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

 
      Heaves as he goes involuntary sighs;
      Unusual troubles in his breast arise,
      Beat in his pulse, his loit'ring feet retain;
      Neglected lye the treasures of the plain:
      The same soft charm the trembling maid deceives,
      The herd forgot, the sheaf unbound she leaves.
      How could d'Etree with such a pow'r contest!
      A god invincible her soul possest.
      In vain, alas! that fatal day she strove,
      With youth, with glory, with her heart and love.
      In rain a rising voice in Henry's breast,
      Back to his ranks the love-lost hero prest;
      A pow'r unseen repell'd the gen'rous thought,
      His virtue vainly in himself he sought;
      His soul empassion'd, deaf to honor's call,
      Could hear but love, d'Etree possess'd it all.
 
 
      Meanwhile his chiefs, impatient on the plain,
      His absence mourn'd, and sought their king in vain;
      A thousand dangers for his life appear'd,
      For Henry's fame what danger could be fear'd?
      No hope of victory the troops inspir'd,
      Lost was their ardor when their chief retir'd.
      Still the good genius of the realm was near,
      To cheer their courage, to dispel their fear.
      Summon'd by Lewis, from the realm of light
      Downward the spirit shap'd his rapid flight,
      Around this earthly planet cast his eyes,
      To find below a mortal truly wise.
      Not in the noisy school, or silent cell
      Where pray'r, and meagre fast, and study dwell;
      Amid the tumult of the martial train,
      With rest and conquest flush'd, on Ivry's plain,
      Where Calvin's banners to the sky were rear'd,
      The man he sought, the real sage appear'd:
      Mornay was he.—Heav'n form'd the man, to show
      That Reason's light may guide us here below;
      Plato her voice, and good Aurelius heard,
      She led the Pagan right, when Christian's err'd.
 
 
      Such modest candour temper'd manly sense,
      When Mornay censur'd, none could take offense;
      For truth by him, in winning form convey'd,
      Was but the virtue which his life display'd.
      Still lean'd his heart the faults of men to bear,
      While reason told him, all men had their share;
      But mid surrounding vices ever pure,
      Nor ease nor pleasure could his soul allure.
      As thro' the bosom of the briny tide,
      Thy limpid waters Arethusa glide,
      And yet unsully'd by the neighb'ring deep,
      Unmix'd and pure their spotless tenor keep.
 
 
      By friendship guided, gen'rous Mornay came
      Where loiter'd Henry, mindless of his fame;
      The artful god prolong'd the am'rous trance,
      And in her hero rul'd the fate of France.
      No sameness there the varied bliss destroy'd,
      No languor chill'd, no forward pleasure cloy'd;
      Each wish attain'd, another wish inspires;
      Each new enjoyment led to new desires:
      Such vary'd ways to please, love taught d'Etree,
      Nor time nor habit stole one charm away.
      The god with anger blushing as he view'd
      Mornay and wisdom on his reign intrude:
      Turn'd with revengeful instinct to his dart,
      And aim'd the deadly shaft at Mornay's heart.
      His anger and his arms the sage defy'd,
      His breast the bounding arrow turn'd aside:
      Impatient for the monarch's lonely hour,
      He rov'd indignant thro' th' enchanted bow'r.
 
 
      Where silver streams a myrtle grove inclose,
      The veil that timid love and mystry chose,
      With all her charms d'Etree her lover blest:
      Now flames consume, now languor fills his breast;
      Soft drops of pleasure glisten'd in their eyes,
      Voluptuous tear that love knows how to prize;
      No coy reserve the burning bliss restrain'd,
      Fond passion, prodigal of pleasure, reign'd;
      While Love's mute eloquence their lips employ,
      Short sighs and gentle murmurs speak their joy:
      Their panting hearts with glowing transport swell,
      Which love alone inspires, alone can tell.
 
 
      Young pleasures sporting in luxurious ease,
      And infant Cupid's on his amour seize;
      Some dragg'd the bloody cuirass o'er the ground,
      Or from his thigh, the pond'rous blade unbound;
      Some from the casque the crystal torrent pour'd,
      To wash the crimson spot that stain'd the sword,
      And laugh as in their feeble hand they wield
      The crown's support, the terror of the field.
      Discord, who view'd him with insulting spite,
      In savage accents utter'd fierce delight;
      Rous'd up the league, the happy moment prest,
      Reviv'd her serpents drooping in her breast;
      And while the monarch languished in repose,
      Blew the shrill blast, that gathered all his foes.
 
 
      A conscious blush on Henry's forehead glow'd
      As Mornay met him in the soft abode:
      Silent at first, the mutual look they fear'd,
      But in that silence all the mind appear'd:
      And Mornay's eye to Henry's soul convey'd,
      How wide from virtue and from fame he stray'd.
 
 
      The gentlest touch of blame we scarce endure,
      How oft we loose the friend we mean to cure;
      But Henry thus:—«My friend, be ever dear,
      Who speaks of virtue most be welcome here;
      Come to my heart, which yet for glory burns;
      My fame, my spirit, with my friend returns;
      Away the sweets of vile ignoble rest!
      The soft delusion which my soul possest!
      Far be the slave enamour'd of his chains;
      The last great conquest o'er myself remains:
      Glory beams forth—and love no more shall sway.
      The blood of Spain shall wash the stain away».
 
 
      «There», Mornay cried,« the monarch's voice I own;
      There spoke the guardian of the Gallic throne:
      Love thus subdu'd, adds lustre to your state;
      Blest who ne'er feels it,—but who conquers, great».
 
 
      As Henry's lip pronounc'd the last forewel,
      What advers passions in his soul rebel?
      Full of the beauty he adores and flies,
      He blames the tear, yet tears still fill his eyes:
      Now Mornay calls, now tender love retains;
      He goes, returns, and going still remains:
      But when she languish'd in his last embrace,
      Colour and life forsook her lovely face,
      A sudden night obsur'd her radiant eyes:
      The God beheld—air echo'd with his cries;
      He trembled that the envious shades of night
      Should rob his empire of a nymph so bright,
      And quench for ever 'mid th' unfeeling dead,
      The flame those heav'nly eyes were form'd to spread;
      He prest the drooping beauty in his arms;
      With gentle sound recall'd her faded charms;
      Her eyes half open'd, sought her love in vain,
      His name she sigh'd, and dropp'd their lids again.
      To life, to love, the god recall'd the fair,
      And bid young Hope repeat the tender pray'r.
      But Mornay's soul, nor grief, nor beauty move,
      Virtue and glory triumph over love:
      The vanquish'd God, with sullen shame withdrew,
      And far from Anet's domes indignant flew.
 

FINIS