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XI.

Thine evil deeds are writ in gore,

Nor written thus in vain ---

Thy triumphs tell of fame no more,

Or deepen every stain:

If thou hadst died as honour dies,

Some new Napoleon might arise,

To shame the world again ---

But who would soar the solar height,

To set in such a starless night?


XII.

Weigh'd in the balance, hero dust

Is vile as vulgar clay;

Thy scales, Mortality ! are just

To all that pass away:

But yet methought the living great

Some higher sparks should animate,

To dazzle and dismay:

Nor deem'd Contempt could thus make mirth

Of these, the Conquerors of the earth.


XIII.

And she, proud Austria's mournful flower,

Thy still imperial bride;

How bears her breast the torturing hour?

Still clings she to thy side?

Must she too bend, must she too share

Thy late repentance, long despair,

Thou throneless Homicide?

If still she loves thee, hoard that gem, ---

'Tis worth thy vanish'd diadem !


XIV.

Then haste thee to thy sullen Isle,

And gaze upon the sea;

That element may meet thy smile ---

It ne'er was ruled by thee !

Or trace with thine all idle hand

In loitering mood upon the sand

That Earth is now as free !

That Corinth's pedagogue hath now

Transferr'd his by-word to thy brow.