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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=396148" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Ode To Napoleon Buonaparte</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Expends Annibalem:--quot libras in duce summo<br>Invenies?~JUVENAL., Sat. X.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I.<br>Tis done--but yesterday a King! <br>And arm'd with Kings to strive--<br>And now thou art a nameless thing: <br>So abject--yet alive!<br>Is this the man of thousand thrones,<br>Who strew'd our earth with hostile bones, <br>And can he thus survive?<br>Since he, miscall'd the Morning Star,<br>Nor man nor fiend bath fallen so far.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">II.<br>Ill-minded man! why scourge thy kind<br>Who bow'd so low the knee?<br>By gazing on thyself grown blind,<br>Thou taught'st the rest to see.<br>With might unquestion'd,--power to save,--<br>Thine only gift hath been the grave<br>To those that worshipp'd thee;<br>Nor till thy fall could mortals guess<br>Ambition's less than littleness!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">III.<br>Thanks for that lesson--It will teach<br>To after--warriors more<br>Than high Philosophy can preach,<br>And vainly preach 'd before.<br>That spell upon the minds of men<br>Breaks never to unite again,<br>That led them to adore<br>Those Pagod things of sabre sway<br>With fronts of brass, and feet of clay.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">IV.<br>The triumph and the vanity,<br>The rapture of the strife--<br>The earthquake voice of Victory,<br>To thee the breath of life;<br>The sword, the sceptre, and that sway<br>Which man seem'd made but to obey,<br>Wherewith renown was rife--<br>All quell'd!--Dark Spirit! what must be<br>The madness of thy memory!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">V.<br>The Desolator desolate!<br>The Victor overthrown!<br>The Arbiter of others' fate<br>A Suppliant for his own!<br>Is it some yet imperial hope<br>That with such change can calmly cope?<br>Or dread of death alone?<br>To die a prince--or live a slave--<br>Thy choice is most ignobly brave!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VI.<br>He who of old would rend the oak,<br>Dream'd not of the rebound:<br>Chain'd by the trunk he vainly broke--<br>Alone--how look'd he round?<br>Thou, in the sternness of thy strength,<br>An equal deed halt done at length,<br>And darker fate hast found:<br>He fell, the forest prowlers' prey;<br>But thou must eat thy heart away!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VII.<br>The Roman, when his burning heart<br>Was slaked with blood of Rome,<br>Threw down the dagger--dared depart,<br>In savage grandeur, home--<br>He dared depart in utter scorn<br>Of men that such a yoke had borne, <br>Yet left him such a doom!<br>His only glory was that hour<br>Of self-upheld abandon'd power.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VIII.<br>The Spaniard, when the lust of sway <br>Had lost its quickening spell,<br>Cast crowns for rosaries away, <br>An empire for a cell;<br>A strict accountant of his beads,<br>A subtle disputant on creeds, <br>His dotage trifled well:<br>Yet better had he neither known<br>A bigot's shrine, nor despot's throne.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">IX.<br>But thou--from thy reluctant hand<br>The thunderbolt is wrung--<br>Too late thou leav'st the high command<br>To which thy weakness clung;<br>All Evil Spirit as thou art,<br>It is enough to grieve the heart <br>To see thine own unstrung;<br>To think that God's fair world hath been<br>The footstool of a thing so mean;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">X.<br>And Earth hath spilt her blood for him,<br>Who thus can hoard his own!<br>And Monarchs bow'd the trembling limb, <br>And thank'd him for a throne!<br>Fair Freedom! we may hold thee dear,<br>When thus thy mightiest foes their fear<br>In humblest guise have shown.<br>Oh! ne'er may tyrant leave behind<br>A brighter name to lure mankind!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XI.<br>Thine evil deeds are writ in gore, <br>Nor written thus in vain--<br>Thy triumphs tell of fame no more, <br>Or deepen every stain:<br>If thou hadst died as honour dies,<br>Some new Napoleon might arise,<br>To shame the world again--<br>But who would soar the solar height,<br>To set in such a starless night?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XII.<br>Weigh'd in the balance, hero dust<br>Is vile as vulgar clay;<br>Thy scales, Mortality! are just <br>To all that pass away:<br>But yet methought the living great<br>Some higher sparks should animate, <br>To dazzle and dismay:<br>Nor deem'd Contempt could thus make mirth<br>Of these, the Conquerors of the earth.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XIII.<br>And she, proud Austria's mournful flower,<br>Thy still imperial bride;<br>How bears her breast the torturing hour?<br>Still clings she to thy side?<br>Must she too bend, must she too share<br>Thy late repentance, long despair,<br>Thou throneless Homicide?<br>If still she loves thee, hoard that gem,--<br>'Tisworth thy vanish'd diadem!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XIV.<br>Then haste thee to thy sullen Isle,<br>And gaze upon the sea;<br>That element may meet thy smile--<br>It ne'er was ruled by thee!<br>Or trace with thine all idle hand<br>In loitering mood upon the sand<br>That Earth is now as free!<br>That Corinth's pedagogue hath now<br>Transferr'd his by-word to thy brow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XV.<br>Thou Timour! in his captive's cage<br>What thoughts will there be thine,<br>While brooding in thy prison'd rage?<br>But one--'The world was mine!'<br>Unless, like he of Babylon,<br>All sense is with thy sceptre gone,<br>Life will not long confine<br>That spirit pour'd so widely forth-<br>So long obey'd--so little worth!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XVI.<br>Or, like the thief of fire from heaven,<br>Wilt thou withstand the shock?<br>And share with him the unforgiven,<br>His vulture and his rock!<br>Foredoom'd by God--by man accurst,<br>And that last act, though not thy worst,<br>The very Fiend's arch mock<br>He in his fall preserved his pride,<br>And, if a mortal, had as proudly died!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XVII.<br>There was a day--there was an hour,<br>While earth was Gaul's--Gaul thine--<br>When that immeasurable power<br>Unsated to resign<br>Had been an act of purer fame<br>Than gathers round Marengo's name,<br>And gilded thy decline,<br>Through the long twilight of all time,<br>Despite some passing clouds of crime.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XVIII.<br>But thou forsooth must be a king,<br>And don the purple vest,<br>As !f that foolish robe could wring<br>Remembrance from thy breast.<br>Where is that faded garment? where<br>The gewgaws thou Overt fond to wear,<br>The star, the string the crest?<br>Vain froward child of empire! say,<br>Are all thy playthings snatched away?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XIX.<br>Where may the wearied eye repose<br>When gazing on the Great;<br>Where neither guilty glory glows,<br>Nor despicable state?<br>Yes--one--the first--the last--the best--<br>The Cincinnatus of the West,<br>Whom envy dared not hate,<br>Bequeath'd the name of Washington,<br>To make man blush there was but one!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Byron">Byron</a><div class=q>
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Invenies?~JUVENAL., Sat. X.

I.
Tis done--but yesterday a King! 
And arm'd with Kings to strive--
And now thou art a nameless thing: 
So abject--yet alive!
Is this the man of thousand thrones,
Who str..."></div>
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