Napoleon's farewell to Paris
NAPOLEON'S FAREWELL TO PARIS.
[NLS note: a graphic appears here - see image of page]
FAREWELL ye splendid citadel, Metropolis, called
Where Phœbus every morning shoots forth reful-
gens beams ;
Where Flora's bright Aurora, advancing from the
With radient light adorning the pure shining
At eve when Centaur does retire, while the ocean gilds
And the universe admire our merchandize and store ;
Commanding Flora's fragrance, the fertile fields to de-
To illume that Royal Corsican again on the French
My name's Napoleon Bounaparte, the conqueror of
I've banished German Legions and drove kings from
I ve trampled on Dukes and Earls and splendid con-
Tho' they have me now transported to St. Helana's
Like Hannibal I've crossed the Alps, the burning
sands and rocky cliffs,
O er Russian hills through frost and snow I still
the laurels wore—
I'm in a deseri island where the rats the devil would
Yet I hope to shine in armour bright through Eu-
rope one more.
Some say the first of my downfall was parting from my
To wed the German's daughter, who wounded my
heart sore ;
But the female train I ne'er will blame, for they did
never me defame,
They saw my swor d in battle flame and did me adore.
Now I severely feel the rod, for meddling with the
house of God—
Coin and golden images, by thousands away I tore ;
I stole Malta's golden gates, I did the work of God
But if he gives me time and place to him back I will
My golden eagles were pulled down by Wellington's
My troops all in disorder could no longer stand the
I was sold that afternoon, on the 18th day of June,
My reinforcement proved traitors, which caused me
I am allied oak, with fire and sword I made them
I have conquered Dutch and Danes, and surprised
the grand Signor—
I have defeated Austrians and Russians, both Portu—
gese and Prussians,
Like Joshau, Alexauder, or Cæsar of yore.
And to the south of Africa, and the Atlantic Ocean,
To view the wild emotion and flowings of the tide ;
Banish'd from the Royal Crown of imperial promotion,
From the French throne of glory to see those billows,
Three days I stood the plain, liberty's cause to main-
Thousands I left slain and cover'd in their gore ;
I never fled without revenge, nor to the allied army
But now my sword is sheathed and Paris is no more.
BIRT, Printer, 20, Great St. Andrew Street, Seven Dials, London.
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