Song

He shines through history like a sun.
For thrice five years
He bore bright victory through the dun
King-shadowed spheres;
Proud Europe 'neath his law of might
Low-bowed the knee.
Thou, poor ape, hobble after aright,
Petit, petit!

Napoleon in the roar of fight,
Calm and serene,
Guided athwart the fiery flight
His eagle keen.
Upon Arcola bridge he trod,
And came forth free.
Come! here is gold; adore thy god,
Petit, petit!

Viennas were his lights-o-love,
He ravished them;
Blithely he seized brave heights above
By the iron hem;
Castles caught he by the curls,
His brides to be:
For thee here are the poor, pale girls.
Petit, petit!

He passed o'er mountains, deserts, plains,
Having in hand
The palm, the lightening, and the reins
Of every land;
Drunken, he tottered on the brink
Of deity.
Here is sweet blood! quick, run to the drink,
Petit, petit!

Then, when he fell, loosening the world,
The abysmal sea
Made wide here depths for him, down-hurled
By Liberty;
Th' archangel plunged from where he stood,
And earth breathed free.
Thou! drown thyself in thy own mud,
Petit, petit!