He was not shrouded in a shroud, He lay not like the vulgar dead, Yet all of haughty, stern, and proud From his pale brow was fled.
He had put harness on to die, The eagle-star shone on his breast, His sword lay bare his pillow nigh,-- The sword he liked the best.
But calm--most calm was all his face, A solemn smile was on his lips, His eyes were closed in pensive grace-- A most serene eclipse!
You would have said some sainted sprite Had left its passionless abode,-- Some man, whose prayer at morn and night Had duly risen to God.
What thoughts had calm'd his dying breast (For calm he died) cannot be known; Nor would I wound a warrior's rest-- Farewell, Napoleon!
No sculptured pile our hands shall rear; Thy simple sod the stream shall lave. The native Holly's leaf severe Shall grace and guard thy grave.
The Eagle stooping from the sky Shall fold his wing and rest him here, And sunwards gaze with glowing eye From Buonaparte's bier.
The Governor's residence at Gibraltar was, in days of Spanish domination, a religious house, and still retains the name of the Convent. Two sides of a long quadrangular gallery, traversing the interior of the building, are hung with portraits of officers present at the great siege in 1779-83, executed in a style which proves that Pre-Raphaelite painters existed in those days. One of these portraits represents my grandfather. To judge from a painting of him by Sir Joshua, and a small miniature likeness, both still in possession of the family, he must have been rather a good-looking old gentleman, with an affable, soldier-like air, and very respectable features. The portrait at the Convent is doubtless a strong likeness, but by no means so flattering; it represents him much as he might have appeared in life, if looked at through a cheap opera-glass. A full inch has been abstracted from his forehead and added to his chin; the bold nose has become a great promontory in the midst of the level countenance; the eyes have gained in ferocity what they have lost in speculation, and would, indeed, go far to convey a disagreeable impression of my ancestor's character, but for the inflexible smile of the mouth. Altogether, the grimness of the air, the buckram rigidity of figure, and the uncompromising hardness of his shirt-frill and the curls of his wig, are such as are to be met with in few works of art, besides the figure-heads of vessels and the sign-boards of country inns.
