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.