THF ASHES OF NAPOLEON.
Attend, you gallant Britons bold, unto these lines I will unfold
The deeds of valiant heroes I am going to relate,
Who for centuries that is gone by, for England fought most
And in the British records, there you'll find the date.
But of a valiant Corsican as ever stood on Europe's land,
I am inclined to sing in praise; how noble was his heart,
In every battle manfully, he struggled hard for liberty,
And to the world a terror was, Napoleon Buonaparte.
And now across the foaming waves, to fetch from St. Helena's
The proud and gallant Frenchman, so boldly do depart,
To bring away, as Britons say, and consecrate without delay,
In Paris town, the ashes of Napoleon Buonaparte.
We read of gallant Marlborough, we read of valiant Nelson,
We read of noble Jarvis, brave Howe, and gallant Blake,
Of Wolfe and Abercrombie, great men who fought by land
Back from the days of Wellington, unto Sir Francis Drake;
They were men of courage true, and fought like Britons of
Always was undaunted, so noble was each heart,
But Europe, we must understand, could not boast of late of
such a man,
As the valiant little Corsican, Napoleon Buonaparte.
When at the Isle of Elba, Napoleon fought for liberty,
And when he went across the Alps, he did the world amaze,
He would never yield when in the field, but strive to gain a
Europe will long remember how Moscow it did blaze;
But fatal June at Waterloo, did make Napoleon for to rue,
To see the tricks of Blucher, struck terror to his heart.
It was then he had to fight or run, he cried, alas! I am undone
Like a bullock sold in Smithfield, was Napoleon Buonaparte.
It was in the days of Castlereagh, brave Buonaparte was led
And the battle of great Waterloo was bought by English gold
We long may recollect the day, when Grouchy did the French
And brave Napoleon Buonaparte upon the ground was sold.
He in the field then valiant stood, saying, while I have life
I will not die a coward (with his hand upon his heart),
I always proved myself a man, but now I can no longer stand,
My glass is nearly run, cried brave Napoleon Buonaparte.
He was by his friends forsaken, and prisoner he was taken,
And he was sent to England, just like a convict bound,
Far across the briny waves, a gallant soldier bold and brave,
On board the Bellerophon man-of-war, to Plymouth Sound;
Where he a little time did lay, and thousands flocked by
night and day,
From here and there, and everywhere, in droves from every
They were struck with wonder and amaze, as anxiously they
on did gaze,
That valiant little Corsican, Napoleon Buonaparte.
Then soon it was concluded. Napoleon should be banished
Unto some distant island, where he no more should smile,
And he was sent across the sea, a prisoner for life to be,
His days to end in misery on St. Helena's Isle;
Louisa for her husband wept, nor day nor night she seldom
The briny tears rolled from her eyes to soothe her aching
"Where is my Emperor?" she cried, "Oh! cursed be the
gold that bribed
False Gouchy to betray my brave Napoleon Buonaparte."
Some years he lived in exile, and mourned on St. Helena's
And there, alas! he was deprived of every bosom friend.
He respected was by high and low, through Europe where-
soever you go,
On the Isle of St. Helena, he there his days did end.
He cried, my glass is nearly run, I can behold the setting sun
And while he spoke he gently laid his hand upon his heart,
He looked around and gave a smile, and died upon St. Hel-
And there they laid the ashes of Napoleon Buonaparte.
Now to erect a monument, agreed has every soldier,
The Peer, likewise the peasant, every Frenchman bold and
And in a very little while they'll bring from St. Helena's Isle,
The ashes of Napoleon that lays mouldering in the grave.
In the city of great Paris, a tomb will be erected,
So splendidly, for to contain his ashes and his heart,
And rich and poor that pass that way, will joyfully a tribute
To the ashes and the memory of Napoleon Buonaparte.
JAMES KAY, GLASGOW.
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Probable period of publication:
1840-1850 shelfmark: L.C.1270(016)
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