Poems about Napoleon

I hope you find it helpful: Pushkin's "Napoleon" The strange destiny is at an end, the great man's star perished, Napoleon's harsh times have sunk inexorably. Gone is the triumphant son, the tried ruler, who was banished from the world, and the time has come for future generations to rise. His blood-stained memory will long be spread over the world, and the name of the great man that sheltered thee, rests in the smoke of the vast ...... How majestic is the tomb, and on the bier where thy remains are placed, the hatred of the people is extinguished, and the light of immortality shines. How long has your eagle flown over the land of humiliation? How many kingdoms have fallen to the thunderbolt's cruelty? At the whim of the forces of destiny, with war flags wailing and plagues flowing, you have placed the yoke of tyranny on the shoulders of the children of the earth. When the world awoke from slavery, when the sun of hope shone, and the Gauls overthrew the idols of decay with angry hands, when the filthy bodies of kings lay in the squares of the riots, the great festival of the inevitable, the festival of liberty shone, and the angry people stormed, you foresaw it. The people stirred up a storm, but you foresaw the perfect opportunity, and in defiance of the people's high hopes, you scorned the whole of mankind. Believing only in destructive bliss, your fearless heart was intoxicated, seduced by despotism, you were enamored with the beauty of illusion. You pacify the changing people, quell their childish frenzy, the newborn freedom becomes mute, and suddenly loses its power. The slaves surrounded you with complacency, and fulfilling your wish for power, you twined chains with laurel leaves, and drove the militia to the battlefield. France, though glorified, forgets her great ambition, and looks with involuntary eyes on her glorious shame. Thou bring'st thy sword to the great feast, and all hail thee, and Europa's ruined, and his gloomy dream floats above his head. The giant raises his shameful face and steps on Europa's forehead, Tilsit! （Tilsit makes the proud hero's last foreign fame; peace is dull, tranquillity is cold, and the heart of the fortunate thrills again. Who has bewitched you? The madman! Who has made the wizard short-sighted? How canst thou not understand the heart of the Rus? In vain have you the courage to see far! Failing to anticipate the flames, you fantasized about our Rus' people, and hoped for a heavenly peace; and it was too late for us to realize it. Russia, warlike queen, you remember the ancient right! Extinguish, Osterlitz sun! Great Moscow, burn! Another time has come, and the short-lived shame is over! Death is our pact! Russia, pray for Moscow! He stretches out his frozen hands, grasps his iron crown, he's finished, he's finished at last, and sees the bottomless abyss before him. The snow is streaked with blood, the militia of Europe scurry away, the melting snow announces their destruction, and the enemy's tracks are dispersed. The sky boils, the storm rolls on, Europa breaks his chains, the curses of the peoples fly at the tyrant, the crusading roar thunders. The giant saw the goddess of vengeance, and the people waving their fists: "Tyrant, I will pay thee for all the grievous insults of the past. His old insatiable greed, and his surprising ferocity, were exchanged for the bitterness of exile and loneliness under foreign skies. The hot island of the prisoner is visited by sailing ships from the north, and visitors carve words of forgiveness and reconciliation on a rocky outcrop. Here, looking out over the waves, the prisoner remembered the clash of swords, the frozen pangs of the North, his French sky. He had sometimes forgotten the throne, the afterlife, and the war on the desert island, and had thought of his son alone, alone, with a sadness and sorrow in his heart. What small-minded man nowadays, willing to bear a shameful name, would utter a rash denunciation to disturb the souls of those he had deposed? Ah, his noble mission for the Russian people, to give the world eternal freedom, was the legacy of his exile. To the sea. Farewell, free-spirited sea! This is the last time you'll be before my eyes, rolling in azure waves, and glittering with beauty. Like a friend's melancholy complaint, like his parting call, I listen for the last time to the clamor of your sorrow, the clamor of your call. Thou art my heart's desire! I have often wandered along your shores, silent and bewildered, still distressed by that secret desire! How I love your echoes, your gloomy tones, your abyssal sounds, the silence of the dusk, and the capricious passions! The meek sails of fishermen, protected by thy caprice, sail bravely between the waves; but when thou art raging beyond control, the great multitude of vessels are overthrown. I have wanted to leave your lonely and motionless shores for ever, to congratulate you with ecstasy, and to let my poems run far away on your waves,- but I have not been able to do so! Thou waitest, thou callest ...... and I am bound; the struggles of my mind are in vain: I am charmed with a passion so strong as to keep me by thy shore. I am charmed by a passion so strong that I am left by your shore. ...... What is there to pity? Where now is the path to which I shall run, free from fear and green? There is one thing in thy desert, which has shocked my heart. It is a crag, a glorious tomb ...... where, in a cold sleep, are some majestic memories; where Napoleon perished. There, in the midst of his sufferings, he rests. And immediately after him, like the clamor of a storm, another genius, flew from us, another king of our thoughts. The singer who sobbed for the god of liberty vanished, and left his laurels in the world. Let the foul weather clamor, let it stir: O sea, who sang thee once. Thy image was reflected in him, and he grew in thy spirit: just like thee he was majestic, far-reaching, and gloomy, and like thee he was, and nothing could bring him to yield and surrender. The world is empty ...... O great ocean, where will you take me now? The fate of men is the same everywhere: wherever there is happiness, it has long been guarded: perhaps by enlightened sages, perhaps by tyrannical kings. Oh, farewell, sea! I'll never forget thy solemn light, and I'll long, long listen to thy blasts at twilight. My whole heart is full of thee, and I will take thy crags, thy bays, thy glimmers, thy shadows, and the babbling waves, into the forests, and into the silent desert country.