Grave of Bonaparte.Copied by permission ofOliver Ditson & Co.227 Washington St., Boston,owners of the copyright.On a lone barren isle, where the wild roaring billow,Assail the stern rock and the loud tempests rave,The hero lies still, while the dew drooping willow,Like fond weeping mourners lean’d over the grave;The lightnings may flash and the loud thunders rattle,He heeds not, he hears not, he’s free from all pain,He sleeps his last sleep, he has fought his last battle,No sound can awake him to glory again,No sound can awake him to glory again.Yet spirit immortal, the tomb can not bind thee,For like thine own eagle that soar’d to the sun,Thou springest from bondage, and leavest behind theeA name, which before thee no mortal had won.Though nations may combat, and war’s thunders rattle,No more on the steed wilt thou sweep o’er the plain,Thou sleep’st thy last sleep, thou hast fought thy last battle,No sound can awake thee to glory again,No sound can awake thee to glory again.Oh, shade of the mighty, where now are the legions,That rush’d but to conquer when thou led’st them on?Alas! they have perish’d in far hilly regions,And all save the fame of their triumph is gone.The trumpet may sound, and the loud cannon rattle,They heed not, they hear not, they’re free from all pain;They sleep their last sleep, they have fought their last battle,No sound can awake them to glory again,No sound can awake them to glory again.
Copied by permission ofOliver Ditson & Co.227 Washington St., Boston,owners of the copyright.
On a lone barren isle, where the wild roaring billow,Assail the stern rock and the loud tempests rave,The hero lies still, while the dew drooping willow,Like fond weeping mourners lean’d over the grave;The lightnings may flash and the loud thunders rattle,He heeds not, he hears not, he’s free from all pain,He sleeps his last sleep, he has fought his last battle,No sound can awake him to glory again,No sound can awake him to glory again.Yet spirit immortal, the tomb can not bind thee,For like thine own eagle that soar’d to the sun,Thou springest from bondage, and leavest behind theeA name, which before thee no mortal had won.Though nations may combat, and war’s thunders rattle,No more on the steed wilt thou sweep o’er the plain,Thou sleep’st thy last sleep, thou hast fought thy last battle,No sound can awake thee to glory again,No sound can awake thee to glory again.Oh, shade of the mighty, where now are the legions,That rush’d but to conquer when thou led’st them on?Alas! they have perish’d in far hilly regions,And all save the fame of their triumph is gone.The trumpet may sound, and the loud cannon rattle,They heed not, they hear not, they’re free from all pain;They sleep their last sleep, they have fought their last battle,No sound can awake them to glory again,No sound can awake them to glory again.
On a lone barren isle, where the wild roaring billow,Assail the stern rock and the loud tempests rave,The hero lies still, while the dew drooping willow,Like fond weeping mourners lean’d over the grave;The lightnings may flash and the loud thunders rattle,He heeds not, he hears not, he’s free from all pain,He sleeps his last sleep, he has fought his last battle,No sound can awake him to glory again,No sound can awake him to glory again.Yet spirit immortal, the tomb can not bind thee,For like thine own eagle that soar’d to the sun,Thou springest from bondage, and leavest behind theeA name, which before thee no mortal had won.Though nations may combat, and war’s thunders rattle,No more on the steed wilt thou sweep o’er the plain,Thou sleep’st thy last sleep, thou hast fought thy last battle,No sound can awake thee to glory again,No sound can awake thee to glory again.Oh, shade of the mighty, where now are the legions,That rush’d but to conquer when thou led’st them on?Alas! they have perish’d in far hilly regions,And all save the fame of their triumph is gone.The trumpet may sound, and the loud cannon rattle,They heed not, they hear not, they’re free from all pain;They sleep their last sleep, they have fought their last battle,No sound can awake them to glory again,No sound can awake them to glory again.
On a lone barren isle, where the wild roaring billow,Assail the stern rock and the loud tempests rave,The hero lies still, while the dew drooping willow,Like fond weeping mourners lean’d over the grave;The lightnings may flash and the loud thunders rattle,He heeds not, he hears not, he’s free from all pain,He sleeps his last sleep, he has fought his last battle,No sound can awake him to glory again,No sound can awake him to glory again.
On a lone barren isle, where the wild roaring billow,
Assail the stern rock and the loud tempests rave,
The hero lies still, while the dew drooping willow,
Like fond weeping mourners lean’d over the grave;
The lightnings may flash and the loud thunders rattle,
He heeds not, he hears not, he’s free from all pain,
He sleeps his last sleep, he has fought his last battle,
No sound can awake him to glory again,
No sound can awake him to glory again.
Yet spirit immortal, the tomb can not bind thee,For like thine own eagle that soar’d to the sun,Thou springest from bondage, and leavest behind theeA name, which before thee no mortal had won.Though nations may combat, and war’s thunders rattle,No more on the steed wilt thou sweep o’er the plain,Thou sleep’st thy last sleep, thou hast fought thy last battle,No sound can awake thee to glory again,No sound can awake thee to glory again.
Yet spirit immortal, the tomb can not bind thee,
For like thine own eagle that soar’d to the sun,
Thou springest from bondage, and leavest behind thee
A name, which before thee no mortal had won.
Though nations may combat, and war’s thunders rattle,
No more on the steed wilt thou sweep o’er the plain,
Thou sleep’st thy last sleep, thou hast fought thy last battle,
No sound can awake thee to glory again,
No sound can awake thee to glory again.
Oh, shade of the mighty, where now are the legions,That rush’d but to conquer when thou led’st them on?Alas! they have perish’d in far hilly regions,And all save the fame of their triumph is gone.The trumpet may sound, and the loud cannon rattle,They heed not, they hear not, they’re free from all pain;They sleep their last sleep, they have fought their last battle,No sound can awake them to glory again,No sound can awake them to glory again.
Oh, shade of the mighty, where now are the legions,
That rush’d but to conquer when thou led’st them on?
Alas! they have perish’d in far hilly regions,
And all save the fame of their triumph is gone.
The trumpet may sound, and the loud cannon rattle,
They heed not, they hear not, they’re free from all pain;
They sleep their last sleep, they have fought their last battle,
No sound can awake them to glory again,
No sound can awake them to glory again.