THE GRAND CONVERSATION ON NAPOLEON

It was over that wild beaten track, a friend of bold Bonaparte,
Did pace the sands and lofty rocks of St Helena's shore.
The wind it blew a hurricane, the lightning's flash around did dart,
The sea gulls were shrieking, and the waves around did roar.
Ah! hush, rude winds the stranger cried awhile I range the dreary spot,
Where last a gallant hero his envied eyes did close.
But while his valiant limbs do rot, his name will never be forgot,
This grand conversation on Napoleon arose.

Ah England! he cried, you did persecute that hero bold,
Much better had you slain him on the plains of Waterloo;
Napoleon he was a friend to heroes all, both young and old,
He caused the money for to fly wherever he did go.
When plans were ranging night and day, the bold commander to betray,
He cried, "I'll go to Moscow, and then 'twill ease my woes,
If fortune shines without delay, then all the world shall me obey;"
This grand conversation on Napoleon arose.

Thousands of men he then did rise, to conquer Moscow by surprise,
He led his men across the Alps, oppressed by frost and snow,
But being near the Russian land, he then began to open his eyes,
For Moscow was a-burning and the men drove to and fro.
Napoleon dauntless viewed the flame, and wept in anguish for the same,
He cried, "retreat my gallant men, for time so swiftly goes;"
What thousands died on that retreat, some forced their horses for to eat;
This grand conversation on Napoleon arose.

At Waterloo his men they fought, commanded by great Bonaparte,
Attended by field-marshal Ney, and he was bribed with gold;
When Blücher led the Prussians in, it nearly broke Napoleon's heart,
He cried, "my thirty thousand men are killed, and I am sold."
He viewed the plain, and cried "it's lost", he then his favourite charger crossed,
The plain was in confusion with blood and dying woes.
The bunch of roses did advance, and boldly entered into France —
This grand conversation on Napoleon arose.

But Bonaparte was planned to be a prisoner across the sea
The rocks of St Helena, it was the fatal spot,
And as a prisoner there to be, till death did end his misery.
His son soon followed to the tomb, it was an awful plot.
And long enough they have been dead, the blast of war is round us spread,
And may our shipping float again, to face the daring foe;
And now my boys when honour calls, we'll boldly mount the wooden walls;
This grand conversation on Napoleon did close.

Transcribed by Terry Moylan from the singing of Tom Phaidín Tom and published in The Age of Revolution in The Irish Song Tradition