And thou, Napoleon, if thy mighty sword
Shall for thy people conquer new renown;
Go--Europe shall attest, thy heart preferr'd
The modest olive to the laurel crown.

But thee, lov'd chief, to new achievements bold

The aroused spirit of the soldier calls;
Speak!--and Vienna cowering shall behold
Our banners waving o'er her prostrate walls.

I received, four days afterwards, at the circle of Madame Joseph
Bonaparte, with all other visitors, a copy of these stanzas. Most of the
foreign Ambassadors were of the party, and had also a share of this
patriotic donation. Count von Cobenzl had prudently absented himself;
otherwise, this delenda of the Austrian Carthage would have been
officially announced to him.

Another poetaster, of the name of Brouet, in a long, dull, disgusting
poem, after comparing Bonaparte with all great men of antiquity, and
proving that he surpasses them all, tells his countrymen that their
Emperor is the deputy Divinity upon earth--the mirror of wisdom, a
demi-god to whom future ages will erect statues, build temples, burn
incense, fall down and adore. A proportionate share of abuse is, of
course, bestowed on your nation. He says:

A Londres on vit briller d'un eclat ephemere Le front tout radieux d'un
ministre influent; Mais pour faire palir l'etoile d'Angleterre, Un SOLEIL
tout nouveau parut au firmament, Et ce soleil du peuple franc Admire de
l'Europe entiere Sur la terre est nomme BONAPARTE LE GRAND.

For this delicate compliment Brouet was made deputy postmaster-general in
Italy, and a Knight of the Legion of Honour. It must be granted that, if
Bonaparte is fond of flattery, he does not receive it gratis, but pays
for it like a real Emperor.

It has lately become the etiquette, not only in our Court circle and
official assemblies, but even in fashionable societies of persons who
are, or wish to become, Bonaparte's public functionaries, to distribute
and have read and applauded these disinterested effusions of our poetical
geniuses. This fashion occasioned lately a curious blunder at a
tea-party in the hotel of Madame de Talleyrand. The same printer who had
been engaged by this lady had also been employed by Chenier, or some
other poet, to print a short satire against several of our literary
ladies, in which Madame de Genlis and Madame de Stael (who has just
arrived here from her exile) were, with others, very severely handled. By
mistake, a bundle of this production was given to th