66 ODE TO NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE Expende Annibalem :-quot libras in duce summo Invenies?"-Juvenal, Sat. x. 66 'The Emperor Nepos was acknowledged by the Senate, by the Italians, and by the Provincials of Gaul; his moral virtues, and military talents, were loudly celebrated; and those who derived any private benefit from his government announced in prophetic strains the restoration of public felicity. By this shameful abdication, he protracted his life a few years, in a very ambiguous state, between an Emperor and an Exile, till -Gibbon's Decline and Fall, vol. vi., p. 220. I "Tis done but yesterday a King! Is this the man of thousand thrones, Since he, miscall'd the Morning Star, II Ill-minded man! why scourge thy kind Who bow'd so low the knee? By gazing on thyself grown blind, With might unquestion'd,-power to save,- III Thanks for that lesson-It will teach To after-warriors more Than high Philosophy can preach, ΙΟ 20 That spell upon the minds of men That led them to adore Those Pagod things of sabre sway, IV The triumph and the vanity, To thee the breath of life; The sword, the sceptre, and that sway All quell'd!—Dark Spirit! what must be 30 V The Desolator desolate ! The Victor overthrown! The Arbiter of others' fate A Suppliant for his own! Is it some yet imperial hope That with such change can calmly cope To die a prince—or live a slave— VI He who of old would rend the oak, And darker fate hast found: 40 50 VII The Roman, when his burning heart He dared depart in utter scorn His only glory was that hour VIII The Spaniard, when the lust of sway A strict accountant of his beads, Yet better had he neither known IX But thou-from thy reluctant hand Too late thou leav'st the high command To which thy weakness clung; All Evil Spirit as thou art, It is enough to grieve the heart To see thine own unstrung; To think that God's fair world hath been X And Earth hath spilt her blood for him, And Monarchs bow'd the trembling limb, And thank'd him for a throne! 60 70 80 Fair Freedom! we may hold thee dear, XI Thine evil deeds are writ in gore, Thy triumphs tell of fame no more, If thou hadst died as honour dies, XII Weigh'd in the balance, hero dust Thy scales, Mortality! are just But yet methought the living great To dazzle and dismay : Nor deem'd Contempt could thus make mirth XIII And she, proud Austria's mournful flower, How bears her breast the torturing hour? Must she too bend, must she too share Thou throneless Homicide? If still she loves thee, hoard that gem,'Tis worth thy vanish'd diadem! XIV Then haste thee to thy sullen Isle, That element may meet thy smile— That Corinth's pedagogue hath now XV Thou Timour! in his captive's cage That spirit pour'd so widely forth- XVI Or, like the thief of fire from heaven, Foredoom'd by God-by man accurst, He in his fall preserved his pride, XVII There was a day-there was an hour, When that immeasurable power Unsated to resign 120 130 140 |