The Exhumation of Napoleon

Fit tomb was St. Helena, O Napoleon, for thee!   
A barren rock, that far and lone was planted in the sea!   
The wild untainted sea-gales there could sigh above thy turf,   
And thy requiem was the moaning of the ever-plunging surf;   
No busy jar of restless life, no hurrying feet were near,           
There came the watchful stars alone, and the revolving year;—   
The scourge and dread of Europe, whose cannons’ conquering roar   
Pealed down the towering Pyrenees and rang from shore to shore,   
Whose restless and impatient heart in life could find no room,   
Had the ocean for a mourner, and an island for a tomb.

(Extract)