Page:Poems By Chauncy Hare Townshend.djvu/382
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WATERLOO.
How different now the solemn calm, that reigns,
From that, which lull'd last eve th' expectant plains!
Then apprehension thrill'd, or hope beat high,
Now all is hush'd in silent certainty.
And where is he, whose madly-daring hand
Pil'd the dread pyre, then toss'd the kindling brand?
He far away pursues his hurried flight,
Invoking all the deepest shades of night.
O greatly-fall'n, and could'st thou bear to fly,
Outcast from fame, no less than victory?
Fall'n like the avalanche, all powerless laid,
That melts amid the wrecks itself had made.
Did'st thou not seem the Prussian's shriek to hear,
And groans from Jaffa murmur'd in thine ear?
Frowning in Angel's wrath see Wright succeed,
And murder'd D'Enghien asks, "Who bade me bleed?"
Farewell! If Conscience have not lost her power,
Her frowns will darken the avenging hour.
Yes, all is o'er! Dominion, glory, fame,
Shrink in Napoleon to an empty name.
As the proud Aloe, hail'd with wondering gaze,
Towers in an age with bloom, that soon decays,
So past away his pageantry, and power,
Ripen'd thro' years, but wither'd in an hour:
And he, who climb'd thro' rapine, waste, and war,
To Fame's steep height—Chief—Consul—Emperor—
From that, which lull'd last eve th' expectant plains!
Then apprehension thrill'd, or hope beat high,
Now all is hush'd in silent certainty.
And where is he, whose madly-daring hand
Pil'd the dread pyre, then toss'd the kindling brand?
He far away pursues his hurried flight,
Invoking all the deepest shades of night.
O greatly-fall'n, and could'st thou bear to fly,
Outcast from fame, no less than victory?
Fall'n like the avalanche, all powerless laid,
That melts amid the wrecks itself had made.
Did'st thou not seem the Prussian's shriek to hear,
And groans from Jaffa murmur'd in thine ear?
Frowning in Angel's wrath see Wright succeed,
And murder'd D'Enghien asks, "Who bade me bleed?"
Farewell! If Conscience have not lost her power,
Her frowns will darken the avenging hour.
Yes, all is o'er! Dominion, glory, fame,
Shrink in Napoleon to an empty name.
As the proud Aloe, hail'd with wondering gaze,
Towers in an age with bloom, that soon decays,
So past away his pageantry, and power,
Ripen'd thro' years, but wither'd in an hour:
And he, who climb'd thro' rapine, waste, and war,
To Fame's steep height—Chief—Consul—Emperor—