Posts Tagged ‘Napoleon’


He was a devil wanting Satan’s throne,
With failed Napoleon’s heart, to rule the world,
And was so arrogant he thought his own
One land could stand against all forces hurled. 

A power peacock, nation bully, beast,
Who thought himself and kind superior.
He proved to all instead to be the least,
Since mark of men is they can shed a tear. 

Against a hist’ry lesson that he knew,
He sought a second front against the Russian bear,
And greedy, bit off more than he could chew,
And choked to death upon that frozen fare. 

The world remembers him as bloody ghoul,
But Adolf Hitler lived and died a fool.


© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2017.



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……………..Each And All

Little thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked clown
Of thee from the hill-top looking down;
The heifer that lows in the upland farm,
Far-heard, lows not thine ear to charm;
The sexton, tolling his bell at noon,
Deems not that great Napoleon
Stops his horse, and lists with delight,
Whilst his files sweep round yon Alpine height;
Nor knowest thou what argument
Thy life to thy neighbor’s creed has lent.
All are needed by each one;
Nothing is fair or good alone.
I thought the sparrow’s note from heaven,
Singing at dawn on the alder bough;
I brought him home, in his nest, at even;
He sings the song, but it cheers not now,
For I did not bring home the river and sky; –
He sang to my ear, – they sang to my eye.
The delicate shells lay on the shore;
The bubbles of the latest wave
Fresh pearls to their enamel gave,
And the bellowing of the savage sea
Greeted their safe escape to me.
I wiped away the weeds and foam,
I fetched my sea-born treasures home;
But the poor, unsightly, noisome things
Had left their beauty on the shore
With the sun and the sand and the wild uproar.
The lover watched his graceful maid,
As ‘mid the virgin train she strayed,
Nor knew her beauty’s best attire
Was woven still by the snow-white choir.
At last she came to his hermitage,
Like the bird from the woodlands to the cage: –
The gay enchantment was undone,
A gentle wife, but fairy none.
Then I said, “I covet truth;
Beauty is unripe, childhood’s cheat;
I leave it behind with the games of youth:” –
As I spoke, beneath my feet
The ground-pine curled its pretty wreath,
Running over the club-moss burrs;
I inhaled the violet’s breath;
Around me stood the oaks and firs;
Pine-cones and acorns lay on the ground;
Over me soared the eternal sky,
Full of light and of deity;
Again I saw, again I heard,
The rolling river, the morning bird, –
Beauty through my senses stole;
I yielded myself to the perfect whole.

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                   The Greatest

One champion stands as tallest of the tall
(Not Alexander or Napoleon) –
Who conquers self is greatest of them all. 

His name should go on ev’ry trophy, wall.
He rules himself; his anger does not run.
One champion stands as tallest of the tall. 

If Adam had control, there’d be no Fall.
And man would be in Eden still as one.
Who conquers self is greatest of them all. 

Man does not wear a chain or drag a ball
When all his inner battles he has won.
One champion stands as tallest of the tall. 

Some may be kings, but cannot wait, as Saul;
Some may wear weight of worry by the ton.
Who conquers self is greatest of them all. 

He is not slave to self or sinful call.
His glory is the glory of the sun.
One champion stands as tallest of the tall –
Who conquers self is greatest of them all. 


5th stanza, Saul – I Sam.15:8-14


© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2014.















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Post of Malta. Stamp 1998. Napoleon Bonaparte

Post of Malta. Stamp 1998. Napoleon Bonaparte (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Feelings Of A Republican On The Fall Of Bonaparte

I hated thee, fallen tyrant!  I did groan
    To think that a most unambitious slave,
    Like thou, should dance and revel on the grave
 Of Liberty.  Thou mightst have built thy throne
 Where it had stood even now: thou didst prefer
    A frail and bloody pomp, which Time has swept
 In fragments towards oblivion.  Massacre,
    For this, I prayed, would on thy sleep have crept,
 Treason and Slavery, Rapine, Fear, and Lust,
    And stifled thee their minister.  I know
 Too late, since thou and France are in the dust,
    That Virtue owns a more eternal foe
 Than Force or Fraud: old Custom, Legal Crime,
 And bloody Faith, the foulest birth of Time.

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The storming of the citadel of Ratisbon in 180...

   Incident Of The French Camp

You know, we French stormed Ratisbon:
   A mile or so away,
On a little mound, Napoleon
   Stood on our storming-day;
With neck out-thrust, you fancy how,
   Legs wide, arms locked behind,
As if to balance the prone brow,
   Oppressive with its mind.

Just as perhaps he mused, “My plans
   That soar, to earth may fall,
Let once my army-leader Lannes
   Waver at yonder wall,” –
Out ‘twist the battery-smokes there flew
   A rider, bound on bound
Full-galloping; nor bridle drew
   Until he reached the mound.

Then off there flung in smiling joy,
   And held himself erect
By just his horse’s mane, a boy:
   You hardly could suspect –
(So tight he kept his lips compressed,
   Scarce any blood came through)
You looked twice ere you saw his breast
   Was all but shot in two.

“Well,” cried he, “Emperor, by God’s grace
   We’ve got you Ratisbon!
The Marshal’s in the market-place,
   And you’ll be there anon
To see your flag-bird flap his vans
   Where I, to heart’s desire,
Perched him!” The chief’s eye flashed; his plans
   Soared up again like fire.

The chief’s eye flashed; but presently
   Softened itself, as sheathes
 A film the mother-eagle’s eye
   When her bruised eaglet breathes;
“You’re wounded!” “Nay,” his soldier’s pride
   Touched to the quick, he said:
“I’m killed, Sire!” And his chief beside;
   Smiling the boy fell dead.

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