Poems (Hooper)/The Mask of Plaster
THE MASK OF PLASTER.Travelers at Dresden are shown a plaster cast taken from Napoleon's face immediately after death.
Thus looked the dead. Thus did Napoleon lie.
O cold imperial face!
E'en death could not erase
The majesty from that uncrowned brow,
Nor from that cold lip chase the winning smile
That lit thy features proud, as sunset's glow
Flushes with beauty some pale peak of snow,
Throned in the Alpine sky.
O cold imperial face!
E'en death could not erase
The majesty from that uncrowned brow,
Nor from that cold lip chase the winning smile
That lit thy features proud, as sunset's glow
Flushes with beauty some pale peak of snow,
Throned in the Alpine sky.
What visions passed before those fading eyes
Ere closed in death's eclipse?
When "Téte d'armée—Josephine—Ma Mère"
Dropped from the paling lips.
Thy wife's dark eyes, thy noble mother's smile,
And with those tender memories the while
Came the red battle, and th' exulting cry,
"Napoleon—Victory!"
And the bright past swept, glory-laden, by.
Ere closed in death's eclipse?
When "Téte d'armée—Josephine—Ma Mère"
Dropped from the paling lips.
Thy wife's dark eyes, thy noble mother's smile,
And with those tender memories the while
Came the red battle, and th' exulting cry,
"Napoleon—Victory!"
And the bright past swept, glory-laden, by.
Thou didst behold o'er many a field
Thy soaring eagle wave his plume,
Until the sun of Austerlitz
Went down in endless gloom—
Went down o'er Waterloo, to rise
Never again on earthly skies.
To thee there never came a dawn,
For thee there never beamed a star,
Save when thine eye prophetic pierced
The darkness, and beheld afar
The day-star of thy race arise,
As radiant as when of yore
The shadow of thy purple spread
Its mighty wings from shore to shore.
Behold! thy race upon the throne!
Thy tomb a nation's hallowed shrine!
Thy name the battle-shout of France!
Thy memory a dream divine!
But thou art sleeping, and no voice again
Will wake thee from thy slumber by the Seine;
And this pale visage only to our eyes
Reveals thy mortal guise.
Thy soaring eagle wave his plume,
Until the sun of Austerlitz
Went down in endless gloom—
Went down o'er Waterloo, to rise
Never again on earthly skies.
To thee there never came a dawn,
For thee there never beamed a star,
Save when thine eye prophetic pierced
The darkness, and beheld afar
The day-star of thy race arise,
As radiant as when of yore
The shadow of thy purple spread
Its mighty wings from shore to shore.
Behold! thy race upon the throne!
Thy tomb a nation's hallowed shrine!
Thy name the battle-shout of France!
Thy memory a dream divine!
But thou art sleeping, and no voice again
Will wake thee from thy slumber by the Seine;
And this pale visage only to our eyes
Reveals thy mortal guise.
No battle thunder swept thee to thy rest;
No hostile bullet stilled thy mighty heart.
The slow shafts of the tropic air
Played the assassin's part.
Thou, conqueror of the world, didst pass away
'Mid enemies alone!
(Thy prison a rock, thy jailer the wild sea!)
A trailing willow and a nameless stone
Were all their churlish hands could grant thy clay.
Yet not unhonored went thou to thy sleep:
The tempest shrieked thy death-knell o'er the deep.
Heaven sent its thunder for a requiem,
And thine avenger is Eternity!
No hostile bullet stilled thy mighty heart.
The slow shafts of the tropic air
Played the assassin's part.
Thou, conqueror of the world, didst pass away
'Mid enemies alone!
(Thy prison a rock, thy jailer the wild sea!)
A trailing willow and a nameless stone
Were all their churlish hands could grant thy clay.
Yet not unhonored went thou to thy sleep:
The tempest shrieked thy death-knell o'er the deep.
Heaven sent its thunder for a requiem,
And thine avenger is Eternity!