A NOON-DAY DREAM.
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Her hand rests on her couchant lion's mane, Her Saxon sons around her brave and free.Great England stands in classic marble chains Beneath a flood of sunshine full and fair,What if her hands are dark with bloody stains! A royal crown shines grandly in her hair.
SECOND.
IX.
From a high and rocky steep,Royal eyes that sadly weep Over forest, glade and fell, Mournful, taking their last farewell.Regal houses, fallen down,Ruined ermine, broken crown, Through misfortune's shadowed door Floats the Last Sigh of The Moor.
X.
A hero from an age now dead,Who bound upon his lordly head The brightest chaplet of renown, And proudly wore the well-earned crown,In stolid grandeur—now I seeNapoleon—man of destiny!
