The following small poetical performance was hastily composed at the request, and for the entertainment, of a select company of publick spirited friends, who gave me a short notice of their intention to dine with me, and drink the protestant champion's health, as they termed the king of Prussia. They were indulgent enough to express their unanimous approbation of the piece, and insisted on my sending it up to you, in order (if you would be of their opinion) to occupy a leaf in your Magazine. I hope no reader will think the dignity of the subject, lessened merely by the familiar strain, in which it is written: when they consider, that such seemed most suitable to the occasion, the verses consisting of eleven feet, are to be read, like the Greek Iambics (which were, anciently, much used in convivial festivities) with less solemnity and more rapidity, than the common heroic measure of ten feet in our language will admit.
Kent, Maryland, July 14, 1758.
THE ROYAL COMET.
Mistaken astronomers, gaze not so high:
The Comet foretold is not yet in the sky.
It shines here on earth, tho' deputed from Heav'n;
And remarkably flam'd last year—Fifty sev'n.
In Wodon's[36] bold figure, three thousand years past,
O'er ancient Germania its lustre it cast.
Next, wearing Arminius,[37] thy form, it return'd;
And, fatal to Rome's blasted legions, it burn'd.
Now, attended with all the thunders of war,
Our Prussia's great Frederick is that Blazing Star!
Heav'ns proxy to nations opprest; but a Sign
To tyrants he comes of a vengeance divine.
Eccentric and rapid the north saw him rowl:
(For heroes and stars seem most bright near the pole)
To Britain propitious he sheds forth his rays;
While Babel's lewd Harlot, his terrors amaze.
The fierce Russian Bear his splendors affright;
And Austria's proud Eagle now shrinks from his light.
While freedom's glad sons with due warmth he inspires;
The Lillies of France are all scorch'd in his fires.
False Stockholm shall find the Baltic no bar is.
Now at Vienna, he'll soon be at Paris.
O'er Ocean from Europe his influence hurl'd
Shall animate here, O George, thy new world.
Our laws, our religion, our rights he befriends,
And conquest o'er savage invaders portends;
O'er christians miscall'd, who their nature disgrace,
Bely human form, and god's image deface.
Hail, Living Effulgence, whose all honour'd name
Shall grace, first of mortals, the annals of fame!
Whose glory shall spread, thro' each age and each clime,
To the final extent of space and of time!
Who the Virtues Trajan and Titus unite;
The victor of empires, and Mankind's Delight!
Hail, radiance auspicious, from light's fountain born
Each dark hemisphere to relume and adorn!
To whom if compar'd, other kings all appear,
Like little dim Sparklers, round Cynthia's bright sphere.
The wonder of monarchs, a patriot imperial,
Endow'd with a spirit of vigour aetherial!
For worth, less than your's in pale envy's despite,
Old chiefs claim'd to honours celestial a right!
From their funeral piles in flames eagles soar'd;
Earth's heroes grew gods, and dead kings were ador'd.
Defensive, fair justice, he fights in thy cause,
And his sword, lightning pointed, reluctant he draws,
His courage on aggregate perils still grows;
And his triumphs increase from multiply'd foes.
Ye Cæsars, ye Bourbons, ye scourges of God,
Ye saw on the wings of the wind how he rode:
Revere then heav'ns champion, who, charg'd with your doom,
Shall quell the leagu'd hosts of Gaul, Satan and Rome!
When earth's giant crew, each with manifold hands,
Assaulted Jove's seat, in confederate bands;
Thus Evius asserted the throne of his sire,
And heap'd o'er th' aggressors a mountain of fire!
Ye numberless suns, his kindred, on high,
For six thousand years whom cou'd ye descry;
Whom, like him, have seen of meer mortal birth;
Tho Alfred and Edward once dignify'd earth?
Blush, blush, scepter'd pirates, who trail your faint fire:
Ye meteors, that transiently dazzling expire!
Whose lust of vain pow'r stains the page of your story:
What glow worms ye look, and how lost in his glory?
Blush, butchers, whose banners red massacre shames,
That Honest and Great should bear different names!
Go waste the creation for empire and pelf:
The globe you may win, but he conquers himself!
To spare he subdues; as he sought to defend;
Dire war's his forc'd mean: but fair peace his lov'd end.
Tho' trophies in battles o'er your's he can raise;
Yet these he accounts but a second rate praise.
Who by victories plum'd ne'er thinks it disgrace,
To sigh that they're earn'd by the blood of his race.
The public's first servant, and humble in station;
He found his firm glory on wise legislation.
His country's great father, in blessings most blest,
Who loses his own for the world's peace and rest!
Still only ambitious of fair-won renown,
And olives with laurels to wreath in his crown.
Say poet, philosopher, critick, divine,
What art thou?—Since all, but omniscience is thine.
Self-taught, tho' a king! and now destin'd to prove,
That Minerva, like thee, sprang perfect from Jove.
Like thee, fam'd for wisdom; like thee for alarms:
The goddess of science, and goddess of arms!
In his words, in his deeds, we read his great heart;
Too gen'rous for fraud, and too wise for mean art.
With aw still reflecting whence all grandeur springs;
And only dependent on thee, King of Kings!
The mate of his vet'rans in each noble feat;
The first in the charge, and the last in retreat,
A statesman and monarch, yet true to his word;
A soldier with honour, more bright than his sword.
Whom pow'r ne'er corrupted; whom learning adorns:
Who, ev'n in idea, court-turpitude scorns:
—Yet why should we wonder, that this he disdains;
When the blood of good George flows rich in his veins?
Amer. Mag. and Mo. Chron., I-551, Aug. 1758, Phila.
MR. VOLTAIRE'S LETTER TO HIS
PRUSSIAN MAJESTY.
Translated.
Kind Prince! whom the admiring world must own
By truth and nature form'd to grace a throne:
Whose dawn of empire like the solar ray,
Chears half the North with hopes of lasting day;
Receive the homage which the Muses send,
Their fav'rite thou! their guardian! and their friend!
Are you enthron'd?... And does your goodness deign
To own your poet, and regard his strain?
O blissful moment! dear auspicious grace!
Does Fred'rick's smile my wand'ring steps embrace?
Does his great soul possess'd of wisdom's balm,
(Ever benevolent, and ever calm!)
Leave all the dignity of state behind,
To meet the humble lover of mankind?
And can your hand the royal gift impart
To style me friend of your distinguish'd heart?
Fame says of old, that Phoebus heavenly bright,
O'er the wide world who spreads the living light,
So Jove ordain'd ... his splendid carr resign'd,
To live below and humanize mankind:
No more his brows their wonted rays reveal'd,
A shepherd's form the exil'd god conceal'd;
In Phrygian wilds to an unletter'd race,
He sung with such divinely-pleasing grace,
The savage nation in their softened hearts,
Receiv'd the love of virtue and of arts!
The rudest breasts the strong persuasion felt,
Were taught to think, to reason, and to melt!
Themselves to know, the social tye to own,
And learn they were not made to live alone!
Then every useful science sprung to birth,
And peaceful labour blest the smiling earth:
Men now united lost their antient rage,
Nature rejoic'd and blest her golden age;
An age by heav'n design'd for man no more,
Unless a Frederick shall that age restore!
It chanc'd as thro' the wood Apollo stray'd,
Ere gathering numbers peopled half the shade;
As near the cooling stream he pass'd the day
And wak'd the golden lyre to wisdom's lay!
Attentive to the sound a stranger swain,
His reed attun'd to imitate the strain;
The god well-pleas'd the rustic genius spy'd,
Approv'd his aim, and deign'd to be his guide!
Aided his trembling hands to touch the string,
Whisper'd the words, and shew'd him how to sing!
The swain improving blest the care bestow'd,
Nor in the master yet perceiv'd the god:
Nor knew the immortal flame his bosom fir'd,
But like a shepherd lov'd him, and admir'd!
In me, great prince, the image stands renew'd,
I feel myself with kindred warmth indu'd;
As to thy praise I tune the conscious lyre,
I ask whence draws my breast the noble fire?
Tell what inspires me, happy people tell?
Beneath my Fred'rick's orient sway who dwell:
From rapid Rhine to silver-streaming Meine,
The peaceful subjects of his placid reign?
Or ye on Prussia's amber yielding shore,
Who bless his name, and hail his guardian power!
Yes ... let consenting lands his virtues raise,
And fame with all her tongues repeat his praise!
Whose scepter shall Astrea's rule restore,
And bid dejected MERIT[38] sigh no more.
As once directed by the voice of fame
To wisdom's King the southern princess came;
At Frederick's call ... see ravish'd to obey,
The sons of learning take their chearful way;
To hear that sense which still attention draws;
And bless that goodness which directs his laws;
Close by his throne Philosophy shall smile,
To view her prince approve her children's toil!
While Science joys to see his kind regards
Inspire the muse, his bounty still rewards;
Not distant far, calm Charity shall stand,
Stretching to Piety her social hand:
Justice shall banish arbitrary might,
And Commerce chearful Plenty shall invite:
But Goodness chief ... in form angelic drest,
(Such as she lives in Frederick's royal breast!)
Beneath her wings shall bid the worthy find
A shelter from the storms that vex mankind;
The friend of truth, by fraud or malice hurl'd
Through all the mazes of a faithless world.
Whom envy persecutes and bigots hate,
Shall here enjoy an undisturb'd retreat;
With HIM, who scorns the empty pride or blood,
But shares his grandeur with the wise and good!
What tho' his prudence guards the chance of war,
His mildness eyes the mischief from afar!
What tho' his arms might Cæsar's laurels find,
The peaceful olive suits his greater mind:
Yet safe in all events the storm he views,
In peace or war ... the darling of the Muse!
In either state, alike insur'd success,
Since all his aim is to defend and bless!
Yet while impending clouds their darkness spread,
He arms for war ... but arms without a dread!
No giant forms[39] compose a vain parade,
No glittering figures of the warrior-trade:
Valour he courts without the pomp of art,
And rises on the service of the heart:
He boasts it all his glory to be just
(A pride beyond the title of August!)
Which time secures, the most impartial friend,
And guards his name till nature fells her end!
So when beneath the curs'd Cæsarian race
Rome felt the horrors of her first disgrace;
Great Trajan rose with every virtue blest,
To give the weary world the sweets of rest:
No blood, no conquest mark'd his spotless reign,
'Twas goodness form'd th' inviolable chain;
E'en India's Kings receiv'd the willing yoke,
For goodness is a band no savage broke!
Not Salem's walls defil'd with wilful blood,
A crime, her victor's clemency withstood:
Not all her honours levell'd with the dust,
Styl'd Titus good, or merciful, or just:
Love knit the charm on which his greatness rose,
A charm! not worlds united can oppose!
Behold the glorious pattern marks your rise!
Nor quit the steps by which he gain'd the skies:
Try to surpass! (but heav'n his fate refuse!)
He wept a day! ... which YOU will never lose!