"On to the struggle! we shall gain
Adherents to our patriot cause;
Shake off the exile's hated name,
And abrogate the despot's laws.
"Insulted, wrong'd, and robb'd of all,
My feelings scarce could brook my fate;
But I will gain my crown or fall
Before degraded Naples' gate!"
Midnight descended on Calabria's coast,
And Murat's little fleet wore sailing there;
No peering moon lit up the lonely sea,
But all was sable as his wayward fate.
A storm dispers'd them, and Sardinia's isle
Receiv'd the bark that held the hapless king,
And morn beheld it on the main again;
But far apart his faithful followers.
Calabria's beach was gain'd; where Murat stood
Amidst the dastard throng that hemm'd him round,
With heart of adamant, and eye of fire.
There is a majesty in kingly hearts
Which changing time nor fickle fate can quell:
He stood--reveal'd from his own lips, "The King
Of fallen Naples." At those stirring words
A hundred swords unsheath'd; for on his head
A princely price was set, and flight he scorn'd;
For grasp'd his hand the well-accustom'd blade;
And _vainly_ fought--
* * * * *
His hour is come! behold the dauntless man
Baring his bosom to the stern platoon:
And parted friends, and pardon'd enemies,
Relinquish'd glory, and forgotten scorn,
Are naught to him--but o'er his war-worn face
A momentary gleam of passion flits--
To think _that he who wore that diadem
The second Caesar placed upon his brows_,
(No cold inheritance of legal right,
But truly bought by bravery and blood.
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