182.1 



Frim Ocean's Jicary womb ; 

 Therr, in that island desolate, 

 Far, far tVom panoply and state, 



Go view Napoleon's Tomb. 

 Deep ill the valley lies the spot, 

 Once seen, 'twill never be forgot, 



Till mem'ry fail for aye. 

 The tow'riiii^ hills on either side, 

 Kaise dark and high their heads of piide. 



And dare the solar ray. 



No veidnre decks the deep descent, 

 A little greensward, closely pent. 



Lurks in the glen beneath ; 

 Where Nature, in a pitying mood, 

 AVith gentle hand her favours strcw'd, 



To mark the abode of Death. 

 There mournful willows droop the head 

 In sorrow o'er the hero's bed; 



Wliile down their foliage light, 

 The trickling dew-droops slowly creep, 

 Each night in darkness' shade they weep, 



Like grief wliich shuns the light. 

 The sullen wind sighs through the trees. 

 Which, trembling to the valley breeze. 



In sad disorder wave ; 

 The wither'd leaves, unknown to fame, 

 A perishable kindred claim, 



And strew Napoleon's grave. 



A simple stone lies o'er that breast. 

 Which once, in robes imperial drest. 



Shone of mankind supreme ; 

 A scanty railing now surrounds 

 Him whose ambition knew no bounds 



Hut earth's most wide extreme. 

 Whose will was fate, whose word was law, 

 Who kept the wond'ring world in awe. 



Whom subject kings obey'd ; 

 And now beneaih the hostile sod. 

 Where many a vulgar foot has trod. 



His exil'd corpse is laid. 



The meteor, darting through the sky, 

 ]s now too bright for mortal eye. 



And now is lost in gloom ; 

 So sped he on his liigii career, 

 .So shone in glory's brightest sphere. 



Now tills this lowly tomb. 



Here rest — and blighted be the lip 

 Of him who seeks thy name to strip 



Of glory's hard-earn'd meed ; 

 And hot and heavy fall the curse 

 On cowards who shall e'er asperse 



Thy mighty wariiordeed. 

 Alresjoid, IlunU ; Dec. 9, 1822. E. R. 



ELEGY 



ON MRS. ESTHEIi YF.ATES; 



H'ho (lied al Weslminsler, Nov. 1, 1821. 



[The followinfc linos were composed ut Hornsey 

 Wood, on the 2Ut of Miiy, 1&'2, by tier discoiiso- 

 late flurvivin^ liusbaiid.J 



While gentle zephyrs waft perfume. 

 From floMcrs which Terra's breast 

 adorn, 



The flower I've lost creates a gloom 

 Which makes me wretched aud forlorn. 



Original Poelri/. S'i 



That flower on earth was beauty's prke. 

 As it all other flowers surpass'd. 



And now, transplanted to the skies. 

 With flowers celestial it isclass'd. 



Thus my lov'd Esther still appears 

 As brilliant as the morning star, 



And oft my drooping spirits cheers, 

 Miedding sweet influence from afar. 



But yet, wliile I on earth remain, 

 I miss her morning, noon, and night; 



Doom'd to a life of grief and pain. 



Till my freed soul shall take its flight. . 

 Middle Temple. T. Y bates. 



LINES 



Written upon hearing a Friend express a 

 desire/or MUitarij Honours, 



Let the stern warrior, — for his deeds re- 



nown'd 

 Of mighty valor, — be with laurels crown'd; 

 I envy not the crown he wears. 

 For ah ! 'tis steep'd in widow's tears, 

 And orphan's piteous cries shall in his earj 

 resound ! 



Let History record bis boasted name. 

 And through the world his triuinplis load 

 proclaim : 

 I envy not fh' applause lie gains, 

 For ah ! the boasted name remains 

 Inscribed in human blood upon the roll of 



Fame I 

 To honours nobler far would I aspire! 

 'I'o bind my brow, the crown which I 

 desire, 

 Should be the poet's living bays ; 

 My fame, the Muse's haliow'd lays. 

 With virtuous feeling fraught, and warm 



with heav'niy fire! 

 No life-destroying weapon would I wield , 

 Nor shew my prowess on th' ensanguin'd 

 field ; 

 No widow's moans — no orphan's cries- 

 No childless mother's shrieks should rise 

 To curse the cause that makes his life tiie 

 soldier yield! 



Be mine the glorious triumphs of the pen ; 

 With this, — the bloodless vict'ries I'd 

 obtain 

 Should cultivate the arts of peace, 

 Bid war and tumult ever cease,— 

 Ambition's blood-stain'd tide attempting 

 to restrain ! 



DESCRIPTION OF THE FIGURE OF DEATH, 



In Mr. IVesl's I'iclure of " Death on 

 the Pule Horse." 

 And next is Death on his pale courser seen, 

 In horrid grandeur, and terrific mien, 

 Consigning thousands to the silent grave, 

 Without a single friendly hand to save; 

 A fow'ring, ghastly spectre, hurrying on 

 With breathless speed, — a living skeleton! 

 Clad ill a sable robe, which far behind 

 Streams like a meteor to t!ie troubled 

 wind : 



His 



