From a broadside in the Bodleian collection, Harding B 11(253):


THE GRAND CONVERSATION ON NAPOLEON
George Brown

1. It was over that wild beaten track a friend of bold Buonaparte
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 whilst his valued limbs do rot, his name will never be forgot,
This grand conversation on Napoleon arose.

2. Ah England! he cried, did you 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 caus'd the money for to fly wherever he did go;
When plans were ranging night and day that 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.

3. That thousands of men he then did raise, to conquer Moscow by surprise,
He led his men across the Alps oppress'd 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.

4. At Waterloo his men they fought, commanded by great Buonaparte,
Attended by field-marshal Ney, and he was bribed by gold,
When Blucher led the Russians in, it nearly broke Napoleon's heart,
He cried my thirty thousand men are kill'd, and I am sold;
He view'd the plain and cried it's lost, he then his favourite charger cross'd,
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.

5. Then Buonaparte was plann'd to be a prisoner across the sea,
The rocks of St. Helena, it was the fatal spot,
Doom'd as a prisoner there to be till death did end his misery,
His son soon followed to the tomb, it was an awful plot,
It's long enough have they been dead, the blast of war around is spread,
And may our shipping float again to face the daring foes,
And now, my boys, when honours call we'll boldly mount the wooden walls,
The grand conversation on Napoleon arose.