The Fourth Book of Virgil's Aeneid and the Ninth Book of Voltaire's Henriad

 
      «—And must I die—and none avenge me dead?
      Yes, yes! I die, since fate will have it so,
      Thus, even thus, well pleas'd beneath the shades I go;
      These rising flames his cruel eye shall meet,
      A dreadful omen to attend his fleet»!
 
 
      With this they saw her falling on the sword;
      Her blood along the reeking weapon pour'd,
      Ran trickling down her hands.—Now horrid cries
      Through all the palace all the town arise—
      Fame blows the deed—loud shouts from heav'n rebound,
      And groans and yells and female shrieks resound,
      As loud and shrill as if to foes a prey,
      Carthage or ancient Tyre abandon'd lay,
      And thro' the temples and abodes of man,
      Fierce flames with undistinguish'd fury ran.
      Her sister hears the tumult of despair,
      She starts—she tears her breast, she reads her hair,
      And wildly bursting thro' the gathering crowd,
      Calls on her dying sister's name aloud:
      Dido—Dear sister—how am I betray'd!
      For this, these flames—this pyre, these shrines I made.
      Oh what complaints for me forlorn suffice!
      Could you, resolv'd to die, your friend despise,
      Was I unworthy deem'd to share your end?
      One pang our souls should free, one fate attend.
      I call'd our gods—my hands these rites prepar'd;
      You go without me, and our fate unshar'd?
      Oh, sister! this sad deed has ruin'd all;
      With you, your state, your friends, your sister fall.
      —But pour the stream—I'll wash the blood away,
      And if some ling'ring breath of life delay,
      These lips shall catch it.—On the pyre she prest
      Her sister, just expiring, to her breast;
      She wip'd the blood—and Dido heard her cries,
      And strove to raise in rain her languid eyes,
      They clos'd again,—and babbling in the wound
      The frothy blood hiss'd forth a horrid sound.
      Thrice on her hand she lean'd to raise her head,
      And thrice sank down unable on her bed;
      Her eyes half fix'd, she open'd to the day,
      And groan'd that stil they felt the vivid ray.
      Till Juno who beheld her ling'ring death,
      The painful agony of parting breath,
      Sent Iris down in pity from the sky,
      To free her soul, and loose the stubborn tye.
      For since unclaim'd by Fate, before her day,
      She fell to love forlorn a guiltless prey,
    } To cut the tress, the queen of night delay'd,
    } The flaxen hair that on her forehead stray'd,
    } Nor yet consign'd her to the Stygian shade.
 
 
      Then Iris, going from the sunbeam drew
      A thousand colours, varying as she flew;
      Her dewy wing in liquid azure spread,
      Dropt down the sky, and hov'ring o'er her head
      «Pluto, this fated lock I bear to thee,
      And from this body set the spirit free»,
      She said—Her fingers cut the flaxen hair,
      The heat dissolv'd—the soul exhal'd in air.
 

* * * * *

THE HENRIAD

CANTO IX

ARGUMENT

Description of the Palace of Love.—Discord implores his aid to bend the unconquerable courage of Henry IV.—Description of Gabrielle d'Etree. Henry, passionately enamoured with her; quits his army, and loses the advantages of his victory at Ivry. Mornay seeks him in his retreat, tears him from the arms of his mistress, and restores him to his army.

 
      WHERE fam'd Idalia's happy plains extend,
      As Europe's bounds begin and Asia's end,
      Stands an old palace, long by time rever'd;
      The first rude plan the hand of nature rear'd;
      But soon, disdaining Nature's simple taste,
      Intruding art the modest fabric grac'd.
 
 
      There vernal breezes fann'd the myrtle shade,
      Soft odour breath'd, and beams unclouded play'd.
      No tyrant winter e'er despoil'd the grove,
      Bid feather'd warblers end the note of love,
      Or bound the murm'ring rill in icy chains.
      Eternal verdure crown'd the blissful plains;
      No labour Earth requir'd, no season knew,
      Unbid by man her smiling harvest grew;
      Round mellow fruit, the timid blossom twin'd,
      Gay Flora's bloom to rich Pomona join'd.
 
 
      Not wanton Nature when her reign began,
      Such blessings lavish'd on her fav'rite man;
      The thoughtless joy which from abundance flows,
      Days without care, and nights of calm repose:
      All to delude the mind, to charm the sense,
      All Eden e'er could boast,—but innocence.
 
 
      Sweet music wafted on the balmy breeze,
      Invited languor and voluptuous ease,
      While am'rous lays in dulcet note proclaim
      The lovers triumph, and the fair one's shame.
      There to the laughing god in flow'rs array'd,
      The graceful throng their daily homage paid;
      There in his temple learn'd the fatal art,
      To please, seduce, and captivate the heart.
      Young Hope, in flatt'ring smiles for ever gay,
      To Love's mysterious altar leads the way:
      The graces round, half veil'd and half in sight,
      Enticing motion with their voice unite;
      While Indolence, luxurious laid along,
      Listless and loit'ring, hears the tender song.
      There, silent Myst'ry, with the veil she wears,
      And eyes conversing with the soul, appears,
      Attentive tender cares, attracting smiles,
      Gay sport and mirth, and all that thought beguiles.
      Lascivious pleasures group'd with wanton ease;
      And soft desires that more than pleasure please.
 
 
      Such the delightful entrance of the dome:
      But onward if with guardless step you roam,
      And thro' the deep recess audacious pry,
      What alter'd scenes of horror strike your eye!
      No pleasures form'd in playful groupes invite,
      No dulcet sounds the ravish'd ear delight;
      No tender cares:– But in their place appear,
      Sullen Complaint, and cloy'd Disgust, and Fear;
      There, fever'd Jealousy with livid hue,
      And falt'ring steps unwinds Suspicion's clew;
      Arm'd with the blood-stain'd instruments of death,
      There, Rage and Hatred spread their poison'd breath;
      While Malice, brooding over secret guile,
      Repays their labour with a treach'rous smile;
      Remorse, that never sleeps, brings up the rear,
      Hates his own deed, and drops a barren tear.
      There, Love, capricious child, had chose to reign,
      And pains and pleasures were his motely train;
      Cruel and kind by turns, but ever blind,
      The dear delight, the torment of mankind,
      Thro' ev'ry camp, thro' ev'ry senate glides,
      Commands the warrior, o'er the judge presides;
      Still welcome to the heart, he still deceives,
      Pants in each bosom, thro' all nature lives.
 
 
      High on a throne of endless conquest vain,
      Love bids the monarch drag his servile chain;
      And glorying less to please, than to destroy,
      In scenes of woe exults with savage joy.
 
 
      Him, Discord sought, by Rage relentless led,
      The timid pleasures knew the fiend and fled;
      Her eyes were fire, fresh blood her forehead dy'd,
      Around she whirl'd her flaming torch, and cry'd:
      «Why sleeps my brother o'er the poison'd dart?
      His pow'r forgetting o'er the human heart?
      Did ever Love the flames of Discord waft,
      Or Discord's venom tinge Love's deadly shaft?
      Did I for Love, bid madd'ning worlds engage?
      Rise then—avenge my insult, serve my rage;
      Behold a conqu'ring king my pow'r defy!
      Crush'd by his hand, behold my serpents die!
      See dove-ey'd Mercy smiling by his side,
      Thro' fields of civil rage his faithful guide;
      See to his standard ev'ry heart return,
      While I my falling empire vainly mourn:
      Let him, with her, obtain one conquest more,
      Paris is his, and Discord's reign is o'er:
      Her smiles will gild the triumph which he gains,
      Then what is left for me but hopeless chains!
      But Love shall wind this torrent from its course,
      And soil his glories in their limpid sourse;
      Spite of the virtues which adorn his mind,
      In am'rous chains that haughty spirit bind.
      Can you forget what heroes once you charm'd,
      Whom at her feet fair Omphale disarm'd?
      Whose purple sail before Augustus flew,
      Who lost the world for Egypt's queen and you?
      To these proud trophies Henry's name unite,
      Beneath your myrtle all his laurels blight:
      You serve yourself, when you my throne maintain,
      For Lore and Discord must together reign».
      So spoke the monster, and the vault around
      Trembling, threw back on Earth the deadly sound.
 
 
      Love heard, and answ'ring with a doubtful smile,
      Where half was sweetness, half insidious guile,
      His golden quiver o'er his shoulder threw,
      And gliding soft thro' yielding azure flew.
      Pleasure, the graces, and unthinking sport,
      Born by the Zephyr, were his wanton court.
 
 
      Pois'd on his even wing, he look'd with joy
      On Simois, and the plain where once was Troy;
      A smile the triumph of his heart betray'd,
      To view the mighty ruin Love had made.
      On Venice, long were bent his partial eyes,
      Thro' the blue main where gilded domes arise:
      Old Neptune saw them pierce the curling wave,
      Own'd the audacious conquest,—and forgave.
      To fam'd Sicilia next his flight he bends,
      Stoops on the purple pinion, and descends
      Where he himself inspir'd the Mantuan swain,
      And taught Theocritus his tender strain;
      There, Fame reports, by ways unknown, he led
      The am'rous stream to Arethusa's bed.
      Then on the downy sail he sought Vaucluse,
      Retreat of Petrarch's love and Petrarch's muse;
      Fond Echo yet remember's Laura's name;
      And what she gave in love repays in fame.
      Eure's winding shores his fond attention draw,
      Where Love's own work, Anet's proud dome he saw;
      The fretted ceiling, Henry's cypher grac'd,
      By Love himself with fair Diana's plac'd.
      The graces dropt a crystal tear, and threw
      Around her urn fresh roses as they flew.
 
 
      His wing at length on Ivry's plain he clos'd,
      Where Bourbon's thunder for a lime repos'd;
      But while the native of the wood he chas'd,
      The manly sport war's dreadful image trac'd.
      Love spread his chains, and sharp'ning ev'ry dart,
      Inhuman pleasure bounded in his heart.
 
 
      «Arise ye winds,» he cried, «the storm prepare,
      Collect the pregnant clouds, and dim the air;
      The hanging torrent from their bosom pour,
      Bid forked lightening fly, and thunders roar».
      Too soon the blust'ring slaves his will obey'd
      Their dusky pinions spread a moving shade;
    } O'er the bright scene, dark low'ring mist they drove,
    } The languid beam with night usurping strove,
    } Pale Nature wept the change and knew the work of Love.
 
 
      Benighted and alone, the king pursu'd
      A light that glimmer'd thro' the distant wood:
      Love whirl'd his torch, and cast the treach'rous ray,
      Like earth-born vapours glitt'ring to betray:
      Which lead the trav'ller to the fatal brink,
      Then leave him to his wretched doom and link.
 
 
      Fate so decreed it—in this lonely spot,
      Retreat and calm, a noble fair one sought;
      Far from the tumult of contending arms,
      A solitary castle hid her charms,
      Her tender form from all mankind conceal'd,
      While war detain'd her father in the field.
      But while his sov'reign's toil the vet'ren shar'd,
      His lovely child the fost'ring graces rear'd.
      D'Etree (that name the favour'd mortal bore),
      Of ev'ry, charm exhausted Nature's store.
      Not on Eurota's bank, so beauteous shone
      The faithless partner of the Spartan throne;
      Not she who conquer'd, whom the world obey'd,
      On Cydnus when in pomp of charms array'd,
      Mortals deceiv'd, in awful rapture gaz'd,
      And incense to the present goddess blaz'd.
      Scarce had she gain'd the charming dang'rous years,
      A pow'r too sure, when rising passion bears.
      Pure as heav'ns image in the crystal deep,
      Ere clouds arise, when wanton zephyrs sleep,
      Her breast for love and gen'rous feeling form'd,
      No sigh had heav'd, no tender passion warm'd.
 
 
      In vain the treasures of the budding rose,
      From am'rous gales their modest folds enclose;
      As vernal suns each timid charm display,
      They yield, and blushing, own the genial ray.
 
 
      Love, treacherous god, still fertile in deceit,
      Long sought the maid, yet seem'd by chance to meet.
      A shepherd's boy he came, in outward shew,
      His back no quiver bore, his hand no bow:
      Careless he cried,—but so that she might hear,
      «See Ivry's hero thro' our grove appear!
      See Henry comes!» The voice of Love conveys
      A secret wish to see him, and to please:
      A conscious blush diffus'd a livelier hue,
      Love felt the charm, and glory'd in the view.
      Sure of his triumph with such beauty's aid,
      Full in the monarch's sight he plac'd the maid.
      Around her dress he threw that careless air,
      It seem'd what Nature's self would choose to wear;
      Her auburn locks in easy tresses play'd,
      Now hid her snowy neck, and now betray'd;
      No muse can paint what playful zephyr show'd,
      Nor tell the charm that modesty bestow'd:
      Not the stiff airs that prudish virtue arm,
      The foes of love, the bane of ev'ry charm:
      Sweet, bashful grace, that bends the timid eye,
      Spreads o'er the glowing cheek a heav'nly dye,
      With soft respect extatic rapture blends,
      And heavn's pure bliss to Love triumphant lends.
 
 
      But Love does more: for Love what pow'r can bound?
      A charm invincible he calls around,
      Their tender boughs enchanted myrtles spread,
      Rise thro' the earth and wave their taper head:
      Deluded mortals seek the tempting shades,
      The secret charm their languid sense invades,
      Around, a stream in lulling manner flows,
      Of deep forgetfulness, of soft repose;
      Bound in the chain no more they seek to move;
      Fame, honor, duty, what are you to Love?
      Here all alike the sweet delusion share,
      And breathe delicious poison with the air.
      All whispers love, the birds on ev'ry spray
      Prolong the kiss, and swell the am'rous lay;
      The hardy swain, who with the peep of dawn,
      Jocund and careless sought the russet lawn,