XI.

Napoleon! 'twas a high name lifted high!
It met at last God's thunder sent to clear
Our compassing and covering atmosphere,
And open a clear sight, beyond the sky,
Of supreme empire: this of earth's was done--
And kings crept out again to feel the sun.

XII.

The kings crept out-the peoples sate at home,— And finding the long invocated peace

A pall embroidered with worn images

Of rights divine, too scant to cover doom
Such as they suffered,-cursed the corn that grew
Rankly, to bitter bread, on Waterloo.

XIII.

A deep gloom centred in the deep repose-
The nations stood up mute to count their dead---
And he who owned the NAME which vibrated
Through silence,-trusting to his noblest foes,
When earth was all too grey for chivalry-
Died of their mercies, 'mid the desert sea.

XIV.

O wild St. Helen! very still she kept him,
With a green willow for all pyramid,-
Which stirred a little if the low wind did,
A little more, if pilgrims overwept him,
Disparting the lithe boughs to see the clay
Which seemed to cover his for judgment-day.

XV.

Nay! not so long!-France kept her old affection,
As deeply as the sepulchre the corse,
Until dilated by such love's remorse

To a new angel of the resurrection,

She cried, "Behold, thou England! I would have The dead, whereof thou wottest, from that grave."

XVI.

And England answered in the courtesy Which, ancient foes turned lovers, may befit,— "Take back thy dead! and when thou buriest it, 'Throw in all former strifes 'twixt thee and me." Amen, mine England! 'tis a courteous claim— But ask a little room too . . . for thy shame!

XVII.

Because it was not well, it was not well,
Nor tuneful with thy lofty-chanted part
Among the Oceanides, that Heart

To bind and bare, and vex with vulture fell.
I would, my noble England! men might seek
All crimson stains upon thy breast-not cheek!

XVIII.

I would that hostile fleets had scarred thy bay,
Instead of the lone ship which waited moored
Until thy princely purpose was assured,
Then left a shadow-not to pass away-
Not for to-night's moon, nor to-morrow's sun!
Green watching hills, ye witnessed what was done!

XIX.

And since it was done,-in sepulchral dust,
We fain would pay back something of our debt
To France, if not to honour, and forget

How through much fear we falsified the trust

Of a fallen foe and exile.-We return

A little urn-a little dust inside,

Which once outbalanced the large earth, albeit
To-day a four-years child might carry it,

Sleek-browed and smiling, "Let the burden 'bide!"
Orestes to Electra !-O fair town

Of Paris, how the wild tears will run down,

XXI.

And run back in the chariot-marks of Time,
When all the people shall come forth to meet
The passive victor, death-still in the street

He rode through 'mid the shouting and bell-chime
And martial music,-under eagles which

Dyed their rapacious beaks at Austerlitz.

XXII.

Napoleon! he hath come again-borne home
Upon the popular ebbing heart,—a sea
Which gathers its own wrecks perpetually,
Majestically moaning. Give him room!-
Room for the dead in Paris! welcome solemn

And grave-deep, 'neath the cannon-moulded column !

XXIII.

There, weapon spent and warrior spent may rest
From roar of fields; provided Jupiter

Dare trust Saturnus to lie down so near

His bolts

And this he may. For, dispossessed

Of any godship, lies the godlike arm

The goat Jove sucked as likely to do harm.

XXIV.

And yet . . . Napoleon !—the recovered name
Shakes the old casements of the world! and we
Look out upon the passing pageantry,

Attesting that the Dead makes good his claim
To a Gaul grave,—another kingdom won—
The last-of few spans-by Napoleon.

XXV.

Blood fell like dew beneath his sunrise-sooth!

But glittered dew-like in the covenanted

And high-rayed light. He was a despot-granted!
But the avros of his autocratic mouth

Said yea i' the people's French: he magnified
The image of the freedom he denied.

* It was the first intention to bury him under the column.

พ

XXVI.

And if they asked for rights, he made reply,
"Ye have my glory!"—and so, drawing round them
His ample purple, glorified and bound them.

In an embrace that seemed identity.

He ruled them like a tyrant-true! but none
Were ruled like slaves.

Each felt, Napoleon.

XXVII.

I do not praise this man: the man was flawed,
For Adam-much more, Christ !—his knee, unbent-
His hand, unclean-his aspiration, pent
Within a sword-sweep-pshaw !--but since he had
The genius to be loved, why, let him have
The justice to be honoured in his grave.

XXVIII.

I think this nation's tears, poured thus together,
Nobler than shouts : I think this funeral
Grander than crownings, though a Pope bless all:
I think this grave stronger than thrones. But whether
The crowned Napoleon or the buried clay
Be better, I discern not-Angels may.

*This dog was the gift of my dear and admired friend, Miss Mitford, and belongs to the beautiful race she has rendered celebrated among English and American readers. The Flushes have their laurels as well as the Cæsars,-the chief difference (at least the very head and front of it) consisting, perhaps, in the bald head of the latter under the crown,