Classic Poem

His glance was fixed on power alone,
His breast was steeled to woe;
He cared not for the dying groan,
His tears could never flow:
Hard as the rock, his flinty soul
Sported with life and blood;
Impatient of the least control,
Above the world, he stood.

O'er Europe's plains he marched to slay;
He spoke — and empires fell;
Destruction's gory path his way;
His voice — a nation's knell:
Kings bent their necks beneath his rod,
And owned his iron sway;
On crowns and thrones he proudly trod,
Or threw the toys away.

" Be free, " the lying despot said, —
" Be free, " — and they were slaves;
Before him every virtue fled, —
He dug their dreary graves:
Madly he hoped to be obeyed
By realms in ruin hurled,
And 'neath his banner's awful shade
To gather in the world.