Page:Pleasant Memories.pdf/260

Receives him in the name of France,
    Receiveth whom?—The dead!
Was he not buried deep
    In island-cavern drear,
Girt by the sounding ocean surge?
    How came that sleeper here?

Was there no rest for him
    Beneath a peaceful pall,
That thus he brake his stony tomb,
    Ere the strong angel's call?
Hark! Hark! the requiem swells,
    A deep, soul-thrilling strain!
An echo, never to be heard
    By mortal ear again.

A requiem for the chief,
    Whose fiat millions slew,
The soaring eagle of the Alps,
    The crushed at Waterloo:—
The banished who returned,
    The dead who rose again,
And rode in his shroud the billows proud,
    To the sunny banks of Seine.

They laid him there in state,
    That warrior strong and bold,
The imperial crown, with jewels bright,
    Upon his ashes cold;