Napoleon III

His silent spirit from the place
Slid forth unseen; amid the throng
Of those whose love outlived disgrace,
Whose fealty to the last was strong.
Midst homage, neath Fates adverse reign,
Paid to the star shorn of its rays,
How passed the Exile? Lingering fain,
As never once in prouder days?

The Mother and the Child were there,
Discrowned and disinherited!
No hand henceforth to right the heir;
New griefs to bow the golden head.
How passed Napoleon? Prizing more,
Old fame in camp and council won
Or fearless Englands aegis, oer
The future of her allys son?

Gate of that World we know not yet,
What thou beheldst who may proclaim!
Were spirit-ranks, in order set,
Haunting thy portals, as he came,
With voices murmuring, Our life torch,
Unspent, was quenched at his behest?
Did bygone princes fill the porch,
Bourbon, and Valois, and the rest?

How passed the soldier? Cold and stern,
Mid weaponless reproachful ghosts,
As when he led them forth to learn
How fight the hardy German hosts?
How passed the Emperor where THEY gazed,
Once wearers of the ancient crown?
As one who knew its lustre blazed
The brighter ere he laid it down?

How passed he? brighter grows the dream!
Past yon accusing spirit-band,
Beyond the scornful Old Règime,
Another group of watchers stand!
Those hands are stretched to greet him now
That once Charlemagnes proud sceptre won;
While hastes Hortense with beaming brow,
No longer banished from her son!

Mary Hannay Foott

Mary Hannay Foott was an Australian poet known for her works that capture the spirit and landscape of colonial Australia. Her most famous poem, 'Where the Pelican Builds', reflects the challenges and beauty of the pioneering experience. She was notable for being one of the first Australian poets to gain recognition, with her works regularly published in Australian newspapers and magazines of the time. Her poetry often explored themes of nature, human perseverance, and the Australian identity.

Mary Hannay Foott

The Aurora Australis

Mary Hannay Foott, Simple Poetry

New Country

Mary Hannay Foott, Simple Poetry

Ave Caesar! Morituri te salutant

Mary Hannay Foott, Simple Poetry

Nearing Port

Mary Hannay Foott, Simple Poetry

English

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Ave Caesar! Morituri te salutant

The coup detat is blotted out
With fresher blood, with blacker crime,
As midnight horrors put to rout
The vaguer ghosts of twilight-time.

Greeting from those who are to die!
Hail Caesar! Draw the curtains round.
In vain! That mournful mocking cry
Pierces the purple with its sound.

And they who raise it enter too,
With spectral looks and noiseless tread,
Unbidden, hold their dread review,
Beside the Emperors very bed.

They sought in his deserted tent;
They found him in the German camp.
They tarry till the oil be spent
That feeds his lifes poor flickering lamp.

The hope of France, the gilded youth,
So answering the trumpets peal
As if revealing how, in sooth,
The gilding oft oerlies the steel.

Soldiers A...

Mary Hannay Foott

To Henry the Fifth

My youth was passing, Sire, whilst you among
The cradle-wrappings slept; my morning-song
Sung oer your pillow. Winds of heaven have thrown
Us both, since then, on heights apart and lone.
Heights! For misfortune drear, our destined land,
So thunder-scarred, a-nigh to heaven must stand!
The north and south are nearer than our ways
Are near to one another; and Fate lays
The purple round you, and has not withheld
Our Frances sceptre-dazzlements of eld.
I, crowned with silver hairs, say, praising you,
Well done! That man is to his manhood true
Who bravely, at his own behest, will do
High deeds of self -undoing; will forego
All, all, save immemorial Honour; though
She seem to earthlier eyes a phantom, more
Will follow her (as erst in Elsinore
One faithful h...

Mary Hannay Foott

The Two Shades.

Along that gloomy river's brim,
Where Charon plies the ceaseless oar,
Two mighty Shadows, dusk and dim,
Stood lingering on the dismal shore.
Hoarse came the rugged Boatman's call,
While echoing caves enforced the cry
And as they severed life's last thrall,
Each Spirit spoke one parting sigh.
"Farewell to earth! I leave a name,
Written in fire, on field and flood

Wide as the wind, the voice of fame,
Hath borne my fearful tale of blood.
And though across this leaden wave,
Returnless now my spirit haste,
Napoleon's name shall know no grave,
His mighty deeds be ne'er erased.
The rocky Alp, where once was set
My courser's hoof, shall keep the seal,
And ne'er the echo there forget
The clangor of my glorious steel.
Marengo's hill-sides flow ...

Samuel Griswold Goodrich

The Last Caesar

1851-1870

I

Now there was one who came in later days
To play at Emperor: in the dead of night
Stole crown and sceptre, and stood forth to light
In sudden purple.    The dawn's straggling rays
Showed Paris fettered, murmuring in amaze,
With red hands at her throat--a piteous sight.
Then the new Caesar, stricken with affright
At his own daring, shrunk from public gaze

In the Elysee, and had lost the day
But that around him flocked his birds of prey,
Sharp-beaked, voracious, hungry for the deed.
'Twixt hope and fear behold great Caesar hang!
Meanwhile, methinks, a ghostly laughter rang
Through the rotunda of the Invalides.

II

What if the boulevards, at set of sun,
Reddened, but not with sunset's kindly glow?
What if fr...

Thomas Bailey Aldrich

My Napoleon.

("Toujours lui! lui partout!")

[XL., December, 1828.]


Above all others, everywhere I see
His image cold or burning!
My brain it thrills, and oftentime sets free
The thoughts within me yearning.
My quivering lips pour forth the words
That cluster in his name of glory -
The star gigantic with its rays of swords
Whose gleams irradiate all modern story.

I see his finger pointing where the shell
Should fall to slay most rabble,
And save foul regicides; or strike the knell
Of weaklings 'mid the tribunes' babble.
A Consul then, o'er young but proud,
With midnight poring thinned, and sallow,
But dreams of Empire pierce the transient cloud,
And round pale face and lank locks form the halo.

And soon the Caesar, with an eye ...

Victor-Marie Hugo

Epitaph On Napoleon

Lo! here, on this lone isle amid the deeps,
From his proud height of conquest, greatness hurl'd,
Buried in silent night, Napoleon sleeps!
Long Gallia's boast, the wonder of the world!

Though humbly born, Ambition claim'd her child;
Fate urged him on, his great career to fill;
On him, in war, in dangers, Fortune smiled;
And on his eagles Victory waited still.

By battles won, by policy profound,
Kings he dethroned, fill'd Europe with dismay:
England alone, of all the nations round,
His power opposed, disdaining to obey.

Forced by the flames of Moscow to retreat,
Half his vast host by cold, by famine, dies.
Famed Waterloo beheld his last defeat;
There sunk his glory's sun; ne'er more to rise.

Briton! from this sad spot ere thou depart,

Thomas Oldham