O! Cherished image of my infant heir!
Thy surface does his lineaments impart:--
But ah! thou liv'st not. On this rock so bare
His living form shall never glad my heart.
My second-self! how would'st thy presence cheer
The settled sadness of thy hapless sire!
Thine infancy with tenderness I'd rear,
And thou should'st warm my age with youthful fire.
In thee, a truly glorious crown I'd find;
With thee, upon this rock a heaven should own:
Thy kiss would chase past conquests from my mind,
Which raised me demi-god on Gallia's throne.
(Signed.) NAPOLEON.
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