Howl round his nobler prisoner every hour,
How brave! to mock him now, deprived of power!
Behold, on yon lone rock the Lion bound,
Who once o'er prostrate Europe looked around;
See now, a Spaniel, yelping at the gate
Of his strong dungeon, mock his altered State.
Methinks, when dying on that lonely isle,
The sad abode of his most sad exile;
If, haply, he had touched the mournful lyre,
It breathed this "Farewell"—ere he did expire.