From a story (which seems to be part of a serialized novel) "The Diurnal Revolutions of Davie Diddledoft, Chapter 8" by "Sir Tickelem Tender, Bart." in The London Magazine, Charivari, and Courrier Des Dames, Vol. 2, No. 8 (London: Simpkin, Marshall and Co., September, 1840), page 75:

[There are some odd spellings here, which I suppose are meant to denote Irish dialectical pronunciation.]


NAPOLEON'S FAREWELL TO PARIS.

Farewell, you splendid citadel metropolis called Paris,
    Where Phoebus every morning shoots forth refulgent beams,
Where Flora's bright Aurora, advancing from the Orient,
    With radiant light adorning the pure shining streams;
At eve when Centaur does retire, and while the ocean gilds like fire,
    And all the universe admire our marchandize and store;
Commanding Flora's fragrance the fertile fields to decorate,
    To light that royal Corsican again on the French shore!

My name's Napoleon Bonaparte, the conqueror of nations,
    I've banished Garman legions, and draw kings from their throne,
I've trampled dukes and earls and splindid congregations,
    Tho' now I am conveyed to St. Helena all alone!
Like Hannibal I've crossed the Alps, the burning sands and rocky cliffs,
    O'er Russian hills, through frost and snow, I still the laurel wore:
I'm in a desert island where the rats the devil would affright,
    Yet hope to shine in armour bright through Europe once-a more!

Some say the first of my downfall, was parting from my consort,
    To wed the Garman's daughter, och! her heart it wounded sore,
But the female train I ne'er will blame, for she did never me defame;
    They saw my swoord in battle flame, and did—a me adore;
It's now I keenly feel the rod, for meddling with the house of God;
    Its coin and goolden images by thousands off I tore;
I stole ould Malta's goolden gates, I did the work of God disgrace,
    But if he gives me time and place, to him I'll back restore!

My goolden aigles were pulled down by Wellington's allied army,
    My troops all in disorder could no longer stand the field;
I was sould that afternoon, on the 18th day of June,
    My reinforcement traitors proved, which caused me to yield;
It's I'm an allied oak, with fire and swoord I made them smoke.
    I have conquered Dutch and Danes, and surprised the Grand Signor!
Licked Austrians and Russians, both Portuguese and Prussians,
    Like Joshua, Alexander, or Caesar of yore!

And to the south of Africa and the Atlantic Ocean,
    To view the wild emotion, and Sowings of the tide;
I'm banished from the royal crown's imparial promotion,
    From the French throne of glory, to see those billows glide;
Three days I stood the plain, freedom's cause for to maintain,
    And thousands I left slain and covered in their gore,
Never fled without revinge, nor to the allied army cringed,
    But now my sword is sheathed and poor Paris is no more!