I subjoin two translations of the beautiful lines written by Napoleon at St. Helena, on the portrait of his son.  The love he bore to his son was carried to enthusiasm.  According to those persons who had access to his society at St. Helena, his young heir was the continual object of his solicitude during the period of seven years, “For him alone,” he said, “I returned from the Island of Elba, and if I still form some expectations on earth, they are also for him.” He has declared to several of his suite, that he every day suffered the greatest anxiety on his account.  Since I met with these lines however, I have found that Napoleon had in his youth composed a poem on Corsica, some extracts of which are to be found in “Les Annales de l’Europe” a German collection.  He was exceedingly anxious in after life to destroy the copies of this poem which had been circulated, and bought and procured them by every means in his power for the purpose of destroying them; it is probable not a single copy is in existence at the present period.  It has been remarked, that, “it requires nothing short of the solitude of exile, and the idolatry which he manifested for his son, to inspire him once more.  In neither of the original poems is it indicated which he preferred.”

Vyvyan.

TO THE PORTRAIT OF MY SON.

  Delightful image of my much loved boy! 
    Behold his eyes, his looks, his cherub smile! 
  No more, alas! will he enkindle joy,
    Nor on some kindlier shore my woes beguile.

  My son! my darling son! wert thou but here,
    My bosom should receive thy lovely form: 
  Thou’dst soothe my gloomy hours with converse dear: 
    Serenely mild behold the lowering storm.

  I’d be the partner of thy infant cares,
    And pour instruction o’er thy expanding mind;
  Whilst in thy heart, in my declining years,
    My wearied soul should an asylum find.

  My wrongs—­my cares—­should be forgot with thee,
    My power—­imperial dignities—­renown—­
  This rock itself would be a heaven to me;
    Thine arms more cherished than the victor’s crown.

  O! in thine arms, my son!  I could forget that fame
    Shall give me, through all time, a never dying name.

(Signed.) Napoleon.

Another version is subjoined of lines, “To the Portrait of My Son.”

  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.