168
THE TOMB OF JOSEPHINE.
And like relenting Athens bless
Its guiltless martyr's tomb?
Ah! no! — the stern and callous breast
Sear'd by Ambition's flame,
No kindlings of remorse confess'd
At thy remember'd name:
Alike the Corsican abjur'd,
With harsh and ingrate tone,
The beauty and the love that pav'd
His pathway to a throne.
Fair France! — by thy indignant zeal
Were fitting honours paid,
And did thy weeping fondness sooth
The unrequited shade?
Bad'st thou yon breathing statue strive
Her faultless form to show?
But rushing on in reckless mirth,
That empire answered, — No.
Then lo! — a still small voice arose
Amid that silence drear,
Such voice as from the cradle bed
Doth charm the mother's ear;
