The Fourth Book of Virgil\'s Aeneid and the Ninth Book of Voltaire\'s Henriad
V >>
Virgil and Voltaire >> The Fourth Book of Virgil\'s Aeneid and the Ninth Book of Voltaire\'s Henriad
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:
320 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,
325 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!
330 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;
335 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?
340 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,
345 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,
350 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,
355 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:
360 The vanquish'd God, with sullen shame withdrew,
And far from Anet's domes indignant flew.
FINIS.