100
What though his gaoler, duteous to the last,
Scarce deemed the coffin's lead could keep him fast,
Refusing one poor line[271] along the lid,
To date the birth and death of all it hid;
That name shall hallow the ignoble shore,
A talisman to all save him who bore:
The fleets that sweep before the eastern blast
Shall hear their sea-boys[272] hail it from the mast;
When Victory's Gallic column[273] shall but rise,
Like Pompey's pillar[274], in a desert's skies, 110
The rocky Isle that holds or held his dust,
Shall crown the Atlantic like the Hero's bust,
And mighty Nature o'er his obsequies
Do more than niggard Envy still denies.
What though his gaoler, duteous to the last,
Scarce deemed the coffin's lead could keep him fast,
Refusing one poor line[271] along the lid,
To date the birth and death of all it hid;
That name shall hallow the ignoble shore,
A talisman to all save him who bore:
The fleets that sweep before the eastern blast
Shall hear their sea-boys[272] hail it from the mast;
When Victory's Gallic column[273] shall but rise,
Like Pompey's pillar[274], in a desert's skies, 110
The rocky Isle that holds or held his dust,
Shall crown the Atlantic like the Hero's bust,
And mighty Nature o'er his obsequies
Do more than niggard Envy still denies.
Byron
But where is he, the modern, mightier far,
Who, born no king, made monarchs draw his car;
The new Sesostris, whose unharnessed kings,[260]
Freed from the bit, believe themselves with wings,
And spurn the dust o'er which they crawled of late,
Chained to the chariot of the Chieftain's state?
Yes! where is he, "the champion and the child"[261]
Of all that's great or little--wise or wild; 50
Whose game was Empire, and whose stakes were thrones;
Whose table Earth--whose dice were human bones?
Behold the grand result in yon lone Isle,
And, as thy nature urges--weep or smile.
Sigh to behold the Eagle's lofty rage
Reduced to nibble at his narrow cage;
Smile to survey the queller of the nations
Now daily squabbling o'er disputed rations;[dx][262]
Weep to perceive him mourning, as he dines,
O'er curtailed dishes and o'er stinted wines; 60
O'er petty quarrels upon petty things.
Is this the Man who scourged or feasted kings?
Behold the scales in which his fortune hangs,
A surgeon's[263] statement, and an earl's[264] harangues!
A bust delayed,[265]--a book[266] refused, can shake
The sleep of Him who kept the world awake.
Is this indeed the tamer of the Great,[dy]
Now slave of all could tease or irritate--
The paltry gaoler[267] and the prying spy,
The staring stranger with his note-book nigh? [268] 70
Plunged in a dungeon, he had still been great;
How low, how little was this middle state,
Between a prison and a palace, where
How few could feel for what he had to bear!
Vain his complaint,--My Lord presents his bill,
His food and wine were doled out duly still;
Vain was his sickness, never was a clime
So free from homicide--to doubt's crime;
And the stiff surgeon,[269] who maintained his cause,
Hath lost his place, and gained the world's applause. 80
But smile--though all the pangs of brain and heart
Disdain, defy, the tardy aid of art;
Though, save the few fond friends and imaged face
Of that fair boy his Sire shall ne'er embrace,
None stand by his low bed--though even the mind
Be wavering, which long awed and awes mankind:
Smile--for the fettered Eagle breaks his chain,
And higher Worlds than this are his again. [270]
IV.
How, if that soaring Spirit still retain
A conscious twilight of his blazing reign, 90
How must he smile, on looking down, to see
The little that he was and sought to be!
What though his Name a wider empire found
Than his Ambition, though with scarce a bound;
Though first in glory, deepest in reverse,
He tasted Empire's blessings and its curse;
Though kings, rejoicing in their late escape
From chains, would gladly be _their_ Tyrant's ape;
How must he smile, and turn to yon lone grave,
The proudest Sea-mark that o'ertops the wave!
100
What though his gaoler, duteous to the last,
Scarce deemed the coffin's lead could keep him fast,
Refusing one poor line[271] along the lid,
To date the birth and death of all it hid;
That name shall hallow the ignoble shore,
A talisman to all save him who bore:
The fleets that sweep before the eastern blast
Shall hear their sea-boys[272] hail it from the mast;
When Victory's Gallic column[273] shall but rise,
Like Pompey's pillar[274], in a desert's skies, 110
The rocky Isle that holds or held his dust,
Shall crown the Atlantic like the Hero's bust,
And mighty Nature o'er his obsequies
Do more than niggard Envy still denies.
But what are these to him? Can Glory's lust
Touch the freed spirit or the fettered dust?
Small care hath he of what his tomb consists;
Nought if he sleeps--nor more if he exists:
Alike the better-seeing Shade will smile
On the rude cavern[275] of the rocky isle, 120
As if his ashes found their latest home
In Rome's Pantheon or Gaul's mimic dome[276].
He wants not this; but France shall feel the want
Of this last consolation, though so scant:
Her Honour--Fame--and Faith demand his bones,
To rear above a Pyramid of thrones;
Or carried onward in the battle's van,
To form, like Guesclin's dust, her Talisman[277].
But be it as it is--the time may come
His name shall beat the alarm, like Ziska's drum[278]. 130
V.
Oh Heaven! of which he was in power a feature;
Oh Earth! of which he was a noble creature;
Thou Isle! to be remembered long and well,
That saw'st the unfledged eaglet chip his shell!
Ye Alps which viewed him in his dawning flights
Hover, the Victor of a hundred fights!
Thou Rome, who saw'st thy Caesar's deeds outdone!
Alas! why passed he too the Rubicon--
The Rubicon of Man's awakened rights,
To herd with vulgar kings and parasites? 140
Egypt!
