| |
| I LOVE contemplating, apart | |
| From all his homicidal glory, | |
| The traits that soften to our heart | |
| Napoleon’s story! | |
| |
| ’T was when his banners at Boulogne | 5 |
| Armed in our island every freeman, | |
| His navy chanced to capture one | |
| Poor British seaman. | |
| |
| They suffered him—I know not how— | |
| Unprisoned on the shore to roam; | 10 |
| And aye was bent his longing brow | |
| On England’s home. | |
| |
| His eye, methinks, pursued the flight | |
| Of birds to Britain half-way over | |
| With envy, they could reach the white | 15 |
| Dear cliffs of Dover. | |
| |
| A stormy midnight watch, he thought, | |
| Than this sojourn would have been dearer, | |
| If but the storm his vessel brought | |
| To England nearer. | 20 |
| |
| At last, when care had banished sleep, | |
| He saw one morning, dreaming, doating, | |
| An empty hogshead from the deep | |
| Come shoreward floating. | |
| |
| He hid it in a cave, and wrought | 25 |
| The livelong day laborious; lurking | |
| Until he launched a tiny boat | |
| By mighty working. | |
| |
| Heaven help us! ’t was a thing beyond | |
| Description wretched; such a wherry | 30 |
| Perhaps ne’er ventured on a pond | |
| Or crossed a ferry. | |
| |
| For ploughing in the salt sea-field, | |
| It would have made the boldest shudder; | |
| Untarred, uncompassed, and unkeeled, | 35 |
| No sail, no rudder. | |
| |
| From neighboring woods he interlaced | |
| His sorry skiff with wattled willows; | |
| And thus equipped he would have passed | |
| The foaming billows; | 40 |
| |
| But Frenchmen caught him on the beach, | |
| His little Argo sorely jeering; | |
| Till tidings of him chanced to reach | |
| Napoleon’s hearing. | |
| |
| With folded arms Napoleon stood, | 45 |
| Serene alike in peace and danger; | |
| And in his wonted attitude, | |
| Addressed the stranger:— | |
| |
| “Rash man that wouldst yon channel pass | |
| On twigs and staves so rudely fashioned, | 50 |
| Thy heart with some sweet British lass | |
| Must be impassioned.” | |
| |
| “I have no sweetheart,” said the lad; | |
| “But, absent long from one another, | |
| Great was the longing that I had | 55 |
| To see my mother.” | |
| |
| “And so thou shalt,” Napoleon said; | |
| “Ye ’ve both my favor fairly won; | |
| A noble mother must have bred | |
| So brave a son.” | 60 |
| |
| He gave the tar a piece of gold, | |
| And with a flag of truce commanded | |
| He should be shipped to England Old, | |
| And safely landed. | |
| |
| Our sailor oft could scantly shift | 65 |
| To find a dinner plain and hearty; | |
| But never changed the coin and gift | |
| Of Bonaparte. | |
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