Page:Poems that every child should know (ed. Burt, 1904).djvu/169

Rh But she remembers thee as one

Long loved and for a season gone;

For thee her poet's lyre is wreathed,

Her marble wrought, her music breathed;

For thee she rings the birthday bells;

Of thee her babe's first lisping tells;

For thine her evening prayer is said

At palace-couch and cottage-bed;

Her soldier, closing with the foe,

Gives for thy sake a deadlier blow;

His plighted maiden, when she fears

For him the joy of her young years,

Thinks of thy fate, and checks her tears;

And she, the mother of thy boys,

Though in her eye and faded cheek

Is read the grief she will not speak,

The memory of her buried joys,

And even she who gave thee birth,

Will, by their pilgrim-circled hearth,

Talk of thy doom without a sigh;

For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's:

One of the few, the immortal names,

That were not born to die.

.

The Death of Napoleon.

was the night, yet a wilder night

Hung round the soldier's pillow;

In his bosom there waged a fiercer fight

Than the fight on the wrathful billow.