The Field of Waterloo, XVII

Since live thou wilt—refuse not now Before these demagogues to bow, Late objects of thy scorn and hate, Who shall thy once imperial fate Make wordy theme of vain debate.— Or shall we say, thou stoop’st less low In seeking refuge from the foe, Against whose heart, in prosperous life, Thine hand hath ever held the knife? Such homage hath been paid By Roman and by Grecian voice, And there were honour in the choice, If it were freely made. Then safely come—in one so low,— So lost,—we cannot own a foe; Though dear experience bid us end, In thee we ne’er can hail a friend.— Come, howsoe’er—but do not hide Close in thy heart that germ of pride, Erewhile, by gifted bard espied, That “yet imperial hope;” Think not that for a fresh rebound, To raise ambition from the ground, We yield thee means or scope. In safety come—but ne’er again Hold type of independent reign; No islet calls thee lord, We leave thee no confederate band, No symbol of thy lost command, To be a dagger in the hand