Young flowers and an evergreen tree
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.]
[FROM THE FRENCH.]
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.
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.
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,
Decayed in thy glory, and sunk in thy worth.
Young flowers and a far-spreading tree
May wave on the spot of thy rest;
But nor cypress nor yew let it be.—[MS.]
- ["We need scarcely remind our readers that there are points in these spirited lines, with which our opinions do not accord; and, indeed, the author himself has told us that he rather adapted them to what he considered the speaker's feelings than his own."—Examiner, July 30, 1815.]
- The brightest and blackest are due to my fame.—[MS.]
- But thy destiny wills ——.—[MS.]