Ferney: An Epistle to Monsieur de Voltaire
Fist printed in the year M.DCC.LXVIII
Keate paints a romantic picture of Ferney as the place that inspires Voltaire's theatrical creations. The middle section of the poem is dedicated to evocations of his tragedies. Both the opening and the conclusion take a larger perspective, ending with some reflections on the philosophe's rivalry with Shakespeare.
WHILE manly Praise th' Historic Wreath bestows,
And Beauty's Sorrows grace thy fabled Woes,
While ardent Youth, and well-instructed Age
Alike confess the Wonders of thy Page,
Shall these intruding Lines the Poet greet,
And pierce the Shades that guard his calm Retreat?
That calm Retreat, his happier Taste improv'd,
Those Attic Bow'rs, by ev'ry Muse belov'd;
Where native Roses blooming Genius sheds,
Where Rural Elegance a Carpet spreads,
Where Art, with sweet Simplicity Combin'd,
Shines the fair Emblem of the Planter's mind?
While o'er the distant Scene stretch'd to the Skies
Earth's Giant Offspring to thc Sight arise;
The tow'ring Alps uprear their stately Mound,
And shapeless Piles th' extended Prospect bound.Here, join'd in Nature's beauteous Landscape, see
The endless Charms of wild Variety.
The Harvests wave, the purple Vineyards glow,
Or trackless Mountains heave their load of Snow.
Their tops unseen in thick'ning Air they shroud,
And mix their Fleeces with each passing Cloud.
Rocks far remov'd, in savage Greatness rise,
Like rough-hewn Columns, to support the Skies;
Cool slope the Vales, wide spread the mantling Woods,
Bright shine the Streams that seek the distant Floods.
Here a small Ocean's peaceful Waters sleep,
Their raving Torrents emulate the Deep.
Unnumber'd Villas smile on ev'ry side,
The seats of Prudence, unimpair'd by Pride;
No Spot neglected, where the grateful Soil
Can pay with rich Increase the Peasant's toil;
Content and Peace fix here their prosp'rous reign,
And silent Liberty defends the Plain.Midst Scenes like these, the Friend of human Kind
Can range the Vast of Science, unconfin'd;
For distant Flights can wing th'excursive Soul,
Or glance with Light'ning's speed from Pole to Pole;
Whether thro' Nature's devious Paths he strays,
Pursues the Planet's, course, the Comet's blaze;
Or less advent'rous, quits th'Aërial height
To fix on mortal Woes a Mortal's sight;
Strip the bar'd Heart of each dark Veil it wears,
Expofe its Hopes, its Conflicts, and its Cares;
By bold Examples fire the youthful blood,
Appal the wicked, or confrm the Good;
Submit each dang'rous Wish to Reason's Laws,
And arm our Passions in our Virtue's cause.--While Views like thefe, Voltaire, thy Bosom warm,
The Shades of Solitude have pow'r to charm.
From Courts withdrawn, where'er thy footsteps bend,
The Train thou lov'st, a faithful Train attend:
Swift at the beck'ning of thy magic Hand
They come, and Fancy leads th'ideal Band.
Wit's lighter Offspring seeks the sunny Glade,
While Satire skulks behind th'observer Shade;
Near him, his Sister, Comic Maid, is seen,
Who checks, with laughing Eyes, his rigid Mien;
Combin'd o'er Worlds an Empire they maintain,
And ev'ry Vice and Folly wears their Chain.Th'Heroic Muse majestic sweeps along,
And thoughtful meditates her lofty Song;
Unroll'd she bears on high Fame's bright Record,
And marks the Deeds of Gallic Henry's Sword.See too, Voltaire, what Wonders meet thine Eyes,
Behold where Palaces, and Temples rise,
Where wak'd by Thee, by Thee conven'd to Fame,
The mighty Dead their ancient Semblance claim;
Where laurel'd Chiefs, where awful Sages move,
And transient Monarchs dignify the grove.Lo! there, that Bane of Freedom, Love, and Truth,
The dire Seraglio barr'd on Zara's youth!
Too soon shall Fate a Brother lost restore,
And claim the Parent who shall chide no more!--
Yet will not Chance at last her Hopes befriend?
And happier hours the Close of Life attend?
For her the Mosque its thousand Lamps displays,
For her the Crown prepares its regal blaze,
For her with Gems resplendent, flames the Throne,
And crowding Millions wait for her alone--
They wait in vain!--no Queen shall greet their Eyes!
Beneath Suspicion's frantic Steel she dies,
While pausing o'er the Wound his Madness gave,
The gen'rous Prince rejoins her in the Grave.There good Alvarez Son by Death reprov'd,
Restores Alzira to her First-Belov'd;
By one great Act redeems his Errors past,
And owns, his noblest Triumphs were his last.What proud Assembly throngs yon hallow'd Dome?
Why nods thc sculptur'd Roof? why shakes the Tomb?
What daring Form the bounds of Death has crost?
What great Event demands that sceptred Ghost?
It speaks--oh! veil thy Terrors, awful Shade,
And join in long Repose the glorious Dead!
Obey'd already see thy dire Command!
Behold thy Son in speechless Horror stand!
On that drear Vault his blasted sight he bends,
Whence pale in Death Semiramis ascends.--
Attend, ye pitying Magi, hide the Scene,
Hide the last Conflicts of a murder'd Queen!
Oh, bid the guiltless Youth's Distraction cease,
And close his wretched Mother's eyes in Peace!Behold the North its barb'rous Legions pour,
Fate heads their March, and China is no more.
What Passions Zamti's rev'rend Bosom shake,
Who combats Nature while his Heart-strings break!
Tho' down his Cheek parental Sorrows roll,
Confucius' Morals fix his patriot Soul;
In vain his Wife, his lov'd Idame, brings
A Claim that mocks the feebler Claim of Kings,
In Honor firn, he seeks his Country's Good,
And yields the Son's, to save the Prince's blood.Ill-fated Herod! spar'd by haughty Rome
To meet thy sum of Wretchedness at Home!
Happy! had Caesar's Arm withheld thy Right,
Or hurl'd thee headlong from Ambition's Height!
No more in Smiles thy faded Cheek is drest,
Despair, and jealous Rage usurp thy Breast.
Go, Tyrant, seek thy martyr'd Queen in vain,
While Madness tells thee that she lives again!
Still, still thy Thoughts her injur'd Worth pursue,
Her matchless Beauty rises still to view;
Such Worth, such Beauty, thou shalt long depIore,
For know, fond Prince, the Dead return no more!Hark ! whence the Groans that pierce yon Cloister's Round!
Death, agonizing Death, is in the Sound!
Tis Mecca's Chief--I know the hoary Sage--
That faithful Barrier 'gainst Mohammed's rage,
Who long Religion's, Virtue's Champion stood,
Now falt'ring marks each painful Step with blood.--
Too strong the fleeting Soul's convulsive Strife!
Too swift the Streams that drain the Fount of Life!
He sinks--and, harder Fate!--survives to know
His own misguided Offspring dealt the Blow.Lo! where Messene's captive Queen appears
Serene in Grief, magnificent in Tears!
Haste Poliphontes! haste, the Shrine's prepar'd,
Go, meet the fatal, but the just Reward
Thy ripen'd Crimes demand!--Not Hymen now
But Death intwines the Chaplet for thy Brow!
Thy Prince has burst his Prison's dark abodes,
He shines confest the Son of Grecian Gods:
To peaceful Rites the shouts of War succeed,
Egysthus conquers, and the Guilty bleed:
Foremost th' Oppressor meets th' avenging Blow,
And Furies howl his nuptial Song below!
But soft awhile--The tranquil Scene disowns
The Pride of Empire now, the Pomp of Thrones;
Behold uprear'd before yon rustic Bow'rs
A shrine of Moss, with intermingled Flow'rs,
And thither led to feel their plighted Truth,
An exil'd Virgin and a Scythian Youth!
Yet ere the Bride concludes th'ill-omen'd Rite
Her once-lov'd Persian flashes on her sight.--
Return, unconscious Prince! where Glory calls,
Go seek Ecbatana's deserted Walls!
To Courts where Pleasures lead their Train, return,
Ere Scythia's Echoes learn from thee to mourn!
Pass one short Hour--the cruel task is thine
To part those Hands which willing Parents join!
To fix a blameless Pair's eternal Doom,
And change their festive Altar to their Tomb !Tho' Forms like these, Voltaire, around thee rove,
And haunt the Limits of thy magic Grove,
Such Sights alone poetic Eyes can share;
Viewless, they mock the vulgar Gaze with air!--
With careless thoughts let others range the Glade,
Ascend the Slope, or pierce the verdant Shade,
Thro' parted Woods the wand'ring Streams pursue,
And Mountains fading to aërial Blue;
To charm their Sense let Scenes like these combine;
To wake the Dead, and talk with Kings, is Thine.Some fav'ring Planet grac'd his natal Morn,
Whose Mind the Muses with each Grace adorn!
In all his Paths they strew fresh op'ning Flowers,
Fresh bloom for him Imagination's Bow'rs:
To Pleasures there, from anxious Life he runs,
Forgets its Sorrows, and its Tumult shuns.
By some lov'd Object while his Soul is caught,
Indulging all the Luxury of Thought,
He peoples Deserts, ranges Worlds unknown,
And bids arise Creations of his own;
Enamour'd still of Nature's glowing Theme,
Entranc'd by Fancy's ever flatt'ring Dream,
Thro' all her visionary Realms he flies,
And wakes to meet--Life's dull Realities.Yet why to Learning's Walks thy Steps confine?
The Paths of social Gaiety are shine;
Thine sprightly Wit, thine Elegance and Ease,
With ev'ry Art, with ev'ry Wish to please.--
But plac'd by Fate on Britain's distant Shore
I talk of Pleasures I can share no more!
Yet shall their fond Impression ne'er depart;
Their fix'd Record within a grateful Heart
In Mem'ry's Characters shall stand confest,
Which Time retracing deepens in my Breast.Say why, reproachful to a polish'd Age,
Ungen'rous Contests should the Learn'd engage?
The Bards of ancient days bade Discord cease,
The Muse's Sons were dill the Sons of Peace;
With Olive crown'd, to Virtue's caufe confin'd,
In social Bands the blameless Minstrels join'd.--
Now, chang'd the Scene--With Poets, Poets jar,
And waste Parnassus is the Field of War.Yes! jealous Wits may still for Empire strive,
Still keep the Flames of critic Rage alive:
Our Shakespeare yet shall all his Rights maintain,
And crown the Triumphs of Eliza's Reign.
Above Controul, above each classic Rule,
His Tutress Nature, and the World his School.
On daring Pinions borne, to him was giv'n
Th' aerial Range of Fancy's brightest Heav'n,
To bid rapt Thought o'er noblest Heights aspire,
And wake each Passion with a Muse of Fire.--
Revere his Genius--To the Dead be just,
And spare the Laurels that o'ershade the Dust.--
Low sleeps the Bard, in cold Ostruction laid,
Nor asks the Chaplet from a Rival's Head.
O'er the drear Vault, Ambition's utmost Bound,
Unheard shall Fame her airy Trumpet sound!
Unheard alike, nor Grief, nor Transport raise,
Thy Blast of Censure, or thy Note of Praise!
As Raphael's own Creation grac'd his Hearse,
And sham'd the Pomp of ostentatious Verfe,
ShaII Shakespeare's Honours by himself be paid
.And Nature perish ere his Pictures fade.--Thou too, sweet Ferney, shall preserve a Name,
And boast like Tempe's Vale eternal Fame:
In Ages hence thy Groves will still be known,
The Nine have blest, and mark'd them for their own,
At their intreaty, Time (whose vengefu! Hand
No frail Memorials rais'd by Men withstand,
Whose ruthless Eye beholds with like Disdain
The low-brow'd Cottage, and the tow'ring Fane)
His friendly Wings around these Bow'rs shall cast,
Protect their Shades, and bid their Beauties last.
To these its Praise Egeria's Grot shall yield,
Alcinous' Gardens, and th' Ennaean Field
No more Adonis' fabled Rites be paid,
But Poets pass the quite forgotten Shade.As he, whose steps to those fair Climes are led,
Where smiling Naples rears her stately Head,
Ascends the Cliff where Nature's grateful Hands
Have plac'd the Laurel Virgil's Fame demands;
Eager to view the mould'ring Walls that guard
The sacred Ashes of th' immortal Bard:
In Years remote, thus wand'ring from his Home
To seek thee, Ferney, shall the Stranger come!
But while thy Scenes his roving Eyes employ
Sad Thoughts shall rise, and cloud his dawning Joy;
Sighing, perhaps, he'll say--"The great Voltaire
"Once plann'd these Walks, and made their Shades his Care!--
"Yet, far sublimer Tasks his Genius knew!
"Twas His to grace the Cheek with Pity's Dew!
"To slumb'ring Conscience sound the dread Alarm!
"Or pour in Virtue's Praise th'harmonious Charm!--
"Twas thus his ripen'd Taste,--his feeling Heart,
Embellish'd Nature,--and Ennobled Art!"