George Brown <1839 John Faulkner wrote in 1969: “Almost without exception, the popular ballads about Napoleon Bonaparte display a marked degree of sympathy towards him. This is particularly significant in view of the fact that the barrage of anti-Bonaparte propaganda had reached an hysterical peak in the period that this song comes from. It is possible however, that the British commoner, shackled with Poor Laws and subjected to the oppressive onslaught of the Industrial Revolution, viewed Old Boney as a potential liberator.”
Martin & Eliza Carthy: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SjSG80IH_gE
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SjSG80IH_gE
It was over that wild beaten track a friend of that bold, bold Bonaparte Did pace the sands and the lofty rocks of St Helena’s shore, The wind blew in a hurricane, the lightning flash around did dart, Seagulls were a-shrieking and the waves around did roar. Ah hush, rude winds, the stranger cried, while I range the spot Where alas the gallant hero did his weary eyelids close. But while his valiant limbs do rest, his name will never be forgot. This grand conversation on Napoleon arose. Oh England he cried why 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 caused the money for to fly wherever he did go. Plans were arranging night and day, this bold commander to betray, He said, I’ll go to Moscow and there I’ll ease my woes. And if fortune shine without delay, then all the world shall me obey, This grand conversation on Napoleon arose. As the thousands then did rise to conquer Moscow by surprise, He led his troops across the Alps oppressed by frost and snow, And being near the Russian land, he then began to open his eyes, For Moscow was a-blazing and the men drove to and fro. Napoleon dauntless viewed the plain he wept in anguish at the same, He cried, Retreat me gallant men, our time it swiftly goes. Ah thousands died in that retreat, some were forced their horses forced to eat. This grand conversation on Napoleon arose. At Waterloo his men they fought, commanded by this Bonaparte, Attended by Field Marshall Ney, and he was bribed by gold. When Blcher led the Prussians in, it nearly broke Napoleon’s heart. He cried, my thirty thousand men are slain, and I am sold. He viewed the plains and cried, tis lost, twas then his favourite charger crossed, The plains were in confusion with blood and dying woes. The bunch of roses did advance and boldly entered into France. This grand conversation on Napoleon arose. Oh, this Bonaparte was plann’d to be a prisoner across the sea, The rocks of St Helena, oh, it was his final 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 have they been dead, the blast of war is ’round us spread, And may our shipping float again to face the daring foes. And now my boys when honour calls we’ll boldly mount those wooden walls. This grand conversation on Napoleon arose.