182J.] Epitaj)h on Buonaparte. 



EPITAPH ON BUONAPARTE, 



Which an enthusiast for the lights of phi- 

 losophy in human atFairs, had hoped 

 might have been inscribed on the tomb of 

 the First Consul ; followed by an Ad- 

 dress to the Senate, on his return from 

 two campaigns, at the instant that the 

 nineteenth century entered into its teens. 



245 



A FIRE in his youth, 

 Assembling all the models of Antiquity in 

 The Temple of his august mind : 

 He flew on the wings of the wind, 



A meteor of death in war, 

 Nations withered beneath his path. 



He took Philosophy by the hand, 

 And harnessing Monarchs to his chariot ; 



His valour acquired him that renown 



Which rais'd him by even steps, to the 



Throne of the Empire of Peace. 



Assuming Philanthropy for his motto, 



He presented the scabbard to all people ; 



Held the scales of Justice, 



And the truncheon of Mars, 



To strengthen his voice, became the organ 



of the general will : 



He inquired into the authorities by which 



each Government held the reins ; 



Calm'd the bosom of the Ocean, blushing 



for the Crimes of its Sons, 



And legislating for the coasts of more 



distant Climes, and the Colonies, 



His finger pointed to the page of Humanity. 



Protector of the Republic of Letters, 



'Twas then, that the few embers kept alive, 



since the Socratic and Ciceronean periods 



Burst into a flame, under the 



Tree of Liberty. 



Greater than Epaminondas, 



Vn\o gave to the Commonwealth, Freedom 



and Empire, 



Military Discipline, Civil and 



Domestic Policy ; 



All which, by losing him, they lost. 



Buonaparte 



Bnilt his house upon a rock, 



Where the Chieftains of the Gauls, presiding 



in the counsel of Sages, 



Gathered from the East and from the West, 



(now he is no more) 



Seek to exercise their functions, in 



Simplicity and Truth. 



Thus the Sons of Heroes, listening to the 



songs of the Bards, are conducting 



through the lights of our time, his spirit, 



to the shades of Immortality. 



AN ADDRESS TO THE SENATE. 



The comer stone of this monument was 

 placed 

 By the God of Hosts ; 

 And you might have acliiev'd it 



For shame. Senators : 



Who will answer to Heaven, for the blood of 



Ten millions of victims, spread o'er the 



fields of 

 Science, and the Cradle of the Arts ? 

 Where was the barrier, which the 

 Courage of your fathers would have 

 Opposed to His ambition ? 

 Had you not read the lesson of experience? 

 That Death wandered as a phantom over 



his fiery soul ; 

 His heart was as the rock of the desert, 

 And his thoughts were dark. 



The mighty Chief, roU'd into his haughty 

 self, 

 Saw his matchless foe ; 

 But on the other side of the stream, 

 Turn'd his face the other way. 

 And in the fullness of his wrath, 

 Hunted down the savages, 

 In their barbarous climes ; 

 Till, iu the zenith of his power, 

 The season, mutinied ; and 

 The summits of the mountains were 

 Scatter'd where his legions were encamp'd. 



Bending his mournful thoughts, over the 

 Tombs of his warriors. 

 He retired to his faithful city. 

 Vaunting the rivers of blood there were yet 



to spill. 

 And promising future victories, in fields of 



renown. 

 Disgrace, Senators : 



Was Ambition your God, 

 Or were you longer imbecile ? 



Yes; under the sanction of your counsels 

 He re-sought the banks of the Rhine, 

 With his spear in the stream, 

 He sent forth the voice of war : 

 Striding from wing to wing, 

 Cloth'd in the passing clouds. 



But his lustre had vanished, and 

 Steel pour'd no more its gleam upon steel : 

 His hair whitened as the bosom of winter, 

 And friends were but shadows. 

 Which pass'd away with the mist. 



The sun broke forth, and slow rose the 

 Blue columns, against the glittering hill. 



Where were the mighty kings ? 

 Not in the stream, or in the wood ; 

 Hoarse was the clang of arms, 

 And the howling wolves of the forest, 

 He had rous'd, came down. 

 In following the eastern wind, 

 As the artillery of Heaven to confound 

 That mortal enemy of his glory, his ambition, 

 Which the Senate, like a weak woman. 

 Had cherish'd in its bosom. 



And the youth of our days. 

 Designed for the great purposes of Nature, 

 Were exposed to wither by the blast, and 

 Driven as chaff before the wind, 

 Down the great rivers of Germania 

 Into the ocean — -were swallowed up. 



THE 



