Lass wi' the twa-handed wheel/Bonaparte's Gone to St Helena

Bonaparte's gone to St. HELENA.

Now Bonney is awa’,
⁠From his warring and fightin’
He is gone to the place
⁠That he ne’er can delight in;
He may sit now and tell
⁠Of the scenes he hath seen a’,
While forlorn he doth mourn
⁠On the Isle St. Helena.

No more at St. Clouds
⁠He’ll appear in great splendour,
Nor go forth with his crouds,
⁠Like the Great Alexander;
He may sigh to the winds,
⁠By the great mount Diana,
With his eyes o’er the waves
⁠That surrounds St. Helena.

Now Lousiana weeps
⁠For her husband departed;
She dreams while she sleeps,
⁠And she wakes broken-hearted:
Not a friend to condole,
⁠Even those that might, they winna;
Now she mourns while she thinks
⁠On the Isle St. Helena.

The rude rushing waves
⁠A’ our shores round are washing,
And the great billows heaves
⁠A’ the wild rocks a-dashing;
He may look upon the mon,
⁠And think on Lousiana,
With his heart full of woe,
⁠On the Isle St. Helena.

Now you that have great wealth,
⁠Be aware of ambition;
For some decree of fate
⁠Soon may change your condition;
Be ye stedfast in time,
⁠For what’s to come ye kenna;
May be, your race may end
⁠At the Isle St. Helena.