Footnotes

[665:1] See Pope, page [339].


[[666]]

LEONARD HEATH.

On a lone barren isle, where the wild roaring billows

Assail the stern rock, and the loud tempests rave,

The hero lies still, while the dew-drooping willows,

Like fond weeping mourners, lean over his grave.

The lightnings may flash and the loud thunders rattle;

He heeds not, he hears not, he 's free from all pain;

He sleeps his last sleep, he has fought his last battle;

No sound can awake him to glory again![666:1]

The Grave of Bonaparte.

Yet spirit immortal, the tomb cannot bind thee,

But like thine own eagle that soars to the sun

Thou springest from bondage and leavest behind thee

A name which before thee no mortal hath won.

Tho' nations may combat, and war's thunders rattle,

No more on thy steed wilt thou sweep o'er the plain:

Thou sleep'st thy last sleep, thou hast fought thy last battle,

No sound can awake thee to glory again.

The Grave of Bonaparte.