Lass wi' the twa-handed wheel/Bonaparte's Gone to St Helena

Bonaparte's gone to St. HELENA.

Now Bonney is awa’,
From his warring and fightin’
He is gone to the place
That he ne’er can delight in;
He may sit now and tell
Of the scenes he hath seen a’,
While forlorn he doth mourn
On the Isle St. Helena.

No more at St. Clouds
He’ll appear in great splendour,
Nor go forth with his crouds,
Like the Great Alexander;
He may sigh to the winds,
By the great mount Diana,
With his eyes o’er the waves
That surrounds St. Helena.

Now Lousiana weeps
For her husband departed;
She dreams while she sleeps,
And she wakes broken-hearted:
Not a friend to condole,
Even those that might, they winna;
Now she mourns while she thinks
On the Isle St. Helena.

The rude rushing waves
A’ our shores round are washing,
And the great billows heaves
A’ the wild rocks a-dashing;
He may look upon the mon,
And think on Lousiana,
With his heart full of woe,
On the Isle St. Helena.

Now you that have great wealth,
Be aware of ambition;
For some decree of fate
Soon may change your condition;
Be ye stedfast in time,
For what’s to come ye kenna;
May be, your race may end
At the Isle St. Helena.