The Works of Lord Byron - LightNovelsOnl.com
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Bright be the place of thy soul!
No lovelier spirit than thine E'er burst from its mortal control, In the orbs of the blessed to s.h.i.+ne.
On earth thou wert all but divine, As thy soul shall immortally be;[nk]
And our sorrow may cease to repine When we know that thy G.o.d is with thee.
2.
Light be the turf of thy tomb![nl][318]
May its verdure like emeralds be![nm]
There should not be the shadow of gloom In aught that reminds us of thee.
Young flowers and an evergreen tree[nn]
May spring from the spot of thy rest: But nor cypress nor yew let us see; For why should we mourn for the blest?
[First published, _Examiner_, June 4, 1815.]
NAPOLEON'S FAREWELL.[319]
[FROM THE FRENCH.]
1.
Farewell to the Land, where the gloom of my Glory Arose and o'ershadowed the earth with her name-- She abandons me now--but the page of her story, The brightest or blackest, is filled with my fame.[no]
I have warred with a World which vanquished me only When the meteor of conquest allured me too far; I have coped with the nations which dread me thus lonely, The last single Captive to millions in war.
2.
Farewell to thee, France! when thy diadem crowned me, I made thee the gem and the wonder of earth,-- But thy weakness decrees I should leave as I found thee,[np]
Decayed in thy glory, and sunk in thy worth.
Oh! for the veteran hearts that were wasted In strife with the storm, when their battles were won-- Then the Eagle, whose gaze in that moment was blasted Had still soared with eyes fixed on Victory's sun![nq]
3.
Farewell to thee, France!--but when Liberty rallies Once more in thy regions, remember me then,-- The Violet still grows in the depth of thy valleys; Though withered, thy tear will unfold it again-- Yet, yet, I may baffle the hosts that surround us, And yet may thy heart leap awake to my voice-- There are links which must break in the chain that has bound us, _Then_ turn thee and call on the Chief of thy choice!
_July_ 25, 1815. London.
[First published, _Examiner_, July 30, 1815.]
FROM THE FRENCH.[320]
I.
Must thou go, my glorious Chief, Severed from thy faithful few?
Who can tell thy warrior's grief, Maddening o'er that long adieu?[nr]
Woman's love, and Friends.h.i.+p's zeal, Dear as both have been to me--[ns]
What are they to all I feel, With a soldier's faith for thee?[nt]
II.
Idol of the soldier's soul!
First in fight, but mightiest now;[nu]
Many could a world control; Thee alone no doom can bow.
By thy side for years I dared Death; and envied those who fell, When their dying shout was heard, Blessing him they served so well.[321]
III.
Would that I were cold with those, Since this hour I live to see; When the doubts of coward foes[nv]
Scarce dare trust a man with thee, Dreading each should set thee free!
Oh! although in dungeons pent, All their chains were light to me, Gazing on thy soul unbent.
IV.
Would the sycophants of him Now so deaf to duty's prayer,[nw]
Were his borrowed glories dim, In his native darkness share?
Were that world this hour his own, All thou calmly dost resign, Could he purchase with that throne Hearts like those which still are thine?[nx]
V.
My Chief, my King, my Friend, adieu!
Never did I droop before; Never to my Sovereign sue, As his foes I now implore: All I ask is to divide Every peril he must brave; Sharing by the hero's side His fall--his exile--and his grave.[ny]
[First published, _Poems_, 1816,]
ODE FROM THE FRENCH.[322]
I.
We do not curse thee, Waterloo!
Though Freedom's blood thy plain bedew; There 'twas shed, but is not sunk-- Rising from each gory trunk, Like the water-spout from ocean, With a strong and growing motion-- It soars, and mingles in the air, With that of lost La Bedoyere--[323]
With that of him whose honoured grave Contains the "bravest of the brave."
A crimson cloud it spreads and glows, But shall return to whence it rose; When 'tis full 'twill burst asunder-- Never yet was heard such thunder As then shall shake the world with wonder-- Never yet was seen such lightning As o'er heaven shall then be bright'ning!
Like the Wormwood Star foretold By the sainted Seer of old, Show'ring down a fiery flood, Turning rivers into blood.[324]
II.
The Chief has fallen, but not by you, Vanquishers of Waterloo!
When the soldier citizen Swayed not o'er his fellow-men-- Save in deeds that led them on Where Glory smiled on Freedom's son-- Who, of all the despots banded, With that youthful chief competed?
Who could boast o'er France defeated, Till lone Tyranny commanded?
Till, goaded by Ambition's sting, The Hero sunk into the King?
Then he fell:--so perish all, Who would men by man enthral!
III.
And thou, too, of the snow-white plume!
