But with unconquered strength wilt rise,

And vessel proud to pieces dash.

Too long, a willing slave, I have served,

Removed from thee, a sordid world;

Too long forgot with song to greet thee,

And o'er thy crested waves to waft

My verse sonorous and sincere.

'Thou didst wait, thou didst call, but a spell

My vainly struggling soul subdued;

Enchanted by a mighty passion,

I still remained from thee estranged.

But why complain? Whither now should I

My vain and aimless steps direct?

O'er thy realms of waste but one small spot

Can speak to me or stir my soul:

A tiny rock, the glorious grave

And haunt of dreams of power lost,

Remembrance bare of fallen greatness,

Where raging pined Napoleon.

'T was there he died, slow torture s victim,

And now we mourn a loss as great:

For ever hushed the song of tempest,

That crowned him lord of soul of man.

He died bewept by freedom's children,

Bequeathing them his deathless crown.

Weep, ocean, weep, shed tny stormy tears!

His sweetest songs he sang to thee.

For on his brow was stamped thine image,

He, as it were, was child of thee;

Like thee, sublime, fathomless, alone;

Like thee, unconquered. unsubdued!

The world is dull and empty - And now,

Whither, ocean, wouldst thou bring me?