And bright Marengo’s star grew dim,
The conqueror of half the world,
Had none to sooth or pity him.
And he has come to view again
The hills his flashing sword hath won:
To hear the music of the main,
And note the thunder’s evening gun.
His heart is cold, his eye is dim,
His burning brand shall blaze no more;
The living world is dead to him,