ttered enemy may gladly prove,
A fallen Hater yet may know her love?
Britannia! in this latest deep distress,
Napoleon's fate thou now mayest surely bless,
Attest thy greatness to a fallen foe,
And make thy fame sublime o'er all below.

Lo! on yon dreary isle, yon desolate rock,
That quails beneath old ocean's ceaseless shock--
Where flaming suns and sudden ruins combine,
Fo waste and wreck the human form divine--
Where man cut off from all most dear to man,
Makes hopeless exile, happy if he can:--
Then say; Britannia! that thy nobleness
Deigns thy asylum to thy foe's distress?
Say, this the Glory which thou lov'st to boast,
O'er meaner dwellers of each neighboring coast?

Contracted nation! thy contracted home,
A sterile rock round which the billows foam!
How well consorts it with thy dwarfish soul,
That owns no noble feeling's high control.

What glorious record holds the past of thee,
What single page from foul disgrace is free;
Bend, weeping Mary, Scotland's lovely Queen,
With noblest grace, and sad, yet royal mien,
Bend from yon dome of pure, celestial blue,
Say, when a fugitive from sorrow flew,
To Britain's bosom, did she live--or die--
Unheard--uncared for, her last lingering sigh?

On yon bleak isle, behold the Eagle razed,
Who lately soaring, down on Europe gazed.
See now a jackal move about his gate,
Gloat o'er his grief, and mock his fallen State--
Howl round his nobler prisoner every hour,
How brave! to mock him now, deprived of power!

Behold, on yon lone rock the Lion bound,
Who once o'er prostrate Europe looked around;
See now, a Spaniel, yelping at the gate
Of his strong dungeon, mock his altered State.

Methinks, when dying on that lonely isle,
The sad abode of his most sad exile;
If, haply, he had touched the mournful lyre,
It breathed this "Farewell"--ere he did expire.

"I die not on this hideous rock,
As common men would die;
The world will weep above my grave,
Despite a dismal lie.

I well endure the fiercest pangs
That myriads give to one,--
But oh! my lovely France! I grieve,
To leave thee so undone.

My towering aim, to see thy fame
O'er all beneath the sky--
So much--at last--is now achieved,
And, half content, I die.

The woes my foes decree me here,
Ne'er wake my faintest sigh--
But when I view my country's woes,
Not yet I wish