ogatory; as his bravery has been the theme of
history and of song. But a pathetic paper in _Blackwood's Magazine_,
affectingly describes his fall from splendour and popularity to servile
degradation and unmerited military death. He has many claims on our
interest and pity; whether we view him as the enthusiastic leader of
Napoleon's chosen, against the wily Russians, in the romantic array of
"a theatrical king," bearing down all impediment; or the plumeless and
proscribed monarch of "shreds and patches," hiding from his enemies
amidst the withered spoils of the forest. The writer of the paper
referred to, in describing his arrival at Ajaccio, says, "I was sitting
at my door, when I beheld a man approach me, _with the gaiters and shoes
of a common soldier_. Looking up, I beheld before me Joachim II. the
splendid King of Naples! I uttered a cry, and fell upon my knees!"

Escap'd from wreck and storm of fickle seas,
Degraded, plunder'd, sought for by his foes,
Brave Murat went, a weary, exil'd king,
Unto the land that gave Napoleon life;
And he who was the head of armies, when
His sabre slew opposing multitudes;
Whose dauntless spirit knew no other words
In fiercest strife, but "Soldiers, follow me!"
Came a poor, drooping, broken, lonely man,
To meet reproach, and harsh vicissitude,
Base persecution, and destroying hope;
To drain the cup of human suffering dry,
From which his fever'd lips had scarce refrain'd;
When in the tangled wood he trembling lay,
Weary and worn, expos'd to sun and storm,
Hunger and cold, and nature's helplessness.
And when Ajaccio's walls rung with the shouts
For Naples' ruler, he of warlike fame,
It wrung his spirit to remember when
That city hail'd him as her only star,
Worthy to reign where Masaniello rul'd.
Dejected chief! the tears forsook his eyes,
When on his vision rush'd the bygone love
Applauding thousands bore him, as he rode
In pride imperial 'midst the bending throng.

The gathering crowds along Ajaccio's streets
Felt Freedom's fervor kindle in their souls;
And Murat's banner fann'd the glorious flame.
"'Tis past," he cried, "and now I proudly come,
O, shameless Naples! in thy arms to die,
Or nobly live."

"Now blood for tears! my sword, my sword!
Be thou unsheath'd in Naples' cause,
I'll meet again the battle horde,
And beard the bravest of my foes!

"Proud Austria! I will drive thee back,