, Will come no other great or glorious day.

Of valvur and of sorrow, I shall be

A cold, disasterous chronicle to thee. And I shall liberate the kings that are

Huld by thine iron grasp, and they shall see The chains that bind their limbs with many a scar, Translerred 10 those who came to free them, from afar.

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“When Time hath sped the world to after ages

Those wondering generations then will read In the bright colunins of thy history's pages,

And they will doubı as scanning each great deed,

Whether those men that for thy lame did bleed,
Those living wrecks of many a daring fight,

Againsi far nations foes by birth and creed,
Are more immortalized in glory's sight,
By years of victory, ur by one sad day of flight,

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"And thou shalt know me but when Fate's dark hand,

Doth sweep away all save th' inconstant name, Of what was once so mighty in the laud.

I, 100, shall drive thy star to whence it came,

Breaking thy warlike sword. Tbine eagle, tame, Will croshid beneatb thy brazen scepire lay:

The sons of Force grow helpless, blind and lame, When they ’re uncurbed and have unbounded sway. Adiea ! by reign expires, thy glory's pass'd away."

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All three had Aed, and left earth far behind,

When each voice still the warrior seemed to hear: And ou his dark, oppressed, astonished mind,

Sull weigh'd their strange forewarnings, but a near

The rolling of the war-drum woke his ear;
And with its stirring notes fresh thoughts were born

E'en as ihe shades of midnight disappear,
Ar the first peep of gay and fladdening morn,
Or as the budinau shanks froin Virtue's bursting scorn.

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He thought to have subdued the sons of Spain,

And borne along on bis eer wand'ring car Which carried war, and slav'ry's bacelul chain,

Onwards he pass'd so proudly, from a tur,

His steeds all smoking, tired and breathless are, Already drink the dark and fiozen wave

Of the deep Beresina, - Russia's har, Wbile fresh from where the sun their fanks did lave With sweat and loam, but they for bim all things could brave;

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Beneath the faith of big unfaithiul star,

He slept in talse security, drceived
By those whose words are buney'd but who are
The muod's dark poiseners, these be believed

And thonghi them oracles, imuil bereaved
OI power, dominion, all: he was their mock,

He slept when dropping these; and nations grieved;
He oped his eyes, but at ihe aliunder's shock,
And where did he awake? Upon a desert rock!

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Alone, and in an island, far away

From all his scenes of glory, yet though there, In his edile, his nemory holds the sway

O'er men's minds still, 'uis present everywhere.

Great are his sorrows, and a prey to care He stands upon his shatter'd fortune's wieck,

Leaving all dark what once was bright and fair. But now Death's hand has fallen upon his neck, And the vast sea doth wash the tomb that laurels deck.

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Oh! thou who by no word or vow fast tied,

Thou wbom an empire's bounds could not contain, In a lone desert island i bou bast died !

Thy head is laid wbere earthly things are vain,

And ne'er will rise to seare the world agair.! At eve' the fisher loaded with a coil

Of nets, which he bears homewards with much pain, Rests by thy grave, and froin it's sacred soil Slowly retires, and ibinks upon the morrow's toil.

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