Osman Pazvantoglou
A begot of Bosnia Province, 'son of the guard',
mercenary in service to Wallachian Prince Nicholas
Mavrogenes, friend to Rigas Feraios Greek Bard,
revolts an army of mercenaries rebels to amass.
Freed from Ottoman Sultan Selim, acts independent,
his state recognized by Western Europe diplomats,
In 1798, held territories spread from river Danub
to the Balkan Mountains, from Belgrade to Varna.
Osman, warrior of North, fierce, in deathly defeat,
in deathly victory, honored by a Glory transient,
wins in Vidin, loses in Smederovo, fear to transmit
a new Carpathian Vlad Tepes' vindicatory punishment.
Defeats a 100,000 soldier army of Huseyin Kucuk,
ruthless warrior, raiding territories in blind moksha
fighting Sultans Ottoman, and Serbs, win, or lose
as in 1798 the Sultan is forced to make him a pasha.
Raids in Wallachia, against Alexander Mourouzis,
the Phanariote Prince, who in 1800, resigns to Selim,
Osman's pasvangii troops, burn all Craiova houses,
in 1802 Prince Michael Soutzos of Bucchurest deposes.
Blind, indiscriminate absolutism, Osman's warlords
In 1809, retaliation campaign of Oltenian hajduks
led by Iancu Jianu were victorious, for Romanians,
as Osman raids are recalled as extremely ill and old.
As many charismatic rulers, Osman the warlord,
missed the opportunity to organize a state based
on traditional values, fought ambiguously and lost
the trust of Balcanians, who condemned his raids.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Related quotes
Trojan Soldier
Trojan Soldier
Protik Osman
Saddest of the people
Running through the shores.
Black macaws
Covers the sky.
And everything was
Gloaming bright.
Mace-faced puppies
Running through the sand,
And behind them was
A Trojan soldier.
A soldier whose running leg pressed, when stopped
Against the beach’s beautiful.
He ran and then stopped-
Can see him well,
He was like a man from hell.
His armor was bold
And one sword, which was gold,
On the helmet was written in English:
One City of Troy.
His face was full of joy
And too was sorrow.
After some time he ran away
From this gracious beach.
And saw them all
Very clear.
As if all were
Nor so clear.
poem by Protik Osman
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Osman
Fry two eggs for me and,
I will be your lover forever!
For my heart longs for you in the Garden of Osman,
And my love to you is like the dream of the African blood.
I will anchor my ship at Pearl Harbour and,
I will land and walk to you;
For you are my Sunshine and the Highway of my love!
And like a big fish that is caught at Pearl Harbour.
You are like the dream from my homeland and,
Of your nakedness at Kailua Bay!
But with a special message for me to smell your sweet aroma,
And like the Fast-Food Restaurants around your love.
My heart longs for you in the Garden of Osman and,
I will find a better way of meeting you this summer.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Battle Of Lepanto Ottomans Defeats
Holy League on 7 October 1571 attacks;
wins a crushing victory over Ottoman fleet
at the Battle of Lepanto Ottomans defeats;
off tide turning western Greek coast;
decisively defeated Ottoman mighty main fleet
of Ottoman Empire in fierce five hours;
of fighting on northern edge of Gulf of Patras;
off fate western Greece Ottoman invasion forces
were from naval station Lepanto sailing westwards;
engaged from Messina Holy League fleet;
quick sand history on this victory turns
Mediterranean Sea Holy League prevents;
becoming an open uncontested sea route;
for Muslim forces; from major Ottoman invasion
Italy protects; prevents conquest Ottomans;
advancing further into exposed southern;
flank of Europe victory Lepanto was the last
major naval battle in contest Mediterranean;
fought entirely between diced empire galleys;
great symbolic importance appropriately assigned
to an empires altering decisive naval defeat;
upon signing of peace treaty in 1573 fate turns;
victorious Holy League is incredibly disbanded
axed a short time after unity Pope Pius V died.
Extract from the poem ‘Mediterranean Colonisation Wars Left Legacy Seeds'.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Last Will And Testament
Comrades, if I don't live to see the day
-- I mean,if I die before freedom comes --
take me away
and bury me in a village cemetery in Anatolia.
The worker Osman whom Hassan Bey ordered shot
can lie on one side of me, and on the other side
the martyr Aysha, who gave birth in the rye
and died inside of forty days.
Tractors and songs can pass below the cemetery --
in the dawn light, new people, the smell of burnt gasoline,
fields held in common, water in canals,
no drought or fear of the police.
Of course, we won't hear those songs:
the dead lie stretched out underground
and rot like black branches,
deaf, dumb, and blind under the earth.
But, I sang those songs
before they were written,
I smelled the burnt gasoline
before the blueprints for the tractors were drawn.
As for my neighbors,
the worker Osman and the martyr Aysha,
they felt the great longing while alive,
maybe without even knowing it.
Comrades, if I die before that day, I mean
-- and it's looking more and more likely --
bury me in a village cemetery in Anatolia,
and if there's one handy,
a plane tree could stand at my head,
I wouldn't need a stone or anything.
Moscow, Barviha Hospital
Trans. by Randy Blasing and Mutlu Konuk (1993)
poem by Nazim Hikmet
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Genius Among Fools
I’m real cool,
I left school,
I lurk late,
I strike straight,
I sing sin,
I drink Gin,
I jazz June,
and I die soon!
And the Wild Regrets,
And the Bloody Sweats,
When none knew to well than I,
For who lives more lives than one,
More deaths than one must die!
And I find peace,
I hear angels,
I see the stars sparking with diamonds,
And I see the Best of Minds of my generation
in their worst of times
In the Age of Foolishness
And the Season of Darkness
Giving their Spring of Hopes
to the Winter of Despair
Acting cool,
Leaving school,
Lurking late,
Striking straight,
Singing sin,
Drinking Gin,
Jazzing June,
then dying soon!
And I say now, the people
As some lessons repeated
Now, the lights are off, to myself
As a lover, or at the cold wind
‘Let your rapid lives be a graph of me’
Copyright ©2009 Mitwaly Osman
poem by Mitwaly Osman
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Another Epitaph on an Army of Mercenaries (in reply to A.E. Housman)
In the days when heaven shook
and Lucifer an angel of light,
took a third
of once holy ones with him
in a mercenary calling, made darkness his own,
when he tried to become equal to the creator God
that army of mercenaries fought
against Michael and his host
and lost, falling in defeat
and Michael and his host ended the rebellion,
had it suspended
and the mercenaries paid the price for their deceit,
(if any of them died they did deserved it)
and they fell like comets from the sky
and burning, aflame to this planet they came
which is still revolving as it did then
and here their leader entrapped man
with a cunning elusive plan
trying to take this world
into destruction with him
but as a mortal God walked this earth,
paid the price instead of man
to make the demon’s work undone
and still man has a choice
to where his affections lie
and in spite of the presence of mercenaries here
elements of love, sincerity, truth and grace
still abounds in the heart of men
who honour the almighty God.
[References: Epitaph on an Army of Mercenaries by A.E. Housman and Another Epitaph on an Army of Mercenaries by Hugh Macdiarmid in reply to A.E. Housman.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Syria Admits Ethnic Cleansing In Darayya
days of government bombing against the civilian
town of Darayya preceded the Syrian armies assault
on Saturday capitalizing on a civilian bombardment
Syrian state TV confirmed these ruthless attacks
stating military targets an official Darayya policy
city systematically 'cleansed of terrorist remnants'
Syrian government troops responsible for the 'massacre'
had 'summarily executed' many victims caught in the town
of Darayya after executing their 'house-to-house' raids
unconfirmed reports described 200 bodies discovered
in houses and basement shelters 'many of the victims
had gunshot wounds to the head and chest and were killed
during house-to-house raids by government troops'
most victims had been killed at close range some had died
from sniper fire unverified video footage on the internet...
shows rows of recovered bodies side by side in
the Abu Auleiman al-Darani mosque the Syrian
Observatory for Human Rights said altogether
183 people died across Syria on Saturday...
'the type of mass killing reportedly carried out in Darayya,
with dozens of bodies being discovered following
government raids, has increased in recent months' this is
not a new pattern according to Human Rights Watch but
is now happening in more areas in greater numbers?
United Nations observers claim both sides had carried out
massacres the Syrian army being held responsible for a
far greater number of deaths sadly UN monitors have been
confined to their hotels since June due to rising violence...
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Neither the Army nor the Navy is of any protection, or very little protection, against aerial raids.
quote by Alexander Graham Bell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Battle of El-Teb
Ye sons of Great Britain, I think no shame
To write in praise of brave General Graham!
Whose name will be handed down to posterity without any stigma,
Because, at the battle of El-Teb, he defeated Osman Digna.
With an army about five thousand strong,
To El-Teb, in the year 1884, he marched along,
And bivouacked there for the night;
While around their fires they only thought of the coming fight.
They kept up their fires all the long night,
Which made the encampment appear weird-like to the sight;
While the men were completely soaked with the rain,
But the brave heroes disdained to complain.
The brave heroes were glad when daylight did appear,
And when the reveille was sounded, they gave a hearty cheer
And their fires were piled up higher again,
Then they tried to dry their clothes that were soaked with the rain.
Then breakfast was taken about eight o'clock,
And when over, each man stood in the ranks as firm as a rock,
And every man seemed to be on his guard --
All silent and ready to move forward.
The first movement was a short one from where they lay --
Then they began to advance towards El-Teb without dismay,
And showed that all was in order for the fray,
While every man's heart seemed to feel light and gay.
The enemy's position could be seen in the distance far away
But the brave heroes marched on without delay --
Whilst the enemy's banners floated in the air,
And dark swarms of men were scattered near by there.
Their force was a large one -- its front extended over a mile,
And all along the line their guns were all in file;
But as the British advanced, they disappeared,
While our brave kilty lads loudly cheered.
Thus slowly and cautiously brave General Graham proceeded
And to save his men from slaughter, great caution was needed,
Because Osman Digna's force was about ten thousand strong;
But he said, Come on, my brave lads, we'll conquer them ere long!
It was about ten o'clock when they came near the enemy's lines,
And on the morning air could be heard the cheerful chimes
Corning from the pipes of the gallant Black Watch,
Which every ear in the British force was eager to catch.
Then they passed by the enemy about mid-day,
While every Arab seemed to have his gun ready for the fray
When a bullet strikes down General Baker by the way,
But he is soon in the saddle again without delay,
And ready for any service that he could perform;
Whilst the bullets fell around them in a perfect storm
That they had to lie down, but not through fear,
Because the enemy was about 800 yards on their left rear.
Then General Graham addressed his men,
And said, If they won't attack us, we must attack them,
So start to your feet, my lads, and never fear,
And strike up your bagpipes, and give a loud cheer.
So they leapt to their feet, and gave a loud cheer,
While the Arabs swept down upon them without the least fear,
And put aside their rifles, and grasped their spears;
Whilst the British bullets in front of them the earth uptears.
Then the British charged them with their cold steel,
Which made the Arabs backward for to reel;
But they dashed forward again on their ranks without dismay,
But before the terrible fire of their musketry they were swept away.
Oh, God of Heaven! it was a terrible sight
To see, and hear the Arabs shouting with all their might
A fearful oath when they got an inch of cold steel,
Which forced them backwards again and made them reel.
By two o'clock they were fairly beat,
And Osman Digna, the false prophet, was forced to retreat
After three hours of an incessant fight;
But Heaven, 'tis said, defends the right.
And I think he ought to be ashamed of himself;
For I consider he has acted the part of a silly elf,
By thinking to conquer the armies of the Lord
With his foolish and benighted rebel horde.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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Shorfession
So pain, to feel at school,
Lonely, there feel I.
No justice, for me,
And’s illegal.
They hurt me-the students, they.
And in sorrow // my heart weep
And wish me to sleep
At home-very deep.
Teachers hate me,
Torture me a lot.
Always injustice,
When to justice.
Like wars, it will end,
Hopeful I.
Punished shall by God they:
Common sense, really.
poem by Deepta Protik Osman
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People around me
People around me, never changed, but I changed,
The people to see, same, I, not.
All people I known, before and now, bad,
I have changed, for them, am sad.
They shot me words, when am sight
Never did the same, today not fight.
People, that I see, from change, is free
But one thing, still they’re bad, it’s known by me.
Changes are fast, changes are slow
Some people, before and now felt,
never ever changed.
19th July,2009, Sunday
poem by Deepta Protik Osman
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Epitaph on King Priam of Troy
Priam, the Trojan king
Lies in a great peace.
Lies he there
The city of Troy,
Where no more is joy.
Caused by Paris’s ploy,
Thought the city was a toy.
So brought the coil
And Troy, received it, as a spoil,
As the Greeks took the coil, away
And Troy, in ruins, alas.
poem by Deepta Protik Osman
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In 200 B.C.
"Alexander son of Philip, and the Greeks except the Lacedaemonians--"
We can very well imagine
that they were utterly indifferent in Sparta
to this inscription. "Except the Lacedaemonians",
but naturally. The Spartans were not
to be led and ordered about
as precious servants. Besides
a panhellenic campaign without
a Spartan king as a leader
would not have appeared very important.
O, of course "except the Lacedaemonians."
This too is a stand. Understandable.
Thus, except the Lacedaemonians at Granicus;
and then at Issus; and in the final
battle, where the formidable army was swept away
that the Persians had massed at Arbela:
which had set out from Arbela for victory, and was swept away.
And out of the remarkable panhellenic campaign,
victorious, brilliant,
celebrated, glorious
as no other had ever been glorified,
the incomparable: we emerged;
a great new Greek world.
We; the Alexandrians, the Antiocheans,
the Seleucians, and the numerous
rest of the Greeks of Egypt and Syria,
and of Media, and Persia, and the many others.
With our extensive territories,
with the varied action of thoughtful adaptations.
And the Common Greek Language
we carried to the heart of Bactria, to the Indians.
As if we were to talk of Lacedaemonians now!
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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Warrior, Mind and Soul
come to think of it...
my head is tilted toward and against
breaking the wall of enmity, chatting with mighty warrior
victory has come to stay...
i cannot be a slave to the soul that weak, crawling, no not me
i will show my trophy to the simple soul, but the warrior
rejoice with me.
travel in thick darkness, fear nothing but the flies the can touch and reach me soul and mind because strength come within
i cannot stay here any more, lofty in the air ready to fly
because even warrior and the mighty have gone to sleep
rule my world among the simple..
sleep sleep sleep they said but...
no soldier sleep not in the battle unless is ready to be sacrificed inn the shire... yes winner wins and loser lose
all in the shadow of illusion... fear cast away standing
on the hill and say
victory! victory! victory.. to the mind and soul of the warrior
poem by Oluwajobi John
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Every Heart Will Love
Every heart will love.
Soaked with salty tear,
Gripped with faulty fear,
Every heart will love.
Every heart will love.
Living in mortal cage,
Giving in mental rage,
Every heart will love.
Every heart will love.
Blinded by loving arrow,
Guided by shoving morrow,
Every heart will love.
Every heart will love.
Tearing flesh of Hate,
Bearing pains of Fate,
Every heart will love.
Every heart will love.
Since the rise of time,
Till the end of sublime,
Every heart will love.
poem by Osman Gani
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The Super-Moon
The astronomers, common people, kids are gazing
At the Super-moon that has appeared in the sky.
The super-moon is so big, so bright, so charming
That the bystanders cannot even blink their eye.
Next day, the burning furnace of the Sun will burn
The shimmering of Super-moon with its warmth.
What will change tomorrow? Will the waves turn?
Will fate of the poor change? Can death be birth?
The poor who sleep at rough footpaths of the city
Were sleeping starved in the chilly moonlit night.
They had nothing to do with the moon's luminosity,
If the moon were bread they could eat it with delight.
poem by Osman Gani
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Balkan Nightmares
The ghosts of history haunt the Balkans.
Ancient passions, unbending hatreds
turmoil the region.
Painful tragedies of the past
are recycled by memories.
Permanent hostage of bound
and determined remembrance,
Race, religion and poverty clash
in violent convulsions.
Ethnic warfare and ruthless fright
sweep across nations,
fuelled by explosions of grief, revenge
and fear.
They are immersed in horror,
terror, chaos and bloodshed,
the sufferings of children,
the sorrows of fathers,
and the agonies of widows.
In 1453 the Turks led by Mehmet II
captured Constantinople
and the Eastern Roman Empire
ceased to exist.
The Ottomans became the new masters
of the Balkan provinces,
ushering in long centuries
of rugged struggles for freedom
and independence.
In 1697 Prince Eugene of Savoy
conquered Sarajevo,
A historic city that he left burned down
and plague-infected. Although by 1717
the prince liberated Belgrade
and the Danube region from Ottoman rule,
he failed to retake the Bosnian capital.
In the 19th century Austria-Hungary
annexed Bosnia, but together with Albania,
it remains a Muslim stronghold
in the heart of Europe.
In one summer day in 1914
the driver of Archduke Franz Ferdinand
took a wrong turn to Franz Josef Street,
at the edge of the Latin Bridge in Sarajevo.
On an official visit, the heir presumptive
to the Austro-Hungarian throne was riding
in an open car along with his pregnant wife,
Sophie.
A young Serb, Gavrilo Princip, a member
of the secret Pan-Slavic Black Hand Society,
spotted them. He approached the car
and from a distance of five feet
he fired twice
his FN model pistol, shooting the Archduke
in the neck and Sophie in the abdomen.
Bleeding, but still conscious,
he pleaded her:
"Please, don't die. You must live
for the sake of our children".
But they both died
on the way to the hospital.
The assassination of the royal couple
was a main catalyst that precipitated
the outbreak of the First World War.
On July 28,1914, Austria-Hungary
declared war on Serbia.
Yugoslavia, the Kingdom of Serbs,
Croats and Slovenes,
came to existence in the Great War.
However, peace did not last long.
When Yugoslavia refused to join
Hitler's New Order in Europe,
the Luftwaffe bombed Belgrade
and Nazi Germany invaded the country.
The Fuehrer's armies occupied Sarajevo
on April 16,1941.
Bosnia and Herzegovina
as well as Croatia
became Nazi satellite states.
Fascist Bosnian Muslims,
Croatian Ustasha,
Serb Chetniks clashed with each other
or fought against
Tito's anti-fascist partisans.
The fighting was bloody and brutal.
The occupying German forces
Committed dreadful atrocities.
The Croatian Ustasha
had been especially notorious
for wanton acts of cruelty,
torturing and murdering
thousands of Serbs and Jews,
men, women and children.
During World War II
over one million Yugoslavs died.
The Federal Republic of Yugoslavia
was born out of the flames and ruins
of the Second World War.
Yet, after Tito's death
and the collapse of communism in the 1980s
the ethnic communities of the republic
wanted independence.
The Serb Communist Party leader
Slobodan Milosevic became a nationalist
and changed the Serbian constitution.
He annulled the autonomy
of the Albanian province of Kosovo
and introduced repressive measures
against ethnic Albanians.
Seeking independence,
Slovenia and Croatia in 1991
voted to secede
from the Yugoslav federation.
A year later Bosnia, too,
declared independence.
In the Yugoslav Dissolution Wars,
Slovenia gained sovereignty,
following brief skirmishes
with the federal Yugoslav People's Army.
In other parts
of the disintegrating communist republic
the tragedy of war struck
with enormous devastation,
enfolding as a long lasting conflict,
a violent catastrophe
that engulfed a large part of the Balkans
in flames.
In November 1991 Serb militias
supported by the Yugoslav Army
murdered hundreds of Croatians
in the Vukovar region.
They continued to bombard the town
for three months solid.
In December,
the Serbian Autonomous Oblast declared
its independence under the name
of the Republic of Serbian Krajina.
It controlled one third of Croatian territory
and pursued a policy of ethnic cleansing,
expelling the Croatian population
from the oblast.
But by 1993
the newly created Croatian Army
was strong enough to start an offensive
against the Serbs. The conflict escalated
into a full scale Yugoslav civil war
and entered its bloodiest phase.
In August 1995 the Croatian Army
invaded Krajina. Within a few days
more than 200,000 Serbs fled their homes.
NATO forces intervened
but supported the Croats.
They patrolled the skies and attacked
Serb surface-to-air missile radar sites.
Croatian planes raided Serbian towns
and army positions.
A dreadful nightmare
descended on the Balkans.
Croatian aircrafts bombed and strafed
Civilians, as frightened Serbs; old and young,
women and children, trying to reach safety,
had been trapped on roads
clogged with refugees.
Adding to the horrors, Bosnian Muslim troops
crossed the border into Krajina and cut off
the Serbian escape routes.
Along with the Croatian assault,
the Bosnian artillery pounded
the fleeing Serbs and burned down
Serbian villages.
Meanwhile the Serbian enclaves in Bosnia
had striven to join a greater Serbia
and engaged in ethnic cleansing.
In July 1995 Serb forces
of General Ratko Mladic
slaughtered thousands of Bosnian Muslims
in Srebrenica.
The wounds of the Second World War
had not healed yet and Yugoslavs
found themselves now fighting a new
and terrible tribal war.
They realized that peace
is precious and fragile,
that it has to be constantly nourished,
that it can never be taken for granted.
They looked back with nostalgia
to past days of tranquility.
Not very long
before the troubles started
Yugoslavia hosted
the Winter Olympic games.
The games were held in 1984
in the city of Sarajevo.
But now, eight years later,
Serbian troops encircled the Bosnian capital.
In a siege that lasted 43 months,
the nationalists cut off food supplies,
utilities and communications.
Serbian snipers shot at Sarajevans
going to work or to shop.
More than 12,000 Bosnian Muslims,
as well as Serb and Croatian residents
of the city were killed in the siege,
among them,1,500 children.
At the same time Serb nationalists
throughout Bosnia shelled and burned down
villages and towns, deported people
to detention camps and terrorized
Bosnian Muslims and Croats.
They systematically raped the women,
tortured and executed the men.
They conducted a scorched earth policy,
destroying houses, schools, roads,
bridges and railways and forced millions
of people to flee their homes.
In 1999, in the same decade
that the Rwandan genocide took place,
President Milosevic of Serbia attempted
another ethnic cleansing campaign
against the Albanian population of Kosovo.
After NATO intervened
and bombed Serbia in order to stop
the expulsion of Albanians from the province,
the returning Albanians attacked
the Serbian residents of Kosovo.
Now the former victims of ethnic cleansing
Became the perpetrators of the same crimes
against humanity. The Albanians drove out
one hundred thousand Serbs from Kosovo.
Human tragedies know neither political,
nor ethnical, nor religious frontiers.
The Serbs, Croats, Bosnians and Albanians
involved in the conflicts
of the Yugoslav Dissolution Wars
became both aggressors and victims.
Many of them committed
heinous war crimes.
Civilians, especially the women
and the children, suffered terribly
on all sides.
poem by Paul Hartal
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A Few Bad People
A few Bad People
Spoil joy with a gust of violent wind.
They haunt the world with the riddle
And exploit their dark swirling mind.
A few Bad People
Grind active souls with raw power,
Charm the world with unseen cable
And shrinks honesty with awful roar.
A few Bad People
Convert fertile terrain into barren.
Through a frozen wand of cripple
Spoil the remaining few Good men.
poem by Osman Gani
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Born with Pride
Born with pride
When she was born,
She never cried
Born with dreams
Pretty eyes open wide
Born without tears
No lies to seek or hide
Born without fears,
On her beautiful little mind
Born to live
to love to give
To suffer to loose
Everything
Born with pride
Died in vain
Agony and pain
Hurt and shame
The lady had died
Her baby was born
With no pride
And with nothing
On his side
poem by Mitwaly Osman
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After Waterloo
On the field of Waterloo we made Napoleon rue
That ever out of Elba he decided for to come,
For we finished him that day, and he had to run away,
And yield himself to Maitland on the Billy-ruffium.
`Twas a stubborn fight, no doubt, and the fortune wheeled about,
And the brave Mossoos kept coming most uncomfortable near,
And says Wellington the hero, as his hopes went down to zero,
`I wish to God that Blooker or the night was only here!'
But Blooker came at length, and we broke Napoleon's strength,
And the flower of his army--that's the old Imperial Guard -
They made a final sally, but they found they could not rally,
And at last they broke and fled, after fighting bitter hard.
Now Napoleon he had thought, when a British ship he sought,
And gave himself uncalled-for, in a manner, you might say,
He'd be treated like a king with the best of every thing,
And maybe have a palace for to live in every day.
He was treated very well, as became a noble swell,
But we couldn't leave him loose, not in Europe anywhere,
For we knew he would be making some gigantic undertaking,
While the trustful British lion was reposing in his lair.
We tried him once before near the European shore,
Having planted him in Elba, where he promised to remain,
But when he saw his chance, why, he bolted off to France,
And he made a lot of trouble--but it wouldn't do again.
Says the Prince to him, `You know, far away you'll have to go,
To a pleasant little island off the coast of Africay,
Where they tell me that the view of the ocean deep and blue,
Is remarkable extensive, and it's there you'll have to stay.'
So Napoleon wiped his eye, and he wished the Prince good-bye,
And being stony-broke, made the best of it he could,
And they kept him snugly pensioned, where his Royal Highness
mentioned,
And Napoleon Boneyparty is provided for for good.
Now of that I don't complain, but I ask and ask in vain,
Why me, a British soldier, as has lost a useful arm
Through fighting of the foe, when the trumpets ceased to blow,
Should be forced to feed the pigs on a little Surrey farm,
While him as fought with us, and created such a fuss,
And in the whole of Europe did a mighty deal of harm,
Should be kept upon a rock, like a precious fighting cock,
And be found in beer and baccy, which would suit me to a charm?
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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