Empress of Earth's most polish'd clime!
Whose path of splendid care
Did touch the zenith-point of hope,
The nadir of despair,—
Here doth thy wrong'd, confiding heart
Resign its tortur'd thrill,
And slumber like the peasant's dust,
All unconcern 'd and still.
Did Love yon arch of marble rear
To mark the hallow'd ground?
And bid those Doric columns spring
With clustering roses crown'd?
Say,—did it come with gifts of peace
To deck thy couch of gloom?
- ↑ The inscription on the tomb of the Empress Josephine, erected by her children.
