You will find the song on Frank Harte's CD, 'My Name Is Napoleon Bonaparte.

ISLE OF SAINT HELENA.

Now Boney's away from his warring and fighting,
He has gone to a place, where there is naught can delight him,
He may sit there and dwell, on the glories he has seen oh,
While forlorn he will mourn, on the Isle of Saint Helena.

No more in Saint Cloud, will he appear in great splendour,
Nor come forth from the crowd, like the great Alexander,
He may look toward the East, while he thinks upon Lucana,
While his heart is full of woe, on the Isle of Saint Helena.

Now the wild rushing waves, round the shore they are washing,
And the white billows heave, on the rocks they are crashing,
He may look o'er the main, from the great Mount Diana,
But his eyes are on the waves, that surround Saint Helena.

Louisa she weeps, for her husband departed,
And she dreams while she sleeps, and awakes broken-hearted,
Not a friend to console her, in the past there were so many,
Now alone she does mourn, when she thinks on Saint Helena.

All you that have great wealth, then beware of ambition,
For its some shift fate, could soon change your condition,
And be steadfast in time, what's to come change you cannot,
Maybe your race could end, on the Isle of Saint Helena.

Oh you parliaments of England, and you Holy Alliance,
On a prisoner of war, you can now hurl defiance,
For all your base intrigue, you never could demean him,
And you exiled him to die, on the Isle of Saint Helena.

Now Boney's away from his warring and fighting,
He has gone to a place, where there is naught can delight him,
He may sit there and dwell, on the glories he has seen oh,
While forlorn he will mourn, on the Isle of Saint Helena.