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Article NAPOLEON, EUGENE LOUIS: ← Page 2 of 2
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Napoleon, Eugene Louis:
Butchered , without an arm to save , By swarthy hosts ! Ah , cruel end ! Without a comrade to defend , He finds a soldier ' s lonely grave .
Son of old England s staunch ally , With English soldiers reared and taught , For England's cause he nobly fought , In England ' s cause thus soon to die . Oh war ! can aught extenuate The reckless , guilty ordinance
That sent the noblest son of France , Then left him to his cruel fate ! Oh , England blushes deep with shame For Error ' s bloody sacrifice ; But , deeper still , that cowardice Should , sully those who bear her name !
Oh , France ! let not thy children mar The nations' grief for thy dead hope ; In thine eventful horoscope , The chastest , brightest , purest star ! Mourn France , and in thy sorrow prove
Thy magnanimity of soul ; And from the Past ' s envenomed scroll Let pity ' s tears each blot remove ! A Prince by nature as by birth , He followed Virtue ' s good old plan As Nature ' s own true
gentleman—The rarest , fairest flower on earth . Sacred to Worth , through smiles ancl tears , His life is writ on Virtue ' s page ; And o ' er the bosom of the age , Glows with the light of blameless years .
Above his love-enhallowed tomb , Where England folds his sire to rest Upon her broad , maternal breast , Shall Virtue ' s amaranthine bloom Shed fragrance through the coming time ; And memory ' s chaste , mournful spell
Relume the life of him who fell For England ' s honour , ere his prime ! # # # # # Oh , God ! encompass and defend The childless widow in her woe : On her Thy loving care bestow ; Be Thou her Comforter and Friend ! R . A . DOUGLAS LITIIQOAV .
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Napoleon, Eugene Louis:
Butchered , without an arm to save , By swarthy hosts ! Ah , cruel end ! Without a comrade to defend , He finds a soldier ' s lonely grave .
Son of old England s staunch ally , With English soldiers reared and taught , For England's cause he nobly fought , In England ' s cause thus soon to die . Oh war ! can aught extenuate The reckless , guilty ordinance
That sent the noblest son of France , Then left him to his cruel fate ! Oh , England blushes deep with shame For Error ' s bloody sacrifice ; But , deeper still , that cowardice Should , sully those who bear her name !
Oh , France ! let not thy children mar The nations' grief for thy dead hope ; In thine eventful horoscope , The chastest , brightest , purest star ! Mourn France , and in thy sorrow prove
Thy magnanimity of soul ; And from the Past ' s envenomed scroll Let pity ' s tears each blot remove ! A Prince by nature as by birth , He followed Virtue ' s good old plan As Nature ' s own true
gentleman—The rarest , fairest flower on earth . Sacred to Worth , through smiles ancl tears , His life is writ on Virtue ' s page ; And o ' er the bosom of the age , Glows with the light of blameless years .
Above his love-enhallowed tomb , Where England folds his sire to rest Upon her broad , maternal breast , Shall Virtue ' s amaranthine bloom Shed fragrance through the coming time ; And memory ' s chaste , mournful spell
Relume the life of him who fell For England ' s honour , ere his prime ! # # # # # Oh , God ! encompass and defend The childless widow in her woe : On her Thy loving care bestow ; Be Thou her Comforter and Friend ! R . A . DOUGLAS LITIIQOAV .