x , 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 r 
 
 mi 

 
 V
 
 WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 DE REYRAC.
 
 HYMNS, 
 
 ELEGIES, 
 
 AND 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES, 
 
 3ln Poetic IProse: 
 
 WRITTEN ORIGINALLY IN FRENCH, 
 
 BY THE 
 
 ABBE DE REYRAC, 
 
 ilegius, Correspondent to the Royal i 
 f Inscriptions and Belles Lettres of Paris 
 
 Translated from the Paris Edition of 179& 
 
 Censor Regius, Correspondent to the Royal Academy 
 of Inscriptions and Belles Lettres of Paris. 
 
 BY F. B. WRIGHT. 
 
 b i assa 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 Sold by T. Ostell, E. Vidler, Crosby and Co. and Maw- 
 
 man: Annis, Norwich; Pigge, Lynn; Brooke, Lin- 
 coln; Kelsey, Boston; Mozley, Gainsborough ; 
 J. Wright, Liverpool; and may be had of 
 all the Booksellers in the kingdom. 
 
 1806. 
 ?RICE FIVE SHILLINGS IN BOARDS*
 
 F. B. Wright, Printer, Wisbech. 
 I I
 
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 RMHt 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 **04*--<>i-<0'"-0'*"0""0' "<>< 
 
 The Hymn to the Sun was Jirst published as a 
 translation of a greek manuscript, said to hate been, 
 found in one of 'the islands of the Archipelago, some 
 time before the discovert) of Homer's tomb. The suc- 
 cess it met with, was very considerable, a second edi- 
 tion being called for, the Author published it with his 
 own name. He says he had no intention to deceive by 
 publiskdng it as a translation, but it was purely front 
 a mistrust of his own powers. 
 
 Six editions were sold in France in less than six 
 years. This encouraged the Author to publish the 
 other pieces, which are found in the present volume t 
 in the same style. 
 
 Wisbech, Dec. 24, 1S05. 
 
 81< >7G3
 
 K. B. The Reader is requested to excuse a mis* 
 take which occurs w* the numbering of the pages from 
 16 l t as it was not discovered in time to prevent it.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Hymn to the Sun, Canto /. 1 
 
 Canto II. 21 
 
 Canto IIT. 35 
 
 Canto IV. t 53 
 
 Creation, Canto I. '67 
 
 Canto II. 79 
 
 Canto III. 87 
 
 The Rural Walk 101 
 
 Night 115 
 
 The Orchard 125 
 
 Beneficence 133 
 
 The Mountain 139 
 
 End of Aututna 145 
 
 The Bees ....153 
 
 The Frost of April 16*3 
 
 The Sheepfold 191 
 
 The Birds 197 
 
 The Tomb 203 
 
 Elegy on the Death of a Brother 217 
 
 the Abbe dc CondillaC'223 
 
 Notes 233
 
 HYMN TO THE SUN. 
 
 CANTO I.
 
 HYMN TO THE SUN. 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 ::>.-<V...O"" 0"-*-> 
 
 Magnificent master-piece of the omnipotent 
 hand of the immortal Deity, grand luminary, thy 
 splendor is ever new to my ravished eyes. From 
 the summit of this towering mountain, which rears 
 its lofty head to heaven, glowing with thy dazzling 
 rays, O Sun, I hail with rapture the first appear- 
 ance of thy beams, and consecrate to thee this fee- 
 ble homage. 
 
 Divine Apollo, thou rememberest the day, when, 
 under that spreading beech, I sacrificed to thee a 
 B 2
 
 4 HYMN TO THE SUN. 
 
 white heifer in return for the golden harp, that 
 tuneful and bright harp which I received from thy 
 hands. God of verse, I then promised to compose 
 8 hymn to thy glory. I called Olympus and the 
 waves of Styx to witness. I planted two laurels 
 near that steep rock, which a continual cascade 
 waters with a silver Hood. I suspended my haut- 
 boy from the branches of that ancient oak, pro- 
 testing to heaven, that I would not tune it until 
 the happy day, when I should come to thy temple 
 to oner to thee the solemn tribute of my songs. 
 
 Since that time twelve winters have rolled over 
 my head ; twelve times have the trees been crown- 
 ed with verdure, and with fruits, and yet my holy 
 vow remains unfulfilled. God of Delos, and you 
 who lavished on mc your immortal favors, God- 
 desses of Helicon, will you pardon me the neglect 
 of my oath ? 
 
 I have celebrated the mad revels, and noisy 
 fasts of the Coi \ bantes, masters of Jupiter, i 
 have described the frantic drunkenness and ravings 
 of the priestesses of the conqueror of India. The 
 turbulent Bacchantes, with hair dishevelled, eyes
 
 IIYMX TO THE SUN". 5 
 
 wild and sparkling, foam issuing from their burn- 
 ing mouths; holding a thyrsus in their hand ; strik- 
 ing the earth with their feet, rushing against one 
 another with violence, running here and there, 
 through woods, over rocks and mountains, whose 
 caverns resound with their savage cries; and in- 
 spiring their mad orgies by the noise of cymbals 
 and dreadful howlings. 
 
 Orpheus, oh everflowing grief! Orpheus, the 
 son of the great Apollo, who by the ravishing 
 sounds of his lyre, penetrated even to Tartarus; 
 who suspended, by his magic sounds, the rapid 
 course of rivers ; who moved the lions and oaks of 
 mount Rhodope. Orpheus, rendered insensible 
 by the loss of Euridice, becomes the victim of 
 those cruel Bacchantes. Irritated by his gloomy 
 sorrow, and like furious tigresses, growling over 
 their prey, roll their flaming eye balls, they rush 
 upon hiirw tear asunder his trembling limbs, and 
 throw his bloody head into the affrighted Hebrus. 
 It floats, alas! the sport of the foaming waves ; but 
 his tongue, already seized by the icy hand of death, 
 1) 3
 
 6 HYMN TO THE SUIT. 
 
 groans still along the stream, and in faultering ac- 
 cents calls Euridice ! ah my clear Euridice ! the 
 plaintive echo repeats, Euridice! 
 
 I have also played on the flute of Pan, the de- 
 lights of the golden age, the lovely season of flow- 
 ers, and the charms of the spring, the unchangea- 
 ble felicity of the peaceful hamlets: the tranquil 
 and innocent life of the simple shepherds, seated 
 on the banks ofPindus, or gathering the humble 
 violets on the borders of Arethusa. I have also 
 described the Gods of the Ocean, Triton sounding 
 his crooked trumpet on the liquid plain, and sport- 
 ing with the Nereides on the stormy bosom of Am- 
 phitritc. 
 
 At other times I have sketched with a rustic 
 pencil, the old companion of Uacchus r Silenus, 
 crowned with a garland of vine leaves, interwoven 
 with honeysuckles, roses, and flowery myrtle ; 
 surrounded by a playful throng of fauns and satyrs, 
 lovers of the solitary woods, and the freshness of 
 the groves and cool grottos; atone time stretehed 
 on a bed of moss and \erdant leaves, in the midst 
 of a tufted grove, drinking out of cups, ornamented
 
 HYMN TO THE SUN. 7 
 
 with ivy, sparkling and delicious wine; tasting it 
 with voluptuousness, and pressing eagerly his lips 
 to collect the intoxicating juice ; at another, stam- 
 mering with difficulty amorous songs, and dancing 
 with heavy and faultering steps to the sound of the 
 sistrum and tabor, on the borders of Arcadia's sa- 
 cred fountains, under the shade of its ancient fo- 
 rests. 
 
 Impatient to form sounds more noble, and more 
 worthy of the powerful God who inspired my soul, 
 I tuned my harp to more elevated notes, and sung 
 in majestic strains him, whose nod shakes heaven 
 and hell ; the great Jupiter, darting with a flam- 
 ing hand, his thunder upon the Titans, those impi- 
 ous sons of the earth, and crushing them beneath 
 the weight of those mountains they had foolishly 
 piled on one another to besiege, even on his throne, 
 the father of Gods and men. 
 
 I have sung the triumph of the Lapithne, con- 
 querors of the Centaurs; the death of the black 
 Cyclops, hurled by Apollo into the caverns of Et- 
 na; the heroic valor of the fierce children of 
 B 4,
 
 8 JITMK TO THE SUIf. 
 
 Mars, the horrors of battle, and the lasting desola- 
 tion with which the just Gods always punish the 
 crime of war. 
 
 I have not forgotten thee, valiant Ajax; nor 
 thee, indefatigable Hercules, who didst free the 
 world from the robbers and monsters with which 
 it was infested. I have described thee smothering 
 in thy nervous arms, the giant Antaeus. Here, 
 breaking the chain of the bold son oflapetus, fast- 
 ened by Mercury to the rocks of Caucasus, tear- 
 ing him from the bloody talons of the cruel vul- 
 ture, that preyed on his entrails: there, by a blow 
 of thy enormous club, killing the terrible dragon 
 that guarded the golden apples of the garden of 
 Hesperides. In a word as intrepid on mount CEta 
 in the midst of (lames, as when conqueror of the 
 even dreadful heads of the Lernean Hydra, thou 
 didst tinge thy arrows with its venemous blood. 
 
 Noble enemy of Troy, thou who didst water the 
 tomb of Patroclus with bitter tears, I have sung 
 thy glorious exploits, thy fiery transports. I have 
 described thee, driving thy coursers, covered with 
 blood and and foam, dragging at full speed around
 
 HYMN T TO THE SUW. $ 
 
 the -walls of Won, through clouds of dust, the 
 mangled corse of the unhappy Hector. 
 
 I have also described the gloomy empire of the 
 dead, those dark and desolate regions, where, 
 like the leaves, which, in the decline of autumn, 
 fall in heaps from the branches, and fly in the air, 
 the pale ghosts, the plaintive shades, incessantly 
 wander and groan, without the hope of repassing 
 the greedy Acheron. 
 
 O day! G ravishing light ! these unhappy ghosts 
 will never more behold thee! Enchanting spec- 
 tacle of the heavens, ye newborn beauties of na- 
 ture which adorn the spring, never more will they 
 contemplate you. Alas ! all is over ; the heavens 
 no longer exist for them ; to them the whole uni- 
 verse is annihilated. In vain they implore the 
 clemency of the Gods ; the Gods are deaf to their 
 lamentations. In vain they seek to quit the shades: 
 the dreadful Styx, nine times encircling them, pre- 
 vents their passage. The merciless Cerberus eve- 
 ry where presents his three barking mouths, which 
 continually emit torrents of smoke and fire. Inex- 
 orable fate chains them in eternal night, with
 
 10 HTMN TO TUB SUN. 
 
 Tantalus and the miserable Danaids, and plunge* 
 them to the bottom of Tartarus, where Phlegethon 
 every moment redoubles their terror and despair 
 by the deep bellowing of its dreadful waves. 
 
 Now the hundred tongues of fame resound from 
 pole to pole the melodious sounds of my lyre ; the 
 precipitate course of ages will but increase the ce- 
 lebrity of my name. I shall not then perish. 
 More durable than the empires and magnificent 
 palaces of kings, my sublime songs will live for 
 ever; the delighted world repeats them, and ad- 
 mires their harmony and beauty. 
 
 O my soul, if ever thou wert animated by a holy 
 phrensy, if ever thou wert inflamed by a glowing 
 enthusiasm, by a divine intoxication ; if the su- 
 preme intelligence ever revealed to thee his mar- 
 vellous secrets; speak now his immortal language, 
 follow boldly the way marked out to thee, and be 
 not terrified by the tragical end of Phaiton, who, 
 from the source of light, fell into the waves of 
 Eridanus. 
 
 Fly to the regions of thunder ; transported by a 
 noble love of glory, rush towards the sparkling
 
 HYMN TO TOE SU!f. II 
 
 vault of heaven ; penetrate even the rosy palace 
 of Aurora ; raise thyself upon the rapid wings of 
 brilliant poesy, above the genius of weak mortals, 
 and paint in characters of fire, the God of light. 
 
 Let my voice to day rule the waves of the oce- 
 an, struck by the trident of Neptune. O nature, 
 O earth ! listen ; interrupt not my concerts. And 
 you, woodland deities, be silent ; or rather unite 
 your enchanting music to the sounds of my lyre, 
 and assist the harmony of my songs. 
 
 Great Jupiter, who reignest over the clouds, let 
 thy thunder cease to roar; it has sufficiently agi- 
 tated the air, sufficiently affrighted the earth. 
 Furrow not with thy burning thunder the azure of 
 this clear sky; permit me to enjoy the serenity of 
 this charming day. And thou God of the south 
 wind and storms, break not, with thy destructive 
 blast, this delicious calm which reigns throughout 
 all nature : respect the presence of the God who 
 inspires me. Apollo forbids thee to interrupt, 
 with thy roarings, the sacred ejaculations of my 
 soul-
 
 12 HYMN" TO THE SUV. 
 
 Sustain rather, powerful God, sustain the ardor 
 with which I hum, that impetuous phrensy that 
 ravishes my senses : excite my boldness, increase 
 this powerful delirium that agitates mc. My 
 heart glows my sight wanders all my senses are 
 struck with horror. O Gods! what power vio- 
 lently agitates, and shakes my whole frame? A 
 vortex of fire and lightning raises me to heaven. 
 Let all the world listen to me. Dart on me tliy 
 fires, O God of day, it is thee I sing. 
 
 Dazzled by the splendour of his first rays, I con- 
 template him with respectful reverence ; I admire 
 him with religious dread : that vast ocean of light 
 terrifies my mind, and already confounds my fear- 
 ful thoughts. 
 
 O Sun, how dare I raise my eyes toward thee, 
 how contemplate the resplendent tires of thy flam- 
 ing orb? Thou art the only object which 1 be- 
 hold in the world; thy fiery looks inllame all na- 
 ture, and fill it with lileand grandeur. It is thy 
 powerful heat that caused the earth to come forth 
 from the bosom of Chaos; its extremities bind
 
 HYMN TO THE SUIT. 13 
 
 not thy course ; it is not extensive enough for 
 thy ivi vs. 
 
 Though I should cross the Atlantic with the 
 rapidity of the bird of Jupiter; though swifter 
 than the north wind, I should transport myself 
 from the cloudy summit of Mount Athos, to the 
 remote climes, where the angry Tigris rolls impe- 
 tuous his foaming floods ; though I should fly from 
 the gates of the west to those of the cast, from the 
 burning sands of the south to the frozen shores of 
 north ; though I should penetrate even to the ut- 
 most limits of the world, thou art always before 
 me, and waitest for and enlightenest me at once, 
 in all parts of the universe. 
 
 Sublime image of the Deity, like him thou 
 seest, thou knowest all nations, and all countries of 
 the earth ; the fertile fields of Hesperia, and the 
 happy plains watered by the Ganges and Eurotas. 
 Ithaca, where the wise Ulysses governed ; Pylos, 
 where old Nestor reigned, ever eager to relate 
 the glorious exploits of his life ; and Colchis, so 
 celebrated for the expedition of the brave A rgo- 
 nauts, those intrepid heroes, who, to fetch the
 
 14 HYMN TO THE 9UN* 
 
 golden fleece, dared the first, in a frail bark, to 
 plough the watery deep, and defy angry Neptune. 
 
 Thou secst at. one view Athens and Laccdae- 
 mon ; Corinth and Mitylcne; proud Tyre and 
 haughty Babylon; Thebes with her hundred 
 gates, and the hundred cities of Crete; the flowery 
 valleys of Thessaly and the happy hills of Ama- 
 thus ; the myrtle groves of Idalia and Paphos. 
 Thou lookest down on us from the height of the 
 heavens, like the sovereign arbiter of our destinies. 
 What do I say ? Incomparable luminary am I 
 mistaken? Oh if I were in error ifthouwert 
 thyself the first, the supreme Deity speak and 
 immediately I prostrate myself in thy presence 
 and adore thee. 
 
 Fool that I am ! what have I said ? I hear his 
 voice resound through the universe, publishing 
 through all nature that he is not God Thou art 
 not God, O Father of day Thou art then the 
 most magnificent of his works thou art the great- 
 est gift of God. He never created any thing so 
 beautiful, nothing so worthy the thanks of mortals.
 
 HYMN TO THE SUN. 15 
 
 Thou beholdest that sparkling luminary and 
 tremblest, fierce monarch of the sky, noble bird, 
 whose bold flight is swift as the wing of the south 
 wind, as the arrows of Jupiter: thou, who in the 
 height of thy pride, beholdest with disdain even 
 man himself; thou viewest the Sun with astonish- 
 ment, and, that thou mayest have a nearer view 
 of his sparkling orb, thou soarest from the depth 
 of the valley ; to the highest rocks of mount 
 Pelion. 
 
 I see thee carrying thy eaglets on thy rapid 
 wings, shake them with violence, and balance them 
 a long time, in the undulating fluid. Thou pre- 
 sentest them to the Sun : is it to prove if they are 
 worthy of thee? or rather is it not to teach them 
 that this magnificent luminary is the only object 
 that should fix their daring looks? 
 
 Like a profound and majestic river whose wa- 
 ters flow always in the same abundance ; or, like 
 an inexhaustible volcano that incessantly pours 
 forth rivers of fire, and vomits torrents of flame 
 from its thundering caverns, infinite abyss of light, 
 thou sheddestit, thoupourest it forth in redundant
 
 1(5 HYMN TO THE SI V. 
 
 streams, from the creation of time, without die 
 least (liininuiii.n. 
 
 Thou consumest not thyself, norgrowcst old, 
 like every thing that exists, nor dost thou fall in- 
 sensibly into dust, like the frail body of man. 
 Thou hast beheld the earth renovated a thousand 
 times, its inhabitants change their masters, laws, 
 manners, and languages ; a thousand times hast 
 thou seen nations at variance destroy one another; 
 superb and opulent cities spring up in the midst 
 Of desarts, and sink again into obscurity ; empires 
 formed, grow great and formidable, decrease and 
 become extinct, or rise to fall again ; hostile kings 
 dethrone one another ; nations at first, like weak 
 rivulets, soon, like swollen rivers, impetuous tor- 
 rents, overflow and ravage the surface of the earth; 
 all, at length, people and kings, after alittle noise, 
 fall, and disappear in the abyss of time, always 
 open to swallow them. 
 
 Thou lightest then but the ruins of ancient em- 
 pires, and the wrecks of vain grandeur. The 
 whole world is to thee but avast tomb, where the 
 ashes of innumerable generations of monaichs ami
 
 HYMN TO SPHE &UK. 17 
 
 subjects are so mingled and confounded, that the 
 exploring hand cannot distinguish them, nor find 
 any vestige of what has been; whilst thou alone, 
 O Sun ! O light of the world ! thou alone, witness 
 of ihese great objects, exists by thyself, immovea- 
 ble in the midst of these perpetual revolutions. 
 
 In vain I survey the whole earth to discover" the 
 magnificent monuments, which adoring nations 
 have raised to thy glory ; they are no more. 
 Temples, altars, pontifs, all are annihilated ; the 
 God still lives, and following his career, triumphs 
 in the highest heavens over the waste of ages. Jea- 
 lous time, chained to thy car, cannot extend his 
 ravages to thee. Thou hast continued thy course 
 with thesame rapidity, from the beginning, through 
 the immensity of the sky, and rollest thy resplen- 
 dent orb through the long series of ages, which 
 can neither stop nor weaken thy course. 
 
 Thy splendor, instead of diminishing, springs 
 
 forth afresh, and increases with new vigor. The 
 
 end of thy course seems still more brilliant than 
 
 the beginning. Thy car plunging into the sea, 
 
 C
 
 18 HYMK TO THE SUN. 
 
 leaves after it in the sky long streaks of light, 
 which extend to the regions of darkness. 
 
 At thy setting the sky is variegated with a thou- 
 sand hues, of purple, gold, azure, and silver. 
 Thou quittest not the horizon until thou hast rilled 
 it with a deluge of that fire, which thou art going 
 to lavish on other worlds. Tlicsource of thy rays, 
 which give birth to the day, and vivify the stars of 
 night, is inexhaustible. 
 
 Ye muddy swamps, ye impure lakes, haunts of 
 a thousand horrid reptiles, images ot hearts infect- 
 ed by the poison of the passions, your exhalations 
 do not sully those pure rays : ifthey enlighten you, it 
 is without corrupting themselves, and without the 
 smallest diminution of their unchangeable beauty. 
 
 Sacred ornament of the heavens, I again hail 
 tl.ee; receive to the end of time, the multiplied 
 homage of innumerable beings that people the 
 world. Shine, during the infinite succession of 
 with the same splendor; for ever enlighten 
 tie earth, the sea, and (he heavens, and never re- 
 turn to the gulph of Chaos.
 
 HYMN TO THE SUN. 19 
 
 Marvellous luminary, king of the- world, be im- 
 mortal like the Deity. Thou art his celestial 
 image : his essence and his glory are painted in 
 characters of fire, in the splendor of thy dazzling 
 globe. O how the sight of thee charms my soul, 
 how it enlarges it by revealing to me its sublime 
 original. Yes, I am the offspring of Deity ; I dare 
 not doubt it, when I contemplate thee ; each of 
 thy rays is a victorious proof of his existence, a 
 lively spark of his greatness, and the lasting tri- 
 umph of his superior power. 
 
 END OF CANTO I.
 
 HYMN TO THE SUN. 
 
 CANTO II.
 
 HYMN TO THE SUN. 
 
 CANTO Hi 
 
 >..,.o,...^....,^,. 
 
 When the mighty genius of the universe resolved 
 to give birth to all beings ; when with sovereign 
 hand he broke down the immense vaults of Chaos 
 and of night; when the rays of light pierced those 
 deep caverns where darkness held his empire ; O 
 Sun, when thou first appeared in the celestial 
 plains, shining in all thy splendor, the Gods them- 
 selves, the astonished Gods, dazzled by thy ravish- 
 ing beauty, came in crowds from Olympus to view 
 thee, Pluto and Proserpine leave the gloomy 
 C 4
 
 24 HTM* TO THE SUH. 
 
 banks of Acheron to see thee. Neptune arises 
 from the dark abyss of waters, mounts hastily his 
 car, and, followed by all the Deities of the ocean, 
 and by the innumerable monsters nourished in its 
 watery bosom, comes to admire thee with the hea- 
 vens and the earth. 
 
 O Sun, scarcely had sparkling Aurora, opened 
 the flaming doors of the east, when, like a proud 
 conqueror impatient to. signalize himself by new 
 triumphs, thou Falsest thy shining disk from the 
 celestial vault ; suddenly, thy course begins, thou 
 displayest with grandeur thy ardent tires, and 
 dartcst them rapidly through the extended lie Ids 
 of air, and eulightemest at once all parts of thu 
 world. Already every thing glows with thy rays. 
 The .stars gpow, pah: aud disappear: pursued by 
 the blaze of day, affrighted nighu takes wing, dis- 
 appears, precipitateo hert^lf inio the abyss of tho 
 sea, involving in. her dark veil the God of silence 
 aud of sleep. The fleeting dreams fly before thy. 
 Car of rubies and diamonds, aud slide into the bo- 
 ffin of lh hhud'->.
 
 HYMN? TO TJHE Mft 25 
 
 Thou gildcst the mountains' lofty summits, and 
 the majestic tops of haughty pines and oaks, 
 neighbours of thunder. Thou shinest into the 
 deepest vallies. Thy lively splendor awakes all 
 the universe. A thousand birds flutter, on the 
 leafy sprays, from which they shake the pearly 
 dew, and unite, in melodious chorus, to celebrate 
 thy brightness. 
 
 Housed by these charming concerts, the king oi 
 nature, man, raises his noble countenance, that 
 godlike front, made to contemplate the heavens, 
 and command inferior beings. He awakes with. 
 delight, and leaves his couch, to admire thy rising 
 and enjoy thy benefits. 
 
 The thunderalso, whose redoubled claps, shook, 
 during the night, the foundations of the earth ; 
 the dreadful thunderbolts, that were heard at the 
 close of day, to rush with bellowing noise along' 
 that vast chain of mountains, and resound through- 
 the neighbouring vallies, rumble no more in the 
 air. The sky was. never more serene ; nature ne- 
 ver appeared/ more, beautiful*
 
 *6 HTMV TO THE St/y, 
 
 How pleasant on a fine morning, to gather in 
 the meadows, flowers just opening to the Sun. 
 How delightful to respire an air embalmed by the 
 sweetest perfumes, to behold the enamelled plain, 
 whose tender and springing verdure gladdens the 
 sight. Peaceful rivulet, I will follow the course 
 of thy tranquil stream, that gently flows in mean- 
 ders through these smiling plains, over which thou 
 sheddest freshness and fecundity. Delightful 
 walks, how you tranquillize my mind. 
 
 Here, bending over this clear bason, I behold 
 the sports of the nimble inhabitants of the water. 
 Excited by the warmth of the air, they swim, they 
 dive; crossing each other's path with eagerness, 
 they glide over one another a hundred times, with- 
 out ever corrupting the purity of its waters. 
 
 There, I admire the beauty of the stately swan, 
 who, proud of the whiteness of his plumage, 
 clears and refines it in the rays of the Sun ; ex- 
 tends his shining wings, and, sovereign of the 
 stream, rides at pleasure on its surface, at one 
 time yielding to the current of its waves, ai alio- 
 ther opposing it with haughty majesty.
 
 JltMN tO THE SUK. it 
 
 There, I hear with rapture flocks of k birds, sa- 
 luting the return of spring, on the branches of the 
 solitary poplar, which shades those happy banks. 
 The jealous nightingale swells her flexible throat, 
 and warbles forth her harmonious notes. Her ri- 
 vals abashed, are silent ; they seem to suspend 
 their songs to listen to the melodious accents of 
 the sylvan muse, to her varied notes, prolonged 
 and uttered, with so much art in charming ca- 
 dences. 
 
 Enchanting inhabitants of these lovely regions, 
 who delight the pure mind by your concerts, and 
 soften the pains of this transient life; alas! your 
 songs, your joys will soon be at an end. Already the 
 merciless fowler approaches you with slow and care- 
 ful steps, and surveys with furtive eye that thorny 
 bush, those hospitable branches, the thickness of 
 whose foliage, seemed to afford you an impenetra- 
 ble asylum. Insensible to your cries, already his 
 inhuman fingers steal into your nest, and ravish- 
 ing with a murderous hand your growing family, 
 your feeble and trembling little ^ones, scarcely
 
 25 HTWJf TO THE MBfc 
 
 fledged ;. and carries off the fruit of your tender 
 loves. 
 
 Thus the heavens, witness of your happiness, 
 the shady forests, the happy banks, that now re 
 sound with sweet music, will soon, alas ! hear only 
 your plaintive notes. Echo, which you entertain 
 day and night, will soon hear only your griefs, andr 
 repeat to the mountains nothing but your lamen- 
 tations*. 
 
 The treacherous fish-hook has already sunk in 
 the bosom of the water, obedient to the hand that 
 guides it, it circles slowly through thecrystul floodi 
 Fly, hapless fishes, fly. Blind, you eagerly follow 
 that deceitfuL bait, you dispute with one another 
 to obtain it. Already it has disappeared, and now 
 1 behold you, struggling, follow, the hand of tho 
 greedy fisherman, who with pleasure draws you to 
 the shore, and beholds you palpitating at the ex* 
 tremity of his trembling line, which he holds sus- 
 pended in the air ; he raises you from those native, 
 nourishing waters, which you will never moro 
 behold.
 
 HYMN TO THE KtH?. 20 
 
 Guests of our groves, and inhabitants of the wa- 
 ter, your most formidable enemy is man ; no -ele- 
 ment can guard you against his wiles and cruelty. 
 The barbarian ! ah ! if he is so insatiable in his 
 desire to shed blood, and so prodigal of it; if his 
 only wish in this world is, to sway the sceptre of 
 death, let him penetrate the desarts of burning Ly- 
 bia ; dwell in the caves of Mount Taurus ; let him 
 tear from their dens the Toaring lions ; let him 
 pursue to the bottom of their dreadful haunts, 
 serpents, leopards, bears and other monsters, his 
 only enemies. There let him combat those im- 
 pure reptiles, those terrible animals, less ferocious, 
 perhaps, and less sanguinary than himself; let 
 him slaughter them, let him water the earth with 
 their blood, and glut himself with their venemous 
 gore ; but let him at least suffer the timid inhabi- 
 tants of the air and the water to remain quiet in 
 their different elements, where nature had placed 
 them that they might escape his fury. 
 
 But what do I hear? What dreadful cries, 
 what doleful sounds raise pity and sorrow in my 
 throbbing breast ? It is the shrill clarion of Wab;
 
 SO I1YMN TO THE SIW. 
 
 the earth trembles, it is all on fire ; it is converted 
 into a field of battle and of carnage. What a 
 spectacle of horror! I behold everywhere men, 
 furious men, excited by the cruel Nemesis, arm- 
 ed against each other; the steel glitters, and rivers 
 of blood deluge the surface of the globe. 
 
 O merciless man! O furious mortals ! What 
 raging fever agitates you? What infernal mon- 
 ster possesses you ? What implacable fury plucks 
 from her bald head those dreadful vipers whose 
 tongues distil poison, and dart flames of fire ? To 
 irritate them yet more, she shakes them in her 
 bloody hand, and throws them into your bosoms. 
 
 Unhappy mortals ! stop ! open pour eyes, which 
 the intoxication of hatred and the veil of revenge 
 have blinded. See and tremble. Those beings, 
 whom you wish to sacrifice, for whose blood you 
 thirst, are men, they are your brethren. Foolish 
 beings, do you inhabit the earth only to destroy 
 each other? Is ihe life which the Supreme has 
 given you too long? Or do you dread that the 
 fiital sisters will let the destructive shears falJ
 
 ITYMK TO THE SUIT. $1 
 
 from their hands, and cut too late the thread of 
 your life. 
 
 Sacrilegious thirst of gold, these are thy wicked 
 outrages I these the crimes into which thou preci- 
 pitatest miserable mortals J It is thou, cursed 
 ambition, who art continually sowing discord 
 among the sons of men, and instilling into their 
 souls the fire of war. It is thou who agitatest and 
 tormentest them, as though they were under the 
 vengeful discipline of the Furies. 
 
 O thou, who, in days that are past, didst recoil 
 with dread, and robe thyself in profound darkness, 
 to avoid the sight of the abominable banquet of 
 Thyestesand Atreus,0 Sun, withhold thy light from 
 such a multitude of horrors, shine only on humane 
 and generous kings, sufficiently instructed to per- 
 ceive that their common interest is to love one ano- 
 ther, sufficiently religious to consider War as the 
 most dreadful presage of the wrath of heaven, and 
 the most fatal plague that can desolate the earth. 
 
 Let the ever-sounding forges of Lipara and Lem- 
 nos fall, and crush under their ruins the indefati- 
 gable Vulcan and his monstrous Cyclops. Let
 
 32 HYMN TO THE SUX. 
 
 them perish, that we may no more behold them 
 covered with sweat, their heads smoking, eyes 
 sparkling with Jire, and with naked arms raising 
 the ponderous hammers, striking with mighty 
 force on groaning anvils, the flaming steel ; or 
 melting the brass to form arrows and lances for 
 the God of battles. 
 
 Alas! that cruel Deity has just deprived me of 
 the friend of my youth, the depositary of my 
 thoughts, the confident of my soul : he lias torn 
 him from me ! woe is me ! I have lost him ! Who 
 will restore him to me t When shall I again find 
 such a sensible and virtuous mind ; such ancient 
 probity, and such incorruptible manners. 
 
 O dreadful stroke ! O overwhelming grief! his 
 father, whose love and hope he was, that unfortu- 
 nate old man, will never see him more. His wife 
 lately so happy and so much to be envied, now in- 
 consolatc and oppressed with woe ; that wife whom 
 he adored, will never more see the object of her 
 affections. His children, one yet in the cradle, 
 the other an orphan before its birth, will never 
 call him by the endearing name of father. They
 
 HYMX TO THE SUX. 33 
 
 will never, at the sound of his voice, rush into his 
 arms, to dispute his tender caresses. They are 
 undone ! lie is no more ! he to whom the fates 
 should have been more propitious. He is no 
 more. The Sun will no more shine for him. If 
 the plaintive shades of the unhappy victims of war 
 be still sensible to the groans of afflicted friend- 
 ship, young hero, thou wilt be affected by my la- 
 mentations, and by the tears which flow over thy 
 ashes. 
 
 Accursed War, sink to the bottom of the infer- 
 nal gulph ; avaunt ! thou belongest only to tigers 
 and lions. Destruction then, destruction be on 
 the head of that impious mortal, who, urged by 
 a sanguinary thirst of conquest, shall dare to open 
 the gates of the temple of Mars, and awaking the 
 fury of discord, slumbering in the midst of sur- 
 rounding serpents, shake the flaming torch, and 
 cry " to arms." 
 
 Listen, O kings, you are doubtless the sons of 
 great Jupiter ; his thunder is in your hands ; but 
 as soon as you cease to represent him by your 
 D
 
 S4 HYMN TO THE SlTN. 
 
 goodness, that eternal ruler of kings will immedi- 
 ately break your sceptre, hurl you from his pre- 
 sence, and disregard your empire. 
 
 Oh ! how superior is a peaceful, humble mo- 
 narch to those destructive conquerors, who, from 
 the summit of their thrones command only mur- 
 der, and breathe nothing but carnage. 
 
 Daughter of heaven, amiable Peace, descend 
 to the earth ; captivate the hearts of all the sove- 
 reigns of the world, that they may promote the 
 happiness of mankind ; and let the demon of bat- 
 tles never extinguish the incense which they will 
 offer on thy altars. 
 
 But thou, who art chilled with horror at the 
 murderous sound of the warlike trumpet, thou, 
 who p reforest a simple crown of ivy to the bloody 
 laurels of Uellona and Mars, resume thy rural pipe, 
 and prepare to modulate new airs to the praise of 
 the brilliant luminary of heaven. 
 
 r.N n or canto ii.
 
 HYMN TO THE SUH. 
 
 CANTO III.
 
 HYMN TO THE SUN. 
 CANTO nr. 
 
 *<yi"<Oi-MO*<>iO"' '<>*< 
 
 The winter has at length retired into its deep ca- 
 verns. The impetuous winds bellow no more, 
 -they are chained in their subterranean cells. The 
 north wind no longer desolates the fields, no long- 
 er are the snow and hoar frosts driven through the 
 darkened air by the violence of its blast. We na 
 more hear the hail hurried by a dreadful storm, 
 resounding on our shattered roofs; nor do the me- 
 lancholy Hyades pour their inexhaustible urn o 
 the orchards of Pomona. 
 
 D 3
 
 38 HTMN TO THE SUN. 
 
 All nature revives. The long captivated foun- 
 tains have renewed their gentle courses ; the stormy 
 rains no more corrupt their purity. Already the 
 flowers peep above the surface; their springing 
 buds rise on their tender stalks ; they swell and 
 open their fragrant bosoms. The trees, stripped 
 of their withered leaves, are deeked with new ver- 
 dure ; their arching boughs begin to offer a cool 
 shade to the traveller. 
 
 Benumbed all the winter by the severity of the 
 cold,' the serpent comes forth from the cavities of 
 old ruins covered with moss, where, coiled in vari- 
 ous 'folds he had been buried. From his eyesflash 
 Are ; hissing he rears his venemous head, and 
 darting his triple sting, drags on the grassy turf 
 the undulating folds of his scaly body. 
 
 Hie bees hum around the fragrant bushes, and 
 cause the new clothed field to resound with their 
 noise. They fly about at pleasure from the 
 shrubs to the flowery thyme, plunge into the 
 bright chalice of the rose, and gather on the 
 leases of the acanthus and strawberry, honey as 
 su eet as that of Mount Hynuttus.
 
 HYMN - TO THE SUN. 39 
 
 The flocks bound on the springing herbage, wo 
 behold with delight the kind ewes, suckle their 
 tender lambs, and feeding in the meadows ; whilst 
 the vagrant she-goat roams at a distance, and 
 climbs the mountains to browse the thorny briar 
 and flowery eglantine. 
 
 The shepherds who extricated the confined 
 spark from the flint, and burned the knotty trunk 
 of an old maple, now sport in the vallies, and form 
 new symphonies, O Sun it is thy aspect which en- 
 chants and inspires them with the most pleasing 
 sensations ; thou causest their countenances to 
 discover the artless joy of their hearts. 
 
 Mounted on neighing coursers, whose impetu- 
 ous prancings cannot be repressed by the bridle, 
 and who inspire terror by the boldness of their 
 looks and the fire that issues from their wide nos- 
 trils, the hunters at the dawn of day, cause the 
 hills and the forests to resound with the warlike 
 noise of the horn. These eagerly rouse the ti- 
 morous roebuck, who vainly flies from death: 
 those, by their cries urge the opening hounds to 
 D 4
 
 40 HTM* TO THE BCK. 
 
 attack a horrible wild boar, who, notwithstanding 
 the boiling blood which streams from his deep 
 wounds, with erected bristles, mouth open and in- 
 flamed, arrests their career, and causes them to 
 retire with dread, piercing with his long tusks the. 
 most daring, which he tosses in the air, bloody 
 and mangled. 
 
 Disappear before the torch of heaven, ye dark 
 mists, ye inauspicious vapors and black frosts, 
 which plunge the universe in a dismal lethargy ; 
 disappear, conceal no more from our view the 
 pleasing spectacle of those towering moxmtains, 
 that rear their heads to the clouds in form of nn 
 amphitheatre, and sustain from the beginning of 
 the world, the immense vault of heaven. Suffer 
 us to contemplate their majestic summits, revered 
 with enormous sheets of ice, glistening with the 
 rays of the Sun, which they reflect on the distant 
 plains, with dazzling lustre. 
 
 Thy looks divine star, thy powerful looks dissi- 
 pate the clouds. Thou raisest thyself suddenly 
 from the bosom of the waters, clothed in d re, and 
 instantly, the vast extent of sea appears covered
 
 IfYMX TO THE STJW. 41 
 
 with tmdalatory flames. Thou cleavest the air, 
 and rendest in thy luminous course, the dark 
 shades "which cove-r the earth. O prodigy ! thoa 
 awakest her from the profound sleep in which she 
 is involved; she comes 'forth from her ruins and 
 smiles at thy appearance; thou embellishes her 
 with all the graces of the spring,, thou pourest pro- 
 fusely into her amorous bosom the essence of flow - 
 ere, and the seed of fruits. Thy animating fires 
 penetrate her bowels, and form there the purest 
 gold, and those magnificent stones that dazzle 
 with thy sparkling rays, and .superb diamonds 
 which adorn the majestic front of kings. 
 
 O father of fruit fulness, with what excellent 
 profusion thou lavishcst it on the whole world t 
 spouse of nature, thou kindlest in her bosom The 
 sacred flames of aill-preserving love. Those con- 
 jugal flames circulate rapidly in that immense bo- 
 dy, and immediately the earth and the heavens, 
 deluged by a flood of fire, are peopled with new 
 inhabitants. Every thing is animated, every tiling 
 lives, every thing breathes: in the fields of air, 
 upon the summits of high mountains, in the depths
 
 42 HT3iy- TO THE SUIT. 
 
 of forests, and even in the bosom of the mighty 
 deep ; thy fires O God of day ! thy paternal fires 
 give existence to innumerable generations, who 
 will transmit it faithfully during the long succession 
 of unborn ages. 
 
 In vain inexorable death precipitates daily to 
 the shades so many thousand victims! impotent 
 fury! Thou always bafilest the expectation of 
 his insatiable scythe. Nothing perishes, every 
 thing springs anew, the wonders of creation are 
 perpetuated, and from one end of the universe to 
 the other, I behold the stream of life overturn the 
 the mounds which death opposes to its course, 
 swallow up his tombs, and flow in triumph in the 
 midst of the wrecks of ages, and the ravages of de- 
 struction. 
 
 Conqueror of death, thou commandest time, 
 thou saidst to him at the beginning; " moderate 
 thy too rapid flight, and follow the course of the 
 Sun. Let thy circle be divided into days, let the 
 spring and summer, autumn and winter, divide 
 the twelve months of the year; I will that each 
 season wry the pleasures of man, and roll on
 
 HYMN TO WIS 9UI*. 43 
 
 successively to augment his happiness and multi- 
 ply his- enjoyments." 
 
 Star of life, these are thy great benefits. Ah ! 
 may man never cease to celebrate these ever new 
 blessings ; and if his heart should ever let the re- 
 membrance of them slip, let this wonderful order, 
 this constant harmony that reigns in the universe, 
 recar to him thy power and glory. The Deity 
 has submitted to thee the- elements ; thou ani- 
 matest them, thou presevvest them ; all feel 
 thy tutelary influence and acknowledge thy 
 power. 
 
 When the thunderbolt of 'Jupiter, strikes furious- 
 ly the summits of the Acroceraunian mountains, 
 and covers them with fire and smoke ; when the sea, 
 irritated by Eolus, roars horribly and vomits fromits 
 boiling entrails, those dreadful tempests, which con- 
 vulse heaven and earth, and threaten destruction 
 to universal nature ; when the ships driven by the 
 foaming surge, are buried in the vast abyss, and 
 the terrified sailors expect immediate death ; 
 when Neptune wielding his trident is unable to 
 appease the turbulent waves ; if thy brilliant face
 
 ft* HYMH TO THE 9W1T. 
 
 appear above the olouds; and dart his -cameling 
 rays from the high arch of heaven, Eurus and 
 black Boreas suddenly floe, the storm disappears, 
 and the young Alcyons skim joyfully over the 
 tranquil surface. 
 
 Escaped from shipwreck, the pilot sees with 
 transport a fresh breeze gently stir the extended 
 sails, and his vessel ploughs in peace the waves 
 whitened with foam. Then, on bended knees, 
 adoring the great star which presides over naviga- 
 tion, he raises his pious hands toward its propiti- 
 ous fires, and sheds on the prow, crowned with 
 garlands, the blood of victims adorned with gol- 
 den fillets, amidst a cloud of incense that ascends 
 to heaven. 
 
 I hear thee invoke that beneficent star, happy 
 old man, thou whom a life of near a century, a 
 life as pure as the clear stream, renders venerable 
 to mortals: I hear thee; thou invokest and bless- 
 est it with delight, when, on the evening of a lino 
 day, thou rcturnest with heavy steps from the dis- 
 tant fields, Joiii; cultivated by thy hands, following 
 with fowl eye thy children'* children.
 
 imo TO TJTB 9CX. 4-S 
 
 Some of them loaded with the treasures of Po- 
 mona, smiling, seize thy hand and fill it with fruit; 
 they point out to thee a bird's nest which they 
 have discovered in the thick bush, and which, to 
 please them, thou feignest also to see. Others 
 clinging to thy neck, lavish on thee their kisses. 
 Others drive before thee thy numerous flocks, which 
 bleating descend that verdant hill-; they invite 
 thee to caress their watchful dog, who has rescued 
 one of their best sheep from the bloody jaws of a 
 famished wolf. 
 
 These count the young lambs, and rejoice in 
 having brought them back to the fold without any 
 diminution of their number : those, mounted on a 
 sluggish ass which in vain they urge forward, his 
 tardy step cannot be quickened by the pointed spur, 
 tune the pipe they have cut, and sing rustic songs, 
 which they are delighted to hear repeated a hun- 
 dred times by the echos of the neighbouring moun- 
 tains. 
 
 Immortal Gods, thus you reward simple virtue. 
 The happy shades of Elysium enjoy not a purer 
 felicity, nor delights, more perfect. Venerable old
 
 46 ITYMN TO THE 8UH. 
 
 man, thou hast already seen ninety harvests, yet 
 thy life has been a perpetual spring. The source 
 of happiness is in thy heart, ad that happiness is 
 the price of virtue. 
 
 Hero of humanity, thou at length approachest 
 thy cottage, seen at a distance, smoking, through 
 those limes and tufted fig-trees which partly inter- 
 cepted its view. There a frugal repast awaits 
 thee. Go, seat thyself in the midst of thy family, 
 and partake with them of that fresh bread, those 
 fruits, and sweet milk, prepared by the hand of 
 innocence. <5o, renovate ihy powers in the arms 
 of tranquil sleep, and reanimate that vigor which, 
 neither the hoary hairs of time, nor the iron hand 
 of decrepid old age, could enervate. Already thy 
 eyelids are closed, thy weary hands fall down, thy 
 head nods, and becomes imperceptibly heavier; 
 thou sleepest in peace, until the rising of the star 
 of day calls thee again to thy labors. 
 
 What desires, what wishes canst thou form ? 
 Thy fields are covered with golden harvests, thy 
 vines crowned with foliage and with grapes, thy 
 trees loaded with odoriferous fruits, and thy flock*
 
 HYMN TO THE SUN. 47 
 
 numerous and fruitful. The smiling verdure ot 
 thy meadows, those pure fountains which continu- 
 ally water them, every thing favors, every thing 
 anticipates thy wishes. Listen to the murmur of 
 that rivulet, see, reflected in the azure of its limpid 
 waters, the lustre of the stars, reproduced and 
 multiplied on its undulating surface. Hear the 
 song of those nightingales, who express with soft- 
 est harmony their innocent loves ; those zephyrs 
 that whisper in the branches of that ancient oak, 
 gently agitating its leaves. 
 
 Behold those legions of stars, unobscured by 
 clouds the moon that silently rolls her silver car 
 through a clear and brilliant sky. See how the 
 soft dew moistens those lowly shrubs and waving 
 willows ; how it whitens those extensive meadows; 
 how it gleams with the splendor of the most lively 
 colors, falling on that green, and those flowers 
 which enamel the plain.; how it bestrews with 
 sparkling pearls the dwarf elder, the wild thyme, 
 the marjoram, and the amaranth. 
 
 Behold those fauns that abandon their grottos, 
 those satyrs that come from the the hollow of the
 
 48 byjtv to mr. Kttfc 
 
 Id maples, round which the rustic ivy twines. 
 Sec those fearful dryades trip after one another 
 across the thick forests, which they penetrate in 
 order to hide themselves: behold them hand in 
 hand, sport on the grass, which scarcely !>end 
 under their feet, dancing to the sound of the Hute 
 tinder the extended shade of the tall poplars 
 Happy mortal! every thing promises whatever 
 thy heart may desire on the morrow: the Gods 
 themselves delight to crown thy wishes. Twi- 
 light already appears, the horizon glows, the Sun 
 will rise with more than usual splendor. 
 
 Thus in my songs inspired by nature, I have at 
 once celebrated the munificence of the great lu- 
 minary of the universe, and the happiness of a 
 rural life. I had scarcely entered on my ninth 
 lustre, when Death, darting suddenly from the 
 abyss of Erebus, appeared to me, pale, hideous, 
 and terrible, raising over me his murderous 
 scythe. 
 
 Alas ! in the bosom of pain, in sight of the 
 frightful tomb, inaccessible to all-cheering hope, 
 ml almost at the moment of elosing my eyes
 
 IIYMX TO THE SUM". 49 
 
 for ever, it was not you that caused my tears to 
 flow, chimeras of fortune, phantoms of glory and 
 of pride, as vain as the weak mortals who pur- 
 sue you ; deceitful grandeur, more fleeting than a 
 shadow; it was not the love of you, nor the hope 
 of possessing you on a future day, that gave birth 
 to my sighs. 
 
 O Sun, who enlightcnest the world by thy 
 pure and [brilliant fires; affecting spectacle of the 
 country which has always charmed me ; sprout- 
 ing foliage which I loved so much ; towering 
 rocks, which brave the tempest and the foaming 
 waves ; cavernous mountains, ancient asylum of 
 the daughters of night; sombre forests, that fill 
 my melancholy mind with religious dread ; ex- 
 tended walks, in which the God of silence reposes; 
 solitary groves, where I heard the cooing turtle 
 and the lonely dove bemoan their widowhood; 
 happy lilacs, that lately covered me with the 
 shade of your branches, bending under the weight 
 of your tufted flowers; bowers of jessamine and 
 roses, where the murmuring brook falling from 
 E
 
 60 HYMN TO THE SUK, 
 
 the brow of the hill, glides in a silver stream 
 across the meadows, causing a delightful fresh- 
 ness ; agreeable bower to which I have often re- 
 paired to breathe peace and innocence, ond 
 which I never quitted without lamenting the rapid 
 course of time; and you fertile fields, through 
 which I roved with ever new delight, you that 
 borrow from the luminary I sing your most pleas- 
 ing lustre; objects of my tender concern, alas! my 
 dying eyes were turned only toward you. 
 
 I said to the father of light, O thou whom I 
 have never contemplated but with a profound re- 
 verence ; light of the universe, creative star! 
 shortly I shall behold thee no more ! Delightful 
 hill washed by the peaceful Loire, Olivet, habi- 
 tation fit for the Gods themselves, if, better known 
 to our kings, they had embellished thy natural 
 beauties with some of the wonders of art \ainly la- 
 yished on Versailles. O thou most charming spot 
 on the earth, receive my last adieu. Amiable so- 
 litude, where the philosopher tastes in peace tin- 
 iiuits of his wisdom and die pleasures of reason,
 
 HYMH SO WB 9VW. 5i 
 
 toappy retreat, where I lived unknown to envy, I 
 shall soon behold thee n more. 
 
 I shall no more see that sage whom the empoi- 
 soned air of courts never infected, and who, with- 
 out ambition, without intrigue, arrived at *hp 
 height of honors, lives now far from the throne 
 with faithful friendship, simple as virtue and be- 
 neficent as the Gods. Those flowery greens that 
 surround his charming dwelling, those woods in 
 which I wandered with pleasure, those groves 
 where he often consoled my mind, I must leave 
 them all. 
 
 And thou magnificent Loire, whose beneficent 
 waves roll majestically under a sky always serene, 
 I shall no more walk on thy beloved banks, forget- 
 ting unhappy mortals and the cares of this life, to 
 admire those rich prospects and graceful land- 
 scapes, which the mirror of thy waters reproduces 
 and perpetuates along thy stream. Alas ! I haw 
 seen for the last time, those fruitful banks, em- 
 balmed in the spring with flowers, and bordered 
 by pleasant vineyards, which, at a distance, render 
 the horizon smiling and more delightful.
 
 5J HYMIf TO THE SUV. 
 
 Thus I spoke, my eyes bathed in tears, and 
 breathing with difficulty; I spoke, and with plain- 
 tive voice conjured the fates to prolong my days, 
 when a consoling spirit, doubtless it was some 
 Deity, descended from the celestial regions, ar- 
 rayed in light, and diffusing a divine ambrosial 
 odor. He approached the bed of affliction, and 
 repeated aloud these words, which will be ever 
 present to my memory : 
 
 " Lover of nature, come from the shades of 
 death, arise, walk, fly to that wonderful fountain, 
 which Neptune one day by a stroke of his trident 
 caused to spring from the bowels of the earth, 
 and whose azure wave, suddenly formed that 
 superb canal, which flows between two green 
 meadows by the side of that happy hill ; there 
 tune again thy lyre, invoke the rural Deities, 
 and the guardian genius of these flowery banks, 
 and celebrate again the Sun and virtue. 
 
 iNI) OF CANTO HI.
 
 HYMN TO THE SUN. 
 
 CANTO IV.
 
 HYMN TO THE SUN. 
 
 CANTO IK 
 
 Q. MM O .-<...,<>." M 
 
 STOP, father of day, stop thy resplendent car in 
 the midst of thy course. While the shepherds fa- 
 tigued with the harsh noise of the grasshopper, re- 
 pose under the shade of the ash, near their flocks 
 sleeping on the grass ; while a glowing heat rages 
 in the air, and extends its influence over the parch- 
 ed fields, stop thy glorious career, and from the 
 height of that flaming vault, where thou triumph- 
 ed over the whole world, contemplate thy niajes* 
 
 E 4
 
 56 HYMN TO THE SUN - . 
 
 lie beauty. Incapable of describing thee, I in- 
 treat thee to view thyself. 
 
 Contemplate thyself, king of the heavens, sur- 
 vey that fiery plain, run over all regions, the east- 
 ern and western climes : speak to nature, interro- 
 gate all the elements, and see if there be any ob- 
 ject worthy to be compared to thee. 
 
 Innumerable lights which adorn the firmament, 
 glittering stars, that in the midst of the silent night* 
 occupy the immensity of the heavens, and fill 
 them with glory, do you equal the Sun in beauty ? 
 do you surpass him in magnificence? Luminous 
 spheres, incessantly rolling round his flaming orb, 
 planets, suspended and balanced in the air, speak ; 
 and you flaming comets, which still strike terror to 
 the hearts of weak mortals, say, what powerful 
 Cod kindles and preserves the radiant fires with 
 which you sparkle. 
 
 Fertile plains that compose the vast empire of 
 Ceres, when the early labourer, directing his 
 plough, pricks with his goad two young bulls new- 
 ly subjected to, and still impatient of the yoke, 
 with heads bending down, bellow forth resistance,
 
 HYMN TO THE SUN. 57 
 
 and fiercely present their threatening horns; when, 
 bending over the ploughshare, he forces it to open 
 the bosom of the earth ; when he sows his fields 
 under a beneficent constellation, what propitious 
 luminary warms the furrows, and causes the grain, 
 which a liberal hand had scattered there, to ger- 
 minate and spring? Who causes it to ripen, who 
 gilds these annual harvests which constitute thy 
 choisest ornaments? 
 
 Speak, gay flowers, speak ; who gave you that 
 bright enamel, that charming splendor? Who has 
 displayed your colors so beautifully ? Who has 
 shaded you with so much art and variety? 
 Daughter of the Zephyrs, darling of the Sun and 
 of spring, amiable queen of our gardens, charm- 
 ing rose, who gave you that sweet odor, which we 
 respire with delight? 
 
 And you, tender violets, who lavishes on you 
 that delicious perfume which your bosoms exhale? 
 And you, precious fruits, say, who gives you that 
 flavor, that taste, that heavenly substance, which 
 equals in excellence nectar and ambrosia, the de- 
 lightful food of the celestial inhabitants of Olympus j
 
 ffS HYMN TO THE St'V. 
 
 Is it not the Sun? Ye flowers of the spring, yc 
 treasures of the summer, yc sweet fruits of au- 
 tumn, ye are all his works, and the magnificent 
 presents with which that vivifying luminary en- 
 riches the earth. 
 
 Guilty mortals, profane hearts, earthly souls, 
 always sullied by crimes, the Sun abhors you ; 
 your crimes cause him to grow pale and recoil 
 with horror; never dare to lift your sacrilegious 
 eyes toward him. The enemies of great Jupiter 
 deserve not to enjoy the sight of that beautiful 
 luminary ; no, the impious are not worthy to ad- 
 mire it. 
 
 Behold that storm gathering with a dreadful 
 noi*e, at the verge of the horizon; those whirl- 
 winds that rise on the distant plain, and raise into 
 the air a heap of withered leaves, dry stubble, 
 and dust ; those timid birds which fly from dan- 
 ger with uncertain wing to discover a shelter, but 
 from which the impetuosity of the wind seems to 
 force them ; those children, who, trembling run 
 under that walnut tree, and hide themselves in the. 
 midst of that thicket ; that feeble old man bending
 
 Hf MN TO THE SUN. S 
 
 under the weight of years, who, assailed in the 
 wide field, by the hail and rain, shivering, hastens 
 his weary steps to reach once more his homely 
 cottage ; those terrified shepherdesses who rend 
 the air with their piercing cries, and bring back in 
 Mste their sheep to the hamlet ; those ravenous 
 wolves, howling with fear as they force their way 
 into their dens covered with briars; and the un- 
 lucky crow, perched on the trunk of an old ches- 
 nut tree, struck by the thunder, which croaks and 
 forebodes nothing but misfortunes. 
 
 Behold those black torrents that rush violently 
 from the mountain tops, on the steep rocks and re- 
 bounding fall again, and furiously precipitate 
 themselves across the plains which they ravage in 
 their course ; those pale lights which streak the 
 vault of heaven ; those transient fires that succeed 
 each other and are soon extinguished; those 
 thunder clouds that strike against and break one 
 another, and fill the world with lightenings flash- 
 ing from their opening sides; that dark and dread- 
 ful cloud, which at the close of a scorching day, 
 extends its dismal wings from east to west, and 13
 
 HYMN TO TIIE SUN.- 
 
 driven by the roaring north wind through the 
 troubled air; ye impious! what u dreadful spec- 
 tacle for you ! 
 
 Do you hear the roaring of the thunder between 
 the tufted trees, which mingle its redoubled claps 
 with the harsh rustling of their trembling branch- 
 es ; the impetuous blast of the hurricane, con- 
 founded with the roaring of the sea ; the sonorous 
 voice of the tempest which shakes heaven and 
 earth ? It is my voice, says the Sun, these are my 
 cries ; I am the thundering God. The germs of 
 lightning arc formed in my burning sides, it is 
 I who kindle the thunderbolt, it is I who 
 send it to destroy the cowardly enemies of hea- 
 ven, to avenge virtue, and to purge the earth of 
 the execrable monsters that despise the Gods, and 
 blaspheme their holy name. 
 
 But you, wise mortals, beloved of the Gods, 
 you, who fear them, who offer to them acceptable 
 sacrifices, enjoy their gifts, rcjeice in the splendor 
 of a fine day, heaven ordained it for you. Nature 
 produced that lofty palm tree to cover you with 
 the extended shade of its foliage, from the scorch-
 
 HYMN TO THE SUN. 6l 
 
 ing heat of noon-day. The delicious clusters of 
 the amorous vine, that clings around the young 
 elms ; and the rich fruits that perfume those or- 
 chards, ripen for you. The crystal fountains flow 
 over that golden sand to appease your thirst, and 
 refresh the air you respire. 
 
 It is to charm your eyes that the valley is filled 
 with 'flowers ; those roses blow for you ; the birds 
 form harmonious concerts to captivate yoursensesj 
 that grotto was scooped out of the rock to afford 
 you a shelter from the storm. 
 
 The rivulet of living water tranquilly meanders 
 across the plain, and returns to its source to fill 
 your soul with delight and admiration. Enjoy the 
 magnificent prospect of that delightful landscape. 
 Nature embellished it for you. Rejoice in the 
 brightness of the heavens, in the rays of the Sun, 
 he shines to bless virtue. 
 
 You who are his image, and who show to weak 
 mortals the wisdom of the Deity, august old man, 
 whose countenance always discovers the peace and 
 serenity of your mind ; O my father! why cannot 
 I, for the honor of humanity, consecrate to every
 
 62 nTMsr to the susr. 
 
 age the memory of your sublime virtues with that 
 of my own tenderness ? Alas ! far from me you 
 end your days, you have almost reached your 
 ninetieth year ! O when shall I enjoy your sweet 
 embraces ? When shall I clasp you with transport 
 in my arms, bathe with delicious tears your vene- 
 rable face, press between mine, and kiss a thou- 
 sand times those paternal hands which have served 
 your country with so much honor? 
 
 O Sun, if my songs are worthy of thee, if I have 
 painted thee in no common colors, hear the pray- 
 er of filial piety. God of light, precipitate thy 
 course to hasten the desired moment when I shall 
 again see the author of my being ! O how I sigh 
 for a moment so full of delight! Celestial powers, 
 from the height of Olympus, watch over his preci- 
 ous days, prolong for my happiness, a life so pure 
 and worthy your regards. Preserve what is 
 dearest to me in the world, the most tender father, 
 the most faithful friend ! may I see him once more, 
 and pour my soul into his bosom ! No, there is 
 not under the Sun a more virtuous mortal, a more 
 feeling a more exalted mind.
 
 HYMST TO THE SUIT. 63 
 
 Alas! if the sages with whom I pass a tranquil 
 life, will one day honor with their tears my mourn- 
 ful funeral ; if my memory is dear to them ; if, af- 
 ter having committed my body to the dust, discon- 
 solate and weeping, they cngsa\ e on my homely 
 tomb these affecting words : " lie was meek, simple 
 in his manners, tilled with the fear of the Gods; ex- 
 empt from envy and ambition, he lived but for 
 truth, beneficence and friendship." Oh, my friends, 
 if the Deity give me to merit so flattering an eu- 
 logy, if he has reserved to me on earth a pure glo- 
 ry like this, I own, the desires of my soul extend 
 no further. I have on other favor to ask of the al- 
 mighty, but to reunite us hereafter in the happy 
 Elysium, under those ever flourishing bowers,, 
 where the just men of every nation, seated on 
 the verdaut turf, on the bank of the crystal 
 stream, draw new delights from an inexhaustible 
 source. 
 
 Spring of life, smiling youth, when the flowers 
 with which you now adorn my head shall be fad- 
 ed ; when the fire of sentiment and of genius that 
 inflames my soul shall be quenched by the chilling
 
 64 HYMN" TO THE SIW. 
 
 frosts ofage ; inexorable old age ! when thy cold 
 hand shall have furrowed my face, and bent be- 
 neath its strokes my heavy body; ye beautiful 
 trees which I planted, whose growth I have be- 
 held, when I shall come in an affecting manner, 
 to ask with a languid voice one of your branches 
 to support my weary arms, and tottering steps; 
 then, abandoned by the whole world, miserable 
 outcast of humanity, all my resource, alas ! all my 
 happiness will be to fix my eyes upon thee, O Sun, 
 O kind comforter, their most pleasing spectacle 
 and their last friend. 
 
 I will come every morning with trembling steps, 
 praising the Deity, seat myself before thee, and 
 present to thee my hoary locks ; I will come to 
 reanimate the weak sparks of life, and the frozen 
 fountain of my blood, with the beneficent fire of 
 thy rays; and when at the close of day, falling 
 under the scythe of death, I perceive the hist 
 breath of life wandering in my dying mouth, and 
 quitting my pale lips, my arms will still extend 
 toward thee, and then my only desire of heaven
 
 IIYMV TO THE SVTT. 
 
 6s 
 
 shall be, that I may not breathe my last sigh until 
 all thy rays disappear from the verge of the ho- 
 
 rizon. 
 
 E\D OF THE LAST CANTO.
 
 CREATION. 
 
 CANTO I,
 
 CREATION, 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 WHAT disquietude, what delirium, seizes my 
 soul ? what sacred flame spreads itself in my veins? 
 The earth, the seas, disappear from my sight; on 
 adventurous wing I raise myself above the clouds 
 and rush into the sanctuary of Deity. 
 
 O ye governors of empires, and ye who obey ; 
 kings, people, listen attentively to the sound of my 
 voice; organ of the supreme being, I am going to 
 declare the wonders of his power, goodness, and 
 justice. God, the universe, man, these are the 
 F 3
 
 79 CttfcATTOSV 
 
 great objects which my new songs embrace. Ne- 
 ver has genius celebrated higher wonders, nor 
 subjects more fit to immortalize itself. 
 
 Sublime praises of the Most High, you shall 
 bound 'my concerts; and my lyre hereafter mute, 
 that lyre whose sounds I have never profaned,, 
 from henceforth shall be suspended in the temple- 
 of the Divinity, as a solemn witness of my rcligif- 
 ous sentiments. 
 
 Let the earth with silent transports hear my 
 last harmonious strains ; let them resound through) 
 the universe, even to the dark regions where the 
 dead repose in the quiet tomb. 
 
 Inhabitants of the celestial regions, partake 
 with me the holy transports- of my < aAranmb ; 
 and ye who cover the throne ot God, with your 
 /laming wings, cherubim, burning with love, carry 
 to the footstool of the Eternal this hymn conse- 
 crated to his glory. 
 
 Celestial wisdom, thou who in days of old, didst 
 inspire the immortal sou: s ot the Hebrew legishi- 
 tor, thou who didst sustain him, in the midst of 
 lightnings, on Horcb's smoking top, when the
 
 CREATION. 
 
 Vl 
 
 thundering Deity revealed himself to him and! 
 gave the holy law. Raise my soul to the height 
 of my subject, kindle my genius, as Neheml- 
 ah suddenly rekindled the sacred fire by pre- 
 senting the moist ashes to the burning rays of the 
 sun. 
 
 I despise the common roads so much frequented 
 by the vulgar; conduct me to glory by new paths*. 
 iJnder thy happy auspices, let ancient poesy rise 
 to new life in my songs and appear in them Cloath- 
 ied with all its dignity. Celestial truth let me fol- 
 low the light of thy torch. 
 
 Truth hears, she appears to me crowned with 
 rays of dazzling fire. A sacred intoxication seizes 
 me; I feel the presence of the Divinity. It is no 
 more the voice of a mortal, it is the voice of God 
 himself; it is he who is about to reveal the prodi- 
 gies buried in the profound night of time. 
 
 Nothing yet existed ! neither heaven, earth, nor 
 inan ; all was plunged in the abyss of night. 
 
 Free, independent, eternal, sovereignly happy 
 from the sense of his oWn omnipotence, arid life 
 F 4
 
 79 C&EATlOTf. 
 
 infinite perfections, he who is from himself, wh 
 possesses the source of life and being, God God 
 alone existed in the plenitude of his happiness, and 
 the secret of his eternity. 
 
 The moment, marked out in the depth of the 
 divine decrees, is at last arrived, the Supreme is 
 going to manifest himself, and to create beings ca- 
 pable of adosing him.. 
 
 O Jehovah, O God, exist no longer for thysel/ 
 alone; come forth of thy silence, from thy repose; 
 display at once thy wisdom and thy power: let the 
 splendid wonders, the order and perfection of thy 
 works, their grandeur and their pomp,. for ever de- 
 clare thy existence and thy glory. 
 
 He speaks, matter is created, nature comes forth 
 from chaos, the elements are in motion, are pois- 
 ed in space; the Eternal speaks: " Let light be,' 
 light appears, the hrst day shines, time* begins, 
 and nothing is no more. 
 
 Fly, creator spirit, fly over the great abyss : go, 
 to its utmost bounds. Let the land arise above 
 ih immense mass of roariug waves : chain the
 
 GRKATIO!f. *S 
 
 waters, within bounds they cannot -pass, and render 
 them fruitful under thy wings of fire. 
 
 Brilliant azure of the heavens, be extended 
 over all nature, like a rich pavillion, envelope the 
 whole universe, and form its sparkling robe. 
 
 And you, magnificent globes, which; embellish 
 these heavens and fill them with- your fires ; ye 
 planets suspended, in the air,; thou, father, of light, 
 dazzling sun; ye twinkling staas, which dart your 
 rays into the bosom of dark night, from a height 
 the eye can hardly reach ; systems, worlds inmir 
 merable, occupy the unlimited deserts of space ; 
 incessantly attract and operate on one another to 
 infinite distances.;, and,, without ever injuring your* 
 selves in your revolutions, or striking against wan- 
 dering comets, roll harmoniously through the im- 
 mensity of the heavens, faithful to order, and to 
 the invariable motion which the hand of.omnipo- 
 tencc has impressed upon you. 
 
 O who will remove the thick veil -from my fee- 
 ble eyes ! W.hat rapid whirlwind, what fiery cha- 
 riot will convey me to the higher regions, where
 
 f4> CREATION-. 
 
 our globe would appear like an atom, a point irj 
 the universe ? 
 
 Who will transport me to the highest of the fixed 
 Stare, that at one view I might embrace all these? 
 magnificent wonders, this prodigious multitude of 
 celestial bodies, these living spheres, those fiery 
 orbs, which roll on with so much magnificence, in 
 obedience to the supreme will, and incessantly 
 jproclaim his glory r 
 
 Innumerable stars which render the heavens 
 resplendent, inexhaustible sources of light, say, 
 are you not so many suns, enlightening and giving 
 life to new worlds ? Do you not animate an infi- 
 nite number of systems still more wonderful in 
 beauty, excellence and grandeur than that which 
 we inhabit ? 
 
 Ah ! who dares affirm the contrary ? Did the 
 great author of all things call us to the creation 
 of the world ? Has his providence revealed to uk 
 his sublime designs: Nave we assisted his coun- 
 sels, to confine his universal beneficence to our 
 Will?
 
 fMHMMft 7& 
 
 . Weak mortals who wish to limit the glory and 
 sovereign dominion of the great uncreated, speaky 
 where were ye when the eternal -separated the ele- 
 ments, formed the earth and moulded it into a 
 globe, when he weighed it and fixed it upon itfe 
 foundations, when he displayed the gold and azure 
 of the heavens, tamed the pride of the sea, and- 
 set bounds to its raging waves ; when he created 
 the terrible meteors, the hail, the lightening, the 
 thunderbolt and the winds, the constellations of 
 Ursa and Orion, the Hyades and those that gild 
 the southern po)e ? 
 
 Where were you when his hand placed the 
 globe of the sun in the firmament, and raised in 
 the midst of this deluge of rays and fire, his im* 
 moveable 'throne? Where were you when he 
 caused the north pole to repose over the void, and 
 suspended the universe upon nothing ? Rash mor- 
 tals ! and would you prescribe bounds to his muni- 
 ficence ? 
 
 Learn then frail man to respect the infinite be- 
 ing: adore with trembling his profound wisdom $
 
 7$ CREATION. 
 
 bow down thy lofty front, and, falling at his feet, 
 render homage to the prodigies of his power. 
 
 Planets, which contain whatever is essential to 
 life, fertile fields, lakes, rivers, fountains, vallies, 
 forests, and deep seas filled with islands and rocks, 
 are ye not inhabited by superior intelligences, by 
 beings more fortunate, and,, alas! wiser than our- 
 selves f 
 
 Inhabitants of other worlds, if inhabitants there 
 be,, perhaps these swarms of misfortunes which 
 assail our miserable life, are unknown to you : the 
 most cruel, the most dreadful of all, inexorable 
 death armed with his ever bloody scythe, perhaps, 
 has never caused your tears to flow, by smiting th 
 dear objects of your love. . 
 
 If you exist, doubtless the fear of dying, th 
 dread of abandoning for ever your pleasant friendsy 
 your rural retreats, and the trees you have plant- 
 ed, do not imbitter your days : time does not im- 
 print on your forehead his irreparable injuries t 
 ftges roll without carrying you along in their rapid 
 Courses, you live without suffering, without grow*
 
 CUF.ATIOtf. 77 
 
 ing old. Your hearts arc pure, and nothing al- 
 loys your peaceful and comtant pleasures. 
 Bright- satellites of Jupiter and Saturn, make 
 up by your brightness the great distance of the 
 sun, enlighten every part of these planets, inces- 
 santly visit their polaruvgions, carry thither life 
 in your rays, and snatch themfrom frightful deso- 
 lation, from the obscurity into which, without you, 
 they would be plunged. 
 
 Space, which contains the heavenly bodies, 
 who will tell me where thy extent begins, and 
 who will point out to me its limits ? Who will 
 show me thy force and weight, ocean without a 
 shore, air, which sustains- these enormous masses, 
 immense fluid, in which swim these innumerable 
 globes ? 
 
 But who has created so many wonders ? an'd 
 what supreme agenfpreserves them ? It is not 
 thou, blind fatality, absurd chance, thou misera- 
 ble God of fools, no; it is not thee. The divine 
 Intelligence, which shines "with .so much splen- 
 dor in the creation of the worlds, the legible 
 seal which he has impressed upon entire nature,
 
 Vfr CREATION. 
 
 discovers to reason, the true, the only master t>F 
 the universe, and renders him visible to every eye. 
 
 O God, hurl thy thunder on those impious men 
 uho wish to carry off from thee the sun and glory 
 of the heavens, to precipitate thee from thy throne, 
 svnd to annihilate the titles of thy existence, in as- 
 cribing thy magnificent works to the eternal ener- 
 gy of matter. 
 
 The earth swallowed up in its abyss mortals less 
 sacrilegious ; doubtless those murmuring Hebrews 
 wore less guilty, against whom heaven in wrath rais 
 r.d up horrible serpents, whose bite, like the flame 
 that devours the chaff, destroyed them instantly. 
 
 Let atheism perish, that execrable enemy of the 
 Deity, that monster sprung from the corruption of 
 the heart! L<et its name be no more pronounced 
 qn the earth, let its blasphemies be stifled, and, 
 loaded with imprecations, let it disappear for ever 
 from the universe. 
 
 m 
 
 END OF CANTO I.
 
 CHEAT ION* 
 
 CANTO II.
 
 CREATION. 
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 I descend from the ethereal vault, and contem- 
 plate the earth. How superb its adorning ! 
 What riches, what wonders it presents to my 
 view ! Every thing here is grand. Every thing 
 here is worthy the creator ; his goodness, like his 
 glory, shines here even in the smallest objects. 
 
 It is no longer the barren chaos, the immense, 
 
 frightful empire of darkness and sterility ; it is no 
 
 more the unformed mass of weak matter, where 
 
 all the elements confounded together existed 
 
 G
 
 82 CREATION. 
 
 without energy. Disorder, night, and silence, fled 
 from the presence of the Eternal. His powerful 
 word peopled the air, the earth, and the seas. 
 Every thing is arranged, every thing is animated, 
 all respire under his sovereign hand ; every where 
 reign variety, motion, life, fruitfulness, and beau- 
 ty ; and every where I behold the impress of that 
 providence, of that ineffable wisdom, which is la- 
 vish in the production of wonders and treasures. 
 
 There, arc the meadows enamelled with flowers 
 which exhale the choisest perfumes immense 
 plains, hills covered with trees of every kind load- 
 ed ^ith delicious fruits. The earth like a tender 
 mother, bears them all in her bosom, and gives to 
 them all, that nourishment which is suited to 
 them. 
 
 Here, grow the flowering shrubs, useful plants, 
 and beneficent vegetables, which are perfected by 
 the rays of the sun, fruitful showers, and the mild 
 dews of night. 
 
 Farther on, I discover an innumerable multi- 
 tude of insects, reptiles, and quadrupeds; these 
 fly in the air, those crawl on the grass, and drag
 
 CREATION*. S3 
 
 themselves along in winding folds, others fill the 
 woods and the vallics. 
 
 The courser lifts his proud head, raises his flow- 
 ing mane, hounds on the plains and makes them 
 resound with his neighings. The lion, king of 
 animals roars without inspiring terror. 
 
 Here, the groves resound with the melodious 
 song of the birds ; their rich plumage shines with 
 a thousand colors. My dazzled eye admires the 
 magnificent ornaments of the peacock, the tuft of 
 feathers which shade his radiant front, the undu- 
 lating azure of his neck, his majestic step, and all 
 those suns of sapphire, of emeralds and gold 
 which irradiate the long plumes of his superb 
 tail, displayed like a moveable rainbow. 
 
 There, the shady forests lose themselves in the 
 clouds : here, high mountains sustain the vault of 
 heaven on their summits. 
 
 Spring forth, rapid rivers, boiling from the bo- 
 som of these mountains ; increase in your course, 
 with the tribute of those streams, flow majestically 
 into the midst of these plains, and spread fertility 
 G 2
 
 84 CREATION - . 
 
 every where. You, peaceful streams, water tlnee 
 smiling meadows : sweet fountains diffuse your 
 tranquil waters along the sides of these verdant 
 hills. 
 
 Arise, amorous zephyrs, agitate these poplars 
 these spinging acacias, balance upon their stems 
 those flowers of the spring, and with your perfum- 
 ed breath, refresh and purify the fields of air. 
 
 Thou sun, the offspring and rival of the Divini- 
 ty, come forth from the east in all thy splendor, 
 rise to heaven's topmost arch, seat thyself upon 
 thy throne of rubies and diamonds; kindle the 
 south with thy fires; pursue thy course, descend 
 to the western sea, and, shining with new glory, 
 soon reappear in the celestial vault made resplen- 
 dent by thy rays, proclaim, publish through the 
 universe the power of God, who has created thy 
 light and heat. 
 
 Enlighten, animate, embellish the world ; main- 
 tain the universal harmony; bestow on all these 
 globes which form thy empire, life, motion, chang- 
 ing seasons, and the sweet influences of day and. 
 night.
 
 CREATION. 85 
 
 Render the earth fruitful ; thy presence makes 
 its riches and its grandeur. If thou cease to re- 
 plenish it with thy fires, it will present only the 
 picture of nonexistence. 
 
 Shed from on high thy enchanting rays, amia- 
 ble sister of the sun, distil a calmer light, a less 
 dazzling day, diffuse every where the poppies 
 of sleep, and the charms of repose ; spouse of si- 
 lence, reign with him, and render nature more 
 august and more striking. 
 
 Asylum of winds and tempests, deep ocean, ex- 
 tensive seas, roll your impetuous waves around the 
 earth, and let your extended arms environ and 
 press it on all sides. 
 
 Powerful mover of all these worlds suspended 
 to thy throne, thou, who embracest in thy immen- 
 sity whatever is and whatever shall be, space, time, 
 and eternity. O God, how beautiful are thy 
 works; with what magnificent array, and with 
 what profusion they come from thy hand, ! With 
 what wisdom and goodness hast thou provided for 
 their preservation ! 
 
 G 3
 
 86 CKEATIOX. 
 
 This universe where every thing answers to thy 
 designs, where the different celestial bodies, so 
 wonderfully proportioned to their end, are closely 
 united, and connected to each other by necessary 
 relations; this universe governed by simple laws, 
 where each globe is surrounded by an atmosphere 
 essential to life, by a circle of vapors which mul- 
 tiply the light and reflect it even to our eyes, caus- 
 ing us to enjoy the break of day, the beams of the 
 sun, and the twilight which embellishes the hori- 
 2on on the evening of a fine day ; this incompara- 
 ble universe full of thy majesty and glory, is to me 
 an immense temple, in which all the great works 
 of nature point out to me a Fatueh, and invite 
 nc to bless and to love him. 
 
 END OF CANTO IIv 
 I
 
 CREATION. 
 
 CANTO III.
 
 CREATION. 
 
 CANTO III. 
 
 WHAT sovereign, all-powerful voice is that 
 tvhich resounds through the highest heavens, and 
 pronounces those sublime words ? "Let us make 
 man in our image, let him have dominion over na- 
 ture, and be its king and priest. 
 
 Immediately, formed of clay, organized by the 
 divine hand, and animated by his miraculous 
 breath, which unites matter and spirit, man ap- 
 pears enriched with an immortal soul, and shin- 
 ing with the features of Divinity.
 
 90 CREATIOJT. 
 
 Arise, my "soul, contemplate the most august 
 spectacle, man, at the coming out of the hands of 
 his maker. The other wonders of creation disap- 
 pear before this new prodigy. 
 
 Neither the splendor of the rising sun, nor the 
 awful majesty of the heavens, nor the legions of 
 stars which shine in the midst of darkness, nor all 
 the diversity of beauties of this grand universe can 
 long engage my attention. 
 
 An object more striking calls and attracts me, 
 it is man : I behold him, and my eyes are dazzled 
 with the eminent dignity that shines in his coun- 
 tenance. I see man in all the beauty of innocence 
 and perfection. I sec him immortal and just, and 
 my soul is enchanted and ravished. I see man : 
 he calls forth all my sentiments of admiration, and 
 makes me forget the whole universe, because he is 
 created in the image of God. 
 
 He is the master-piece, the glory of the Su 
 preme Being. He represents to me the Divinity, 
 when I see him walking in the garden of delights, 
 lifting to heaven his pure eyes and sublime counte- 
 nance. Every thing declares him the sovereign of
 
 CREATION. 91 
 
 the world. He is to command all beings; the 
 eagle that boldly hovers in the clouds, and flies. 
 even to the chariot of the sun : the lion which 
 fills the mountains and forests with his roarings, 
 the monsters which sport at the bottom of the 
 great abyss, yea all nature; it is made for him, 
 the creator has subjected all things to his empire. 
 
 Render homage to your king, inhabitants of the 
 forests : go, fly around him, inhabitants of the 
 air: nightingales raise your voice, ravish his ear 
 by your harmonious concerts, and in melodious 
 sounds pour forth to him your first songs ; gentle 
 zephyrs, invite him to sweet repose, softly breath- 
 ing in these foliages. 
 
 Sleep, come enchain his senses, and at his awak- 
 ing, let a companion, a new blessing from the cre- 
 ator, present herself to his ravished eyes, and 
 crown his felicity. 
 
 Cedars, palm trees, unite your branches at the 
 appearance of these two august beings : raise your 
 pompous heads, form over them a roof of verdure, 
 and cover them with your shade.
 
 J2 CREATION. 
 
 Unfold your blossoms to them, charming flow- 
 ers, embalm the air which they respire. Tender 
 herbage spring up under their feet, orange trees, 
 and odorous citrons offer them a delicious nou- 
 rishment in the nectar and ambrosia of your 
 fruits. 
 
 Mother of Euphrates and Tigris, happy foun- 
 tain, water and fructify these beautiful places, this 
 paradise of pure voluptuousness, this cradle of the 
 human race: divide the crystal of your waves, 
 and forming great rivers, make the dwelling of man 
 Che delightful palace of innocence and happiness. 
 
 But what do I see ? Justice in tears ascends to 
 heaven. What a change ! What a horrible crime ! 
 Adam and Eve disobey their creator: faithless 
 and guilty, they are for ever banished the earthly 
 paradise. Frightful death, with his scythe in his 
 hand, marches at the head of the whole troop of 
 crimes and diseases to erect his empire in the uni- 
 verse. 
 
 Shortly an impious brothtr will shed his bro- 
 ther's blood. I see already the cruel destroyer of 
 the human race, the Demon of War, light up his
 
 CREATION. 93 
 
 torch to set fire to the whole world. What ravag- 
 es! what misfortunes! what tears ! and what an 
 incxhaustable source of calamities ! 
 
 One day in cultivating his fields, the terrified 
 laborer will recoil with horror at the sight of buck- 
 lers and helmets covered with rust, which, struck 
 by his ploughshare, will resound as they roll along 
 in the furrows.. 
 
 But, to complete their wretchedness the de- 
 scendants of man will forget their creator: the 
 unity of God, that first truth, that solemn dogma 
 of nature and of reason, they will efface from their 
 minds. 
 
 Idolatry will soon rear its monstrous head to, 
 the clouds. Ilydaspes and Ganges will see the 
 Magi, in long robes of dazzling whiteness, pros- 
 trating themselves before the heavens, to offer a> 
 profane incense to the sun, and take that for the 
 Divinity which is but his shadow. 
 
 Stupid animals will be worshipped on the bor- 
 ders of the Nile. O crime ! O shame ! the most 
 infamous passions, the most abominable vices, will 
 have altars ; throughout the earth will be erected
 
 f)4 CTtEATIOS. 
 
 magnificent temples to Gods of marble and of 
 brass. 
 
 Seated on the prophetic tripod, violently tor- 
 mented with the spirit of error, the Sibyl foaming, 
 dishevelled, will shake her dark grotto with her 
 horrible ravings, and fill the world with her lying 
 oracles. 
 
 Degraded, perverted, the human race, will pro- 
 voke by their crimes and impieties, the vengeance 
 of heaven. Then, in his wrath, and almost repent- 
 ing that he made man, the Almighty will resolve 
 to destroy him. Then, like the noise of a violent 
 storm, will burst from the clouds that thundering 
 Voice which calls the tempests, breaks down ce- 
 dars, and overturns mountains. Then, the Omni- 
 potent will strike dreadful blows, his vengeful arm 
 will remain extended over man, because great 
 crimes always call for his unmeasured thunder. 
 
 I turn away my eyes from objects too full of 
 horror, and throw a veil over the abyss of fu- 
 turity. , 
 
 Son of Adam, man, be faithful to thy Maker,
 
 CREATION. 95 
 
 Call to mind every moment of thy life, what gifts 
 the king of heaven has bestowed upon thee. 
 
 That heart where reigns tender humanity, 
 where resides conjugal and paternal love, filial 
 piety, peaceful friendship and the nobler virtues; 
 that predominant intelligence which distinguishes 
 thee from all other beings, which has invented the 
 arts and sciences, and raised the great veil which 
 Covers the secrets of nature; that intelligence 
 which by creating to itself new organs, has had 
 the sublime happiness to discover the causes of so 
 many astronomical phenomena, the true system 
 of the universe, the power and the effects of gravi- 
 ty/the motions and revolutions of the heavenly 
 bodies, that genius which, raising itself even to the 
 regions of the fixed stars, notwithstanding their 
 prodigious distance, has discovered worlds without 
 number, which roll in unlimited space; that geni- 
 us which penetrates even the abyss of Divinity it- 
 self, and sounds its depths, speak, whence hadst 
 thou thy being ? is it not from the creator who has 
 drawn thee from nothing? Learn the extent of 
 his blessings.
 
 9<J CREATION. 
 
 The great God has commanded the sea to bend 
 its impetuous waves under the vessels thou would- 
 est launch on its abyss, he has said to the winds, 
 swell the sails of these vessels and conduct them 
 wherever man wishes, from the east to the west, 
 from the south to the north, even to all parts of 
 the world, 
 
 lie said to the high mountains, which look like 
 the pillars of heaven, become a plain before man. 
 He said to the elements, to all nature, behold your 
 king, and obey him. 
 
 He has said to death, daughter of crime, thou 
 shalt exercise thy empire only over the frail clay 
 of which I have formed the body of man : from 
 the moment that man, created in my image, shall 
 render himself guilty, I abandon him to thee. 
 
 Let him fall into the dust, his body came from 
 the dust: but let his immortal and incorruptible 
 part, leap the bounds of time and this earthly ex- 
 istence, and live for ever. 
 
 Gracious bestowment of the beneficent Deity, 
 continual miracle of his omnipotence, O life ! thou
 
 CREATION. 97 
 
 art not then a vain dream ! O life ! I shall not lose 
 thee for ever. 
 
 Let tottering old ago, the frightful companion 
 of time, disfigure my countenance, and reduce me 
 to a shadow; lethim extinguish with his icy breath 
 the lamp of my days, and conduct me to the gates 
 of death ; I will fear neither old age, the coffin, the 
 funeral torches, nor the mournful songs of melan- 
 choly attendants. My most noble part shall tri- 
 umph over death ; no, the sleep which will termi- 
 nate my days, shall not plunge me for ever in eter- 
 nal night. 
 
 I shall live beyond the tomb; the same power 
 which has given me life, will undoubtedly renew 
 its course. The immutable word of Jehovah is 
 my security. 
 
 He has said to man, whatever exists under the 
 sun shall be destroyed ; the wonders of the crea- 
 tion shall perish, cities, people, empires, thou 
 shalt behold them all, after a few moments of 
 splendor, pushed by the arm of destruction* 
 II
 
 98 CREATION. 
 
 brought to nothing, falling on each other in the 
 orient of ages and generations. 
 
 Thou shalt behold the universe suddenly bro- 
 ken, carried away by an impetuous whirlwind, 
 pass like lightning, and disappear before thee, 
 like the shadow which the noon day causes to 
 vanish. 
 
 A bloody veil shall cover the lamp of heaven, 
 and suddenly all shall return to ancient chaos # 
 Inexorable death shall break his useless scythe, 
 and time, despoiled of his wings, shall precipitate 
 himself into the insatiable gulph of eternity. 
 
 But that intelligence which comes from on 
 high, that divine breath which is in thee, thy soul 
 alone shall outswim this vast' ocean of ruins, in 
 which all that is material shall be swallowed up j 
 and if that soul has always followed the rules of 
 justice and reason; if pride which destroyed the 
 rebellious spirits, and hurled them to the bottom 
 of the dread abyss, under burning rocks that pros 
 them with their enormous weight, if pride has not 
 effaced in it the resemblance of the divine nature, 
 a pure day, a celestial glory shall encircle it with
 
 CREATION. 99 
 
 its ray3, and, carryed in the midst of a choir of an- 
 gels, on the wings of virtue, it shall mount up even 
 to me in this region of truth, of light and peace, 
 where I for ever dwell. 
 
 END OF THE LAST CANTO. 
 
 *
 
 
 
 ' 

 
 THE KUBAL WALK,
 
 THE RURAL WALK. 
 
 Hoc eratiu votis : modus 'agri non ita magnuv 
 Hortus ubi, et recto vicinus jugis aqua fons, 
 Et paullum silvae super his foret. 
 
 HOR. 
 
 I have sung the father of day, that fiery star, 
 which from the summit of the skies, inundating 
 the air with torrents of light, covers the earth and 
 seas with a shining veil. 
 
 Majestic picture of nature, sublime objects 
 which ravished my soul, you have not now th 
 same dominion over me. 
 
 H 3
 
 104 THE RURAL WALK. 
 
 Let the young lovers of fame, wander in the 
 slippery paths of Helicon; let the children of th* 
 Gods, the lyric poets, encouraged by my songs, 
 celebrate with more enthusiasm and with more 
 splendor the torch of the universe ; let them de- 
 scribe if they please, the gloomy horrors of a stor- 
 my night, the east wind howling from the clouds, 
 and the south wind bearing on its wings the 
 sparkling thunder, the ocean, groaning from its 
 deep abyss, vast forests resounding with the noise 
 of rocks struck by rapid torrents, rivers overflow- 
 ing their banks and rolling along the plains with 
 extended vvuves, and ancient mountains shattered 
 by roaring tempests. 
 
 For my part, who now love only the banks of 
 fountains, and the silence of the woods, I who, 
 far from the eyes of the profane \ulgar, wish to 
 $k>'tch, iindqr the spreading beech, only simple 
 landscapes, 1 for ever abandon the perilous caret r 
 of glory, and the harp consecrated to Apollo: 
 happy in haying drawn from it harmonious sounds 
 which Nfacrnm and Ikrnk have apjdauded, my
 
 THE RURAL VALKi 105 
 
 muse is going to modulate more tender airs, and 
 repose on milder objects. 
 
 Let us leave vain mortals to lavish in dishono- 
 rable indolence the half of a life more fugitive 
 than the waves of the sea. While, plunged in 
 sleep, they lose without regret hours precious to 
 genius, let us go and admire the springing day, 
 Ike peaceful rising of the sun, and the affecting 
 spectacle of nature. 
 
 Already the pure and serene day whitens tlio 
 hprizon, and shines on the mountains; the singing 
 oi birds begins ; I hear them, they call me ; let us 
 celebrate with them the return of spring. 
 
 How charming are these places J Tiow this 
 view enchants me J Let us stop upon this long 
 terrace, embalmed by these orange trees in flow- 
 it, and contemplate at our leisure this striking 
 spectacle. 
 
 . Here, I command an immense plain, or rather 
 a number of smiling gardens, covered in all sear 
 sons with verdure and fruits. There, I discover a 
 group oi" charming houses, each of which offers to 
 ti?e ravished eye new beauties. Further on, a
 
 106 THE RURAL WALK. 
 
 superb city presents itself, astonishing the sighfc 
 by its rich edifices and high towers which raise 
 their heads to the clouds. I perceive also the 
 great river which flows majestically by the walls 
 of that opulent city, and the noble bridge, lately 
 erected by royal munificence, which antiquity 
 might have ranked among its wonders. 
 
 In surveying these flowery banks, with what 
 emotion my view is directed to the happy retreat 
 of that celebrated philosopher, who has preferred 
 the dignity of a man of letters, and a noble inde- 
 pendence to the dazzling lustre of vain honors. 
 He might have swam in riches if he had listened 
 to blind fortune, but he would have lived a slave, 
 and descended without glory to the tomb. 
 
 Happy, a thousand times happy, is he who pre- 
 fers a rural life, and the sweet labors of the coun- 
 try! Happy the mortal, beloved of the Deity, 
 who, when dreary winter has fled, wandering at 
 his liberty in the meadows, beholds the first rays 
 of the sun gild his vineyards, and his fields clothed 
 with new verdure ; who sees his almond trees 
 flourish, his flocks bound in the vallies, and who,
 
 THE RURAL WALK. 107 
 
 seated near a sacred fountain, in the shady grove 
 mixes his song with that of the nightingale, and 
 chants on his lyre only Pales and the woods. 
 
 What can the wise man desire, whose days flow 
 in such a peaceful stream ? What other wishes 
 can his heart form ? And what situation can raise 
 his envy, when visited in his retreat by a few faith- 
 ful friends, often without expecting them, he has 
 the delicious pleasure of seeing them at a distance, 
 he hastens his steps to meet them, tenderly em- 
 braces them, and places before them a frugal table 
 covered with simple viands furnished by his pater- 
 nal domain ? 
 
 Ah ! the man that leads such a sweet life as this f 
 has nothing more to wish here below ; and mo- 
 narchs themselves, puissant monarchs, amid all 
 the glory and pomp which surround their thrones, 
 would doubtless envy such happiness, if they were 
 acquainted with it. 
 
 I salute thee, pleasant hill, whom heaven has 
 covered with wonders: thou art the ornament of 
 thesefertilecountries, I again salute thee. Fond of
 
 tOS TllV ItURAl TAn*. 
 
 tliese solitary walks, I come to respire tha bcaftiftg 
 air of the morning, and the fragrance of the haw 
 thorn's blossom. 
 
 How the pure soul is charmed by rural objects \ 
 I contemplate them \rith inexpressible delighAi 
 tears of joy tlow from my eyes. Ah I nature ai 
 this moment takes full possessioa of my hear*, 
 
 I hear thee, humble fountain, softly murmur- 
 ing by the side of this grove, where grow the hoi*- 
 ly and viorw. No venemous reptile eoriupw 
 ihy waters; tpanspareofc as crystal, they ftow at 
 tle< foot. of time peaceful elders, which one their 
 life to thee. 
 
 Hetbre I jjofurthee, I will gathersomefirogtant 
 plants whicbgrow in these moist places ; I will cur- 
 ly ttoai myself to. the good old- man, *'1hj, tor- 
 threescore yean and ten, baa cultivated this viae 
 which bis. poor ancestors' planted. Alas ! he is sick . 
 perhaps these salutary herbs may- ease his pale. 
 
 Youagbbrub, often blighted by the cold, object 
 of my tender pity k fear no longer the rigor of tee 
 winter, nor the withe riag influence of the treache- 
 rous frost. The breath of zephyrs now caresses thee,
 
 VMt HtfEAA *A14t 1<# 
 
 and causes t% branches to epfing n Fresh ; tfc 
 spring covem thee wfth ftew flowers ; the sun che- 
 rishes and protects thee, and delights to dart his 
 golden rays across thy verdant foliage. 
 
 With what pleasure I again behold this brook 
 whose lively* bubbling waters spout from a thou* 
 sand sources* and escape by flowing in a canal 
 paved with silver pebbles ! When the melancho- 
 ly spectacle of the vices and crimes of men fa- 
 tigues my soul, it is here I come to respire, and to 
 seek for cairn repose 
 
 Ancient and venerable trees that love this rivu- 
 let, palm trees raising your lofty heads in air, sha- 
 dy sycamores, flowery shrubs that live upon its 
 banks, bend yourselves along its stream, and let i$ 
 never cease to run under the Bhade of your pen- 
 dant branches, until it arrive at the place, where, 
 quitting you with regret, murmuring it precipi- 
 tates itself into that magnificent bason, formed by 
 nature to efface for ever all the prodigies of art. 
 
 Image of the rapidity of time, and of the no- 
 thingness of human vanities, its fleeting waves in- 
 cessantly lose themselves in that wonderful river*
 
 110 . THE KVRAL WALK. 
 
 which, stealing too soon from our eyes, goes, not 
 far from its source, to cast itself into the grand 
 stream, which also soon disappears in the hosom 
 of the ocean. 
 
 Thus, with an insensible course, our sorrqwful 
 days flow on without returning, and conduct us to 
 the tomb. Thus, whatever inflames insatiable 
 ambition, glory, birth, fortune, grandeur, all in au 
 instant are buried in eternity. 
 
 Tranquil rivulet, how often have I come here to 
 pour forth the feelings of my heart, to meditate 
 near thee, the dark, the dreadful future, and to 
 familiarize myself with my last moments. 
 
 How many times hast thou seen me seated on 
 thy banks, my soul affected by that profound 
 peace, that silent calm which filled me with 
 sweet melancholy, mix with thy pure waters my 
 tender tears when I was obliged to leave them, 
 return to them again recalled by my desires ; re- 
 move myself from them with heavy step, sighing, 
 ga2e at them from a distance, and my heart, lock- 
 ed by grief, groaning, sighed forth : Alas ! why 
 cannot I finish my days here.
 
 THE RURAL WALK. Ill 
 
 , You, who cause my delights, dwellings of inno- 
 cence and repose, vallies, ever present to my me- 
 mory, solitude ever dear to my heart, I will never 
 forget you. 
 
 .0 happy mortals, mortals too little known, who 
 cultivate these smiling vineyards and these fruitful 
 plains! alas! how I envy you! When will my 
 wishes be accomplished ? When shall I live with 
 you ? and may I at last, disengaged from so many 
 importunate connexions which now fatigue me, in- 
 habit these humble retreats, which will he, even 
 to my last sigh, the objects of my love ? 
 
 Confidents of my most secret thoughts, you, 
 who from my earliest youth, knew the bottom of 
 my heart, say, did I ever envy any other hap- 
 piness? 
 
 How many times, in our peaceable walks, have 
 we celebrated the charms of rural life. It was 
 but the other day, in this alley, where the vine 
 united to the young lindens, extends its branches 
 suspended in long festoons, I ,said to you ; Let 
 us live here, let us live in these charming hamlets. 
 My friends, it was my soul which spoke to you.
 
 113 THE KUttAL WALK. 
 
 I impressed to you only those sentiments which 
 wore dearest to me. 
 
 Ah ! if propitious heaven restores me one day 
 to myself, if liberty, too slow, takes pity on my 
 trouble, with what ardor will I go and bury in)- 
 self in the country 1 There I shall bo seen, a so- 
 litary philosopher, inclosing with a quickset 
 hedge a small held cultivated with my own hands, 
 gathering the first violets of the spring,' cutting at 
 leisure my numerous espaliers, training their 
 fruitful branches, clipping the honeysuckle and 
 the acanthus, supporting the weak shrub, the 
 sport of the winds, directing around my bower the 
 tender vine, and seated in its shade, contemplate 
 daily with satisfied eye, the ripening grapes 1 I shall 
 retire at the approach of the hoar frosts, and the 
 chilling storm, lay up the last fruits of autumn, 
 and in these happy cares of the golden age, finish 
 an innocent life, uncorrupted by any bitterness or 
 hatred. Oh ! how I will bles.H he:iven for lim- 
 ing removed rac from men, and for being forgotten 
 by them.
 
 THE RURAL WALK. 
 
 113 
 
 Nevertheless it is pleasant to have never offend- 
 ed them. It is also pleasant to have written no- 
 thing but from my heart. The bitterness of satire 
 and of envy has never soiled my pen; it is pure and 
 spotless ; and if my name does not shine among 
 those of the sublime geniuses admired by all the 
 world, at least^t is dear to sensible and virtuous 
 souls. A happiness so consoling is the greatest 
 glory: it makes me love life, it embellishes my 
 days, and I shall carry it with me to the tomb.
 
 NIGHT.
 
 NIGH T. 
 
 , > ...,c.... < >.,v-0" 
 
 ON the evening of a fine day, fatigued with heat, 
 I went to breathe the fresh air : the sun's fiery orb 
 was leaving the horizon, and the shades, descend- 
 ing from the mountains, extended already into the 
 plains. 
 
 I soon lost sight of the hamlet I inhabit, and 
 the thundering forges where, with a terrified eye, 
 we behold the sons of Vulcan, armed with long 
 pincers, draw from the flaming furnace the spark- 
 ling steel, and plunge it into the trembling wave. 
 
 The shepherds were every where driving back 
 their numerous flocks, playing on the flute and 
 I 3
 
 118 VIGHT. 
 
 pipe ; the oxen returning with slow steps. I was 
 wandering in the fields, and only heard at a dis- 
 tance the deafening hammers falling with redou- 
 bled strokes on sounding anvils : I advanced in- 
 sensibly to a greater distance. It is pleasant to 
 be alone in a place which one loves, and to give 
 oneself up to musing. I thus prolonged my 
 walk, without perceiving that night was already 
 far advanced. But far from being affrighted, it 
 appeared to me interesting, and I found how de- 
 lightful it is to enjoy the spectacle of a fine 
 night. 
 
 The air was pure, the heavens wore not obscur- 
 ed by any cloud ; the brilliant stars embellished 
 the azure vault; a beautiful moonlight, spread 
 every where, gave to the rural objects a new 
 charm. This half-day, this uncertain light, mix- 
 ed at a distance with the shades of the" woods 
 and hills, inspired a swe<>t melancholy. 
 
 All nature reposed, the weak rivulet was hard- 
 ly heard to murmur in the meadow which it wa- 
 tered. How this universal calm, this Vast silenc*,
 
 XIOHT. Hf 
 
 affected my soul, and penetrated me with senti- 
 ments august and religious. 
 
 I stopped by a superb lake, smooth as glass, 
 whose sides were ornamented with willows and 
 poplars, between which might be seen some insu- 
 lated thatched cottages. With what transport, fa- 
 rored by the silver rays of the lamp of night, 
 I contemplated the magnificent vault of the hea- 
 vens, inverted and reproduced entire in this vast 
 bason, the trees seemed to grow taller and appear 
 more distant, and their foliage, agitated by a fresh, 
 breeze, wavering and floating in the faithful mir- 
 ror of tranquil waters. 
 
 I went and seated myself in a neighbouring 
 grove to consider* attentively so many wonders ; 
 and there I gave myself up to all the reflexions 
 which so charming a spectacle could inspire, 
 when the sound of a voice recalled my mind from 
 the reverie into which I was plunged. This voice 
 appeared to be near me, I silently removed the 
 thick branches, and had a glimpse, not far distant* 
 f a man far advanced in years. 
 I 4
 
 120 NiGii*r. 
 
 His head almost bald, his countenance noble 
 and serene, his flowing beard, whitened by his 
 long years, inspired a holy respect. He was on 
 his knees under an oak, whose trunk, wasted by 
 time, still produced vigorous shoots. With eyes 
 raised to heaven, he spoke aloud. I listened in 
 silence, and heard this sublime and affecting pray, 
 er, which proceeded from a heart lull of the Divi- 
 nity he invoked. 
 
 " O thou, whose infinite existence and power, 
 are manifested by all nature with so much gran- 
 deur. Father of men, from the height of thy 
 throne, surrounded by innumerable choirs of pure 
 spirits, who live in thy love, burn with thy fins, 
 and incessantly celebrate, on the^r ravishing harps, 
 thy divine praises, condescend for a moment to 
 bear a feeble mortal, and to receive his homage." 
 
 " In the midst of the silent night I raise my. 
 voice, I come to adore that eternal Intelligence 
 which created me." 
 
 " The universe, great God is thy temple. En- 
 lightened by day by the dazzling sun, which is thy 
 image, and tilled during the night with sparkling
 
 5UGHT. 121 
 
 Stars, which form thy crown, the immeasurable 
 heavens are the roof of this magnificent temple, 
 and man, innocent and pure, is the priest." 
 
 " Oh ! how coidd foolish mortals avoid per- 
 ceiving this visible, universal wisdom which go- 
 verns the world with so much splendor ? How, 
 at the appearance of these sparkling globes which 
 roll above the clouds, of the vast ocean which sur- 
 round the earth, and unite nations by the trea- 
 sures scattered in profusion on its surface, and 
 heaped together in its bowels, surrounded with 
 so many wonders, how could they forget the au- 
 thor ?" 
 
 " I bless thee, supreme God, for giving me birth 
 in the country, far from corrupted cities, and 
 that thou hast removed pride and ambition far 
 from my heart. Thanks to thy paternal good-^ 
 ncss, I have enjoyed for almost a century the 
 true blessings of life, peace of soul, and a happy, 
 mediocrity." 
 
 " Thou hast never ceased to bestow on me the 
 gifts of thy love. My last days are still marked 
 by thy kindness. Abundant harvests fill my
 
 152 xioiit. 
 
 granaries; thou watercst my meadows; thou giv- 
 *st fruitfulness to my flocks; thou fertilizcst my 
 xincyards; thy hand covers my trees with blos- 
 soms and with fruit, which have never been ravag- 
 ed by the violent Africus nor the stormy Auster." 
 
 " To complete my felicity, thou hast prserved 
 my companion in life, and our beloved children, 
 whose tenderness is the delight of our old age. 
 My God, I have nothing more to desire, but t 
 die before them." 
 
 " I feel myself approaching the end of my days ; 
 sooh I shall mingle my ashes with those of my fa- 
 thers. Protector of my long life, I recommend to 
 thy care my children, when I am laid in the silent 
 tomb. Pity their tender mother: watch, from, 
 the highest heaven, over those who are dear to me, 
 O my God, never forsake them." 
 
 In finishing these words, his eyes were filled 
 with tears, profound sighs heaved from his heart; 
 he could hardly breathe. I thought I saw some- 
 what divine beam in the countenance of this ve- 
 nerable old man. He arose, and with tranquil 
 steps retired to his dwelling, where I heard him
 
 WIGHT. 125 
 
 Bgain offer up his praises to the Supreme Being* 
 In the mean time sparkling Aurora was prepar- 
 ing to open the gates of heaven; the birds, flying 
 in the tufted trees, began to sing. Already the 
 rabbits, springing from their burrows, ran in the 
 extensive meadows whitened with dew, and crop- 
 ped the creeping thyme, while the yelping fox 
 pursued the terrified hare in the woods. 
 
 Already the diligent laborer yoked his lowing 
 oxen to the plough ; the sheep coming in crouds 
 from the fold, bleating, spread themselves over the 
 fields, followed by barking dogs, and shepherds 
 singing rustic airs. Crowned with rubies and with 
 rays of gold, the sun comes from the bosom of the 
 Ivaters, and darts his first fires. My soul affected 
 and charmed with what I had seen, with what 
 I had heard, I arose and regained in peace my 
 rural habitation.
 
 THE ORCHARD.
 
 THE ORCHARD. 
 
 LET others describe in -pompous verse the superb 
 gardens of kings, the magruficent statues which give 
 lift: to the silent groves, and the obedient waters, 
 which, forced through conduits, spring into the 
 air, and foil in brilliant pearls into a bason of ala- 
 baster. 
 
 I who live in an obscure retreat, and behold the 
 palaces of princes only at distance, I am not am- 
 bitious of the .glory of suspending my simple gar- 
 lands from their gilded canopks : satisfied with 
 describing nature, and expressing with freedom 
 the sentiments of my heart, I am going <to survey
 
 128 THE ORCHARD. 
 
 the humble orchard where I spent my infantile 
 days. 
 
 With what delight I enter here ! and what plea- 
 sure I have in walking about this charming spot ! 
 What a luxury it is, after a long absence, to revisit 
 the dear theatre 01 our childish sports, 
 
 Under that peaceful roof I was born. It was 
 in this orchard that my feeble eyes first beheld 
 the rays of the sun 
 
 There, a kind hand supporting my tottering body, 
 humored its least movements, and excited me to 
 form my first steps. It was there, breathing a pure 
 air, aliment of life, I grew like a springing shrub, 
 whose delicate stem strengthens daily. 
 
 In this alley of chesnuts, a good natured dog, 
 following a train of sporting children, dragged me 
 in a carriage, which a tender mother, with anxious 
 eye, followed at a distance. 
 
 Never shall I forget, how my father, at the end 
 of this terrace, showing me the sun and and the 
 vast expanse of the heavens, conversed with me 
 for the first time concerning the existence of a Su- 
 preme Being, his greatness and power, and raised
 
 THE ORCHARD. 159 
 
 in my affected and astonished mind the first reli- 
 gious ideas. After having displayed to me, the 
 wonders of the universe, pressing me in his arms, 
 he said to mc ; O my son ! comfort my heart and 
 the heart of thy mother, by constantly adoring 
 from thy very soul that divine Intelligence which 
 has deigned to create thee, and to call thee to the 
 enjoyment of life. Believe me, the enemy of God 
 is always miserable : shun him without persecut- 
 ing him, and be less afraid of death than of his 
 perplexing dogmas. 
 
 I cannot, without emotion, enter this bower of 
 laurels where my grandfather read to me the 
 beautiful verses of Virgil, and still oftener caused 
 me to admire the melodious accents of the swan 
 of Cambray. 
 
 O how sensible I then was of the charming 
 sweetness of Telemachus ! and how much I now 
 prefer that chef d'ociare to all the pompous odes 
 in which Pindar celebrates the triumphs of the 
 kings of Syracuse and Agrigentum, proclaimed 
 victors at the Olympic games. The pictures of the 
 K
 
 130 the oitcn.Mir>. 
 
 French Homer much more affect my heart. 
 How I enjoy his charming descriptions I How 
 enchanted I am with his harmonious style. 
 
 Aii! if a gentle philosophy causes my feeble 
 writings to be beloved, if in thein are found any 
 true sentiments, if any happy traits distinguish 
 them from the multitude, divine painter of virtue, 
 immortal priest, to thee I shall owe ihe glory. 
 
 'I'd thee also, charming orchard, 1 owe my hap- 
 piness; thou hast inspired nvy ruling passion, the 
 love of rural life, and relish for the beauties of 
 nature. My imagination incessantly pleases it- 
 self, in retracing to my enchanted soul, the peace, 
 the sincere pleasures of my early years, and those 
 lively sensations of infancy, which always form 
 our tastes and ideas. 
 
 These pleasant images will never !>< effaced 
 from my memory. What I then loved, I still 
 love. This ancient vine, ornament of those walla, 
 this green palm tree, proud of its foliage, these 
 hives covered with straw, where the industrious 
 bee distils in peace her golden fluid ; this tig tree 
 which protect* me from the fires of the burning
 
 THE ORCHARD. 131 
 
 dog star, this stream whose pure waters quench 
 my thirst, these fresh shades, where I enjoy a 
 tranquil, unexpected sleep. I will ever love 
 this fertile orchard, where my good ancestors, ex- 
 empt from that assemblage of woes, which tor- 
 ments ambitious mortals, have enjoyed lengthened 
 years, the recompence of their active and frugal 
 lives. 
 
 Stealing from the slavery of the city, accompa- 
 nied by my faithful dog, I will often come to this 
 peaceful orchard, to find again nature and breathe 
 repose. I will often come here to gather the fra- 
 grant raspberry, the delicious peach, and the gol- 
 den balls suspended from the branches of the 
 orange tree. It will be also sweet, in my old age, 
 to be brought here, to sit on this turf surrounded 
 with jessamines and roses, and to console the ri- 
 gors of my winter by the remembrance of the pure 
 joys and tranquil happiness of my spring. 
 
 K 2
 
 BENEFICENCE.
 
 BENEFICENCE. 
 
 Miscris succurrere disco. 
 
 VIRGIL. 
 
 OFFSPRING of heaven, sweet disposition of cul- 
 tivated minds, O divine Beneficence, happy the 
 mortal who lives under thy empire, and who has 
 devoted to thee his heart. 
 
 Happy he, who in his youth, undeceived respect- 
 ing the illusions of life, and the foolish passions 
 which degrade mankind, abandons the city, and 
 K 4
 
 136 BENEPICEHCE-. 
 
 visits the rural cottage to console suffering hu- 
 manity. 
 
 He doubtless received his birth among barba- 
 rians, and long sucked the milk of a tigress on 
 Mount Caucasus, who can behold the tears of mi- 
 sery with an insensible eye, whose flinty heart, deaf 
 to commiseration, repels with a cruel joy every 
 emotion of pity. 
 
 How I pity the man who lives for himself only, 
 and whose avaricious heart, tormented night and 
 day with the thirst of gold, has never felt the holy 
 flame of Beneficence; foolish man, who deprives 
 himself of the sweetest and most noble enjoyment, 
 the pleasure of doing good. 
 
 I bless the Supreme Being for having given me 
 bowels of compassion, never shall the happiness 
 of others be foreign to me ; I will enjoy it with 
 transport, it relieves my heart. How am I atilict- 
 ed and tormented at another's misfortune. 
 
 I still recollect, nor will my memory ever lose 
 the impression, with what grief I wu seized at the 
 night of a despaiiing mother, vho was following 
 her only son to the tomb. Shtt rent the air with
 
 BENEFICENCE.' 13f 
 
 her cries. The name of this child to whom she 
 had given suck, came insensibly from her mouth, 
 she called him, still spake to him, her voice was 
 stifled by her sighs. Tears flowed from every eye, 
 the priest, affected and weeping, could not finish 
 the sacred prayers. She wished, in the excess of 
 her grief, to precipitate herself upon the coffin, 
 and to bury herself alive in the tomb it was found 
 necessary to carry her away fainting and dying, 
 
 So we see the tender nightingale, from whom 
 the barbarous birdcatcher has ravished the spring- 
 ing fruits of her love, unhappy, she sighs, she 
 moans all the night in a solifary grove, and pours 
 forth in long accents her plaintive lamentations. 
 
 Heaven has not given me much ; but this little 
 belongs to indigence. The corn that grows in my 
 small field is harvested for the poor as well as for 
 myself. When burning Leo vomits through the 
 regions of air torrents of fire, they shall enjoy the 
 fresh shade of my woods. In the winter, retired 
 to my hospitable dwelling, they shall there brave 
 the fury of the north winds, I will share my all 
 with them; the nectar of my vine, the wool of my
 
 139 BEKiriCEXCE. 
 
 sheep, ami the fruits of my orchard. Alas ! the 
 man who has felt misfortune, finds no happiness 
 equal to that of consoling the wretched. 
 
 I would not be ambitious of the riches of Atta- 
 lus, nor of all the gold which, in former times, the 
 king of Lydia had accumulated, I would not envy, 
 I say, all these treasures, but to eternize my dear- 
 est sentiments and to satisfy the wishes of my soul, 
 by raising a magnificent temple to Beneficence. 
 
 In this temple should be seen, neither conque- 
 rors, scourges of humanity, nor the ungrateful, 
 who dishonor it ; nor oppressive monarchs, always 
 :irnied with the axe of despotism : only the tender 
 virtues, gratitude and faithful friendship should 
 have altars there* 
 
 Generous souls, feeling and compassionate men, 
 your statues should fill this temple ; I would my- 
 self crown them with laurels, every where on 
 those sacred walls should be read your illustrious 
 names, engraved with my hand in letters of gold, 
 on immortal marble.
 
 THE MOUNTAIN.
 
 THE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 ..,..,_....<>... ..*> 
 
 I salute thee, majestic mountain, whose lofty 
 summit reaches the heavens : I salute thee, 
 
 I have abandoned for thee the flowery vallies, 
 bubbling streams, and silent groves ; I have quit- 
 ted them all, that I might once more enjoy the 
 sublime spectacle which thy peaceful and so- 
 litary summit presents to my view. 
 
 I can here breathe in peace, and contemplate 
 nature in all its magnificence. Here, at least, no 
 mournful image affects my heart* 
 
 I am no more on those formidable mountains, 
 where all the imprisoned and jarring elements, 
 growl furiously, and in their endless combats,
 
 142 THE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 strive to overturn the ancient foundations of the 
 world. 
 
 I have seen the horrible cavern of the black 
 Cyclops; I have seen it cast forth sparkling co- 
 lumns which arose to the clouds, scattering dread- 
 ful lightnings. I have seen torrents of melted mi- 
 nerals burst from the bosom of Vesuvius, precipi- 
 tate themselves in cascades of fire, and pursue 
 trembling Neptune far into his own empire. 
 
 I have heard the bellowings of burning Etna ; 
 I have seen Enceladus himself, raising enormous 
 rocks which fell again upon him, vomit, in his 
 powerless rage, vortices of ashes and smoke ; 
 1 have seen him in the insupportable violence of 
 his tonnenis, pluck out his burning entrails, and 
 with an impious hand, hurl them against the vault 
 of heaven, 
 
 These horrible spectacles no longer terrify my 
 *oul: I no more hear the roaring storm: I am 
 above the tempest, I behold beneath me. the t\\m\ 
 tier furrowing the clouds with its burning arrows. 
 
 Mighty ocean, I have seen the winds let loose, 
 agitate thy waves, and cause thy waters to bod
 
 THE BTOtTNTAIW. 14* 
 
 even from the bottom of thy abyss. I have seea 
 Aquilo ingulph himself in a cloud, terrible and 
 roaring, descend from the heights of the air in a 
 % liirlwind, and drive furiously dreadful water- 
 spouts over thy boiling waves. 
 
 Here all breathe a calm, ray view is attracted 
 only by flowery hills, fertile vineyards, val lies in- 
 habited by brooks, superb rivers that flow majes- 
 tically through immense plains, 
 
 Ye who consume m the bosom of opulent cities 
 your useless days,, and who dare to describe na- 
 ture without knowing her, leave the frivolous 
 world ; come here and contemplate the suiv and 
 read the great book of t lie universe. It is here 
 we must admire and study nature. That queen 
 of the world loves the mountains: she loves to eiv- 
 close herself in their extensive bowels, as in an 
 inaccessible sanctuary. It is there she silently 
 forms those treasures, metals, precious stones and 
 sparkling diamonds, which in -time she matures 
 in their deep cavities, 
 
 My soul cannot contain its transports ; here 
 I embrace the whole universe. If I raise my eyes
 
 144- THE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 
 
 to heaven, I behold in all his splendor, the Got! of 
 day, the great luminary which I have sung; he 
 crowns my front with his purest rays; I behold 
 him with ecstacy, and swim in the ocanofhis 
 light. 
 
 Happy mountain, once arrived at thy summit, 
 it seems as if heaven opened to my view. Plung- 
 ed in religious meditations, my soul filled with ho- 
 ly impressions, 1 contemplate the Father of na- 
 ture in the immensity of his omnipotence, and in 
 the astonishing splendor of his greatness. He 
 communicates himself to me, he surrounds me 
 with all his majesty. It is there he speaks to my 
 soul ; and there at the sight of so many grand ob- 
 jects, I formerly desired to sing the wonders of 
 creation. 
 
 Mountain beloved of heaven, I regret to leave 
 thee, and to revisit once more an impious world, 
 filled with falsehood and crimes. Adieu, retreat 
 of the wise, peaceful mountain, adieu. As I de- 
 scend from thy summit, truth seems to take wing, 
 and 1 remove from the Divinity.
 
 END OF AUTUMN.
 
 THE END OF AUTUMN. 
 
 .,<>... .0,....<V'"< v -0" 
 
 WHAT are become of those fine days, those hap- 
 py days so dear to my soul, in which Philomel, 
 hi.d in the thick bush of flowery hawthorn, chant- 
 ed in her melodious tone the triumphs of tho 
 spring, and charmed the day and night by her de- 
 lightful notes. 
 
 Every thing in the fields languishes, all is dead. 
 Flora and Pomona have disappeared; even the 
 God of day has removed himself, and no longer 
 darts his rays but at intervals through the cloudy 
 air, he appears to enlighten with regret the s<w> 
 rowful ruins of rural nature. 
 L 2,
 
 MS THE END OF At?TTMtf. 
 
 Charming birds who mix the colors of yoiir 
 bright plumage with the springing verdure of the 
 shrubs, I shall not, for a long time, hear your ten- 
 der notes in these harmonious groves: I shall not, 
 for a long time, see the migrating swallow declare 
 war against the silly fly, and skim along the azure 
 surface of this lino lake ; chased by the fierce 
 children of Orythia, she abandons her nest, and 
 flies far from my hospitable roof to milder cli- 
 mates. 
 
 The swan with her long neck and the light 
 crane take flight, and mount up to the clouds, 
 whilst the crow with heavy wing beats the air, and 
 causes her doleful croakings to be heard every 
 where, which mournful echo repeats. 
 
 How is the glory of the country changed ! 
 How have the north winds and the cold dishonor- 
 ed the fields and these hills, how this green turf is 
 faded, and these gardens lately covered with 
 flowers and fruits. I no longer know these fer- 
 tile fields, my eye on every side discovers only af- 
 flicting objects.
 
 THE WHO OF AUTUM1C. 14$ 
 
 Instead of its verdant branches and amber 
 grapes, the vine offers only dry sterns deprived of 
 their foliage by the stormy rains. Those ancient 
 forests which bound the horizon, those robust elms 
 have lost their majestic shade ; ravaged now by 
 the stormy Orion, they are despoiled of their muU 
 titude of leaves, and present afar off only their 
 withered tops. 
 
 Thus in the groves which enchanted me, my 
 mind now receives only mournful impressions. 
 Parterres, but a moment since, embellished with a 
 lively enamel, no; I cannot bear the sight of your 
 flowcrless stalks and faded leaves, all is over with 
 you, I leave you in spite of myself. The last fi/iu 
 day of autumn passed away with the last ros<* 
 I plucked from the prickly branch. 
 
 Those fine days will return, those sweet shades 
 which I regret will spring again. This grassy turf 
 will again grow green, the sun will restore life to 
 these woods, to these despoiled fields ; new llow- 
 ers will adorn these meadows, and nature will 
 arise from its ruins more shining and beautiful. 
 L 3
 
 13d nre ettb of AtrTirmr. 
 
 Bat we, miserable mortals, deprived of life, ire 
 disappear and never return, our winter has no end. 
 Once precipitated on the frightful shores of death, 
 in vain we sigh after the light which has been ra- 
 vished from us ; never shall we see it again ; cru- 
 el destiny opposes us ; implacable, it leaves us to 
 sigh and consume ourselves in eternal regret3 tho 
 pale inhabitants of the empire of darkness. 
 
 Such are the sad thoughts with which, at the 
 decline of autumn, the spectacle of dying nature 
 fills my disconsolate mind. Death seems t 
 pursue me every wherfe. In the midst of forests, 
 on the banks of rivers, every where it presents it- 
 self to me under the most gloomy images, l-'une- 
 ral objects which come in crouds to arrest my at- 
 tention, still redouble my pensive melaticholy. 
 
 The mourning of the earth begins. Already 
 the gathered clouds fall : the nir, inundated with 
 contagious vapors, grows dark : the snow fall* in 
 large flakes, and covers the mountains' lofty tons. 
 
 I behold horrible winter, shaking his icicles, 
 tpring from the caverns of the north, surrounded 
 with the nipping hoar frosts, and impure fop,*.
 
 mnF. EXJ> OF AUTTUMJT, 151 
 
 wfiich extend themselves rapidly over the sadden- 
 ed plains. His breath enchains the flowing wave, 
 and renders deep rivers motionless ; buried under 
 e vault of iee, image of the tomb, the great rivor 
 which watered these rich plains has disappeared, 
 
 I hear the bellowing of the angry sea ; impetu- 
 ous storms rush in the air; the elements are in con- 
 fusion ; the torch of the world ceases to enlighten it. 
 Has the course of ages run its destined round ? 
 Is the universe grown old and going to return into 
 eternal night? 
 
 Adieu, beloved retreat, in which I have passed 
 go many happy moments ; adieu, limpid and pure 
 fountain, amiable brook which, murmuring, rolls 
 among golden pebbles over silver sands ; adieu, 
 tender shrubs, cultivated by my care ; peaceful 
 groves rendered delightful to me by beautiful days 
 and the song of the nightingale: I shall see you 
 no more until the breath of zephyrs perfume 
 you, until spring return crowned with verdure and 
 flowers. 
 
 Tormented by the destructive winds, shivering 
 L 4
 
 tse 
 
 THE 8KD OP AtTTTJMV. 
 
 I return to the town, where, while furious Boreas 
 roars at my shaking window, I will sleep in pacc 
 amid the noise of his shrill blasts, or tranquilly 
 converse with a few faithful friends assembled 
 
 rOUnr) mw K^,. -U
 
 T HE BE E S.
 
 THE BEES. 
 
 HAPPY painter of nature, whose harmonious 
 lyre, has celebrated in such sweet accents the la- 
 bors of rural life, O divine Virgil, pardon me if 
 I presume to sing of Bees. I invoke thy genius ; 
 lend to my timid muse thy grace, thy enchanting 
 coloring, less to embellish simple truth with thy 
 pleasant fables, than to render it more striking. 
 
 Let statues be erected to the wise mortal, who 
 first occupied himself with the care of gathering 
 the wandering, solitary, bees into society, and, 
 forcing them to leave the caverncd mountains, 
 and to abandon immense forests, enriched mankind 
 with this magnificent present of nature.
 
 156 THE BEES. 
 
 They wore doubtless inspired by the celestial 
 powers, who first struck with the genius of these 
 useful insects conveyed them from the frozen 
 shores of the Borysthenes to the bright regions of 
 Attica, and into the mild climates where Arethu- 
 sa rolls its happy waves among the flowers. 
 
 Industrious Bees, you owe not your existence 
 to corruption, the ancient poets, in giving you 
 such an origin, have unworthily disgraced you. 
 It is to the sublime Intelligence which animates 
 and governs all nature, it is to the supreme wis- 
 dom, you owe motion, life, and that admirable in- 
 stinct by which you are able to produco such 
 wonders. 
 
 Who can contemplate these marvellous hives 
 without astou'shment, models of a government 
 firm and durable, in which opulence is the fmit of 
 labor, where nothing is tolerated, nothing is pros- 
 perous, but what is useful ; where laziness has no 
 favor to expect, where ull disorder is punished 
 with death. 
 
 What do I see? Among this laborious people 
 all are obedient to one single power, to one
 
 tut. tP.ti, 157 
 
 ftnly queen* Mother of this immense family, she 
 Is the safety and the hope of the republic, the ob- 
 jeet of the general love. Cares, labors, homage* 
 all relate to this powerful sovereign, whose prodi* 
 gious fecundity produces those swarms, those nu* 
 lnerous colonies which by frequent emigrations, 
 go to a distance to form in their turn other states. 
 
 New queens ambitious of the throne, rise up to 
 share the sceptre and supreme authority: sudden- 
 ly on all sides begin bloody wars ; innumerable 
 battalions obscure the air; the battle begins, they 
 engage; fury and carnage reign every where, the 
 earth is covered with the dying and the dead, and 
 cruel Atropos cannot count the victims that she 
 sends to the gloomy banks below, 
 
 Thus these numerous swarms, spread through 
 the world, govern themselves ; those of Mount 
 Hybla and Hymettus, of the Atlantic Isles and of 
 India, and those of the rich countries washed by 
 the Hellespont, all follow the same laws, the same 
 manners, the same administration. 
 
 New wonders present themselves and delight 
 jne. Ingenious Bees, what architect, or rather
 
 168 THE rfiKA. 
 
 what beneficent Divinity has bestowed on yotl 
 the talent of constructing, with so much symmetry 
 and proportion, such regular edifices, such perfect 
 cells; to distil into them this exquisite honey, to 
 form th wax, which fashioned by art, cliaec away 
 night from our splendid halls, and reproduce in 
 the midst of darkness, the lamps of heaven, and 
 the splendor of a fine day. 
 
 But already the zephyrs are felt in our groves; 
 xvinter and the hoar frosts are fled, and have plung- 
 ed into the caverns of Appenine; the almond tree 
 flourishes; borne on a cloud of azure ami silver, 
 Spring descends from beaven, holding inUer hands 
 griauds ot 'violets and primroses ; the star of day 
 shines, and tills the air with a pleasant heat. 
 
 Come forth, young Bees, come from that asy- 
 lum where Boreas has so long held you captive: 
 let the fields resound with your hummings: go, 
 fly over the (lowers still moist with the tears oi" 
 Aurora ; despoil them of the farina which render* 
 them fragrant, plunge into their calices, draw from 
 them the juices and ucligbtful perfumes. Loaded 
 fttCjl such precious spoils, return und confide to
 
 nK BREft, 159 
 
 ihe V^rking bees that delicious honey, with which 
 in times of old you. had the; glory to nourish, on 
 Mount Ida> the father of the Gods, great Jupiter : 
 ad that fragrant wax destined to hurn in the pa- 
 laces of kings, and to heighten in the temples of 
 the Divinity, the pomp of altars and the majesty 
 of religious ceremonies* 
 
 Happy Bees, you recal to my mind the sweet 
 remembrance of my infancy, and the affection 
 my grandfather had for you. That old man pre* 
 served to an advanced age the strength and gaiety 
 of youth : retired from the world, he passed his 
 tranquil days in the country. 
 
 In the most healthy place of his orchafd, and 
 under the most pleasant aspect he placed your 
 hives. Thyme, jessamine, maijoram, lavender, 
 and a thousand odoriferous shrubs, which he had 
 planted, grew around. The linden and the maple 
 shaded and sheltered you from the insults of the 
 north wind. Not far distant ran a brook which 
 tempered by its coolness the tires of the south, and 
 offered you an ever pure stream.
 
 lfjo THft iMfc 
 
 Atas! what was his pain when a cold mntr *!* 
 porous than that of the Hyperborean mountains 
 destroyed half hit hives 1 The shepherd AriMee- 
 us regretted less his flocks: the sorrowful Atlan- 
 tides shed fewer tears over the tomb of their ten- 
 der brotlrtjr, than he for the death oi his beloved 
 lJecs, 
 
 When the season to despoil yoti of your trea- 
 sures arrived, that venerable man rejoiced to press 
 in his hands your sweet combs, and to see the 
 frothy honey, in long streams of gold, run into an 
 antique bason. 
 
 1 Hill remember it with delight; taking me by 
 the hand he went i-very day to visit his hives : h 
 showed me the pernicious herbs and venrmotis 
 plants, and stooped down to pluck them up. How 
 many times in spite of his prohibitions, going too 
 near the hives, the sting of an angry bee has mode 
 me feel pun for my imprudent curiosity. Ahirm- 
 edat my cries, he ran with threatening words, but 
 soon softened by my tears and lamentations, he 
 took me in his arms, pitied me, lavished on me
 
 THE BEES. l6l 
 
 his tender caresses, and, good old man, himself 
 wiped away my tears. 
 
 Alas; how often have I since experienced that 
 the most painful griefs of infancy, and the divers 
 privations with which that rebellious age is disqui- 
 eted, arc only sports, trivial evils, which in a more 
 advanced age, disappear before the troubles of 
 the heart. 
 
 Every thing grows feeble and passes away; but 
 the chagrins, the torments of a feeling heart 
 spring afresh every day, and increase when we 
 grow old. 
 
 Happy to be still able to soften them by singing 
 the pleasures of innocence, and the cares of iural 
 life, which I shall admire to the last moment of 
 my life. 
 
 M
 
 THE FROST OF APRIL.
 
 THE FROST OF APRIL. 
 
 H^>l<<>MH0>iM^r|ii<^ll^>><>^>< 
 
 THE spring and the zephyrs had revived nature, 
 and begun their peaceful reign ; the resplendent 
 sun inundated the earth with his fires, and spread 
 life and joy through the world. 
 
 The plains were clothed with verdure ; the 
 trees covered with blossoms mingled their sweet 
 perfumes ; the fragrant violet embalmed the air. 
 
 In the fresh springing groves were heard the war- 
 bling of birds : the rivulets flowed with smoother 
 streams. Charmed by the return of spring, the 
 reassembled shepherds were conducting their 
 M3
 
 186 THTR FROST OP APRIL. 
 
 flocks into the meadows. Some played on tfce 
 pipe, others caused echo to repeat their rustic 
 airs. Every where the fields presented an en- 
 chanting spectacle. 
 
 Happy inhabitants of the hamlets, you often 
 raised your eyes and hands toward heaven, bles- 
 sing the father of nature. At the sight of so. ma- 
 ny rising treasures, you congratulated each other, 
 and in the sweet hope of an abundant crop, after 
 the labors of the day, gave yourselves up to the 
 innocent pleasures of pure joy. 
 
 A las ! these c h arm i ng pi easu res. soon di sappcar- 
 ed. One evening, I shall never forget, one even*, 
 ing when all the neighbouring youth were assem- 
 bled under the spreading foliage of an aacienfc 
 elm, dancing to the sound of the pastoral: flute, 
 in presence of their relations seated on the grassy 
 mdddenly the air becomes, cold, the horiwm red*, 
 dens, the stars sparkle. Borne on the wings, of 
 night, the impetuous sons, of Xolus descend upor. 
 the Ik id?, and pursue, mi far as thu groves, spring 
 bathed in. tear*.
 
 THE FROST OF APRIL. 18/ 
 
 Sudden fear appears in every countenance, 
 the consternation becomes universal ; only cries 
 and lamentations are heard. The terror redou- 
 bles, when in the middle of this disastrous night, 
 the doleful sounds of the bell are heard. They 
 fiy to the temple, each one with eyes cast down 
 to the earth invokes heaven. Heaven, this time, 
 was deaf to the groans and prayers of the poor la* 
 borer. 
 
 Pitiless Aquilo had destroyed every thing. 
 Aurora with her silver front soon appeared, but 
 appeared grieved to show the frightful mourning 
 of the fields. What a distressing picture! On all 
 &ides were seen the blossoms of the trees, faded 
 and shattered by the winds, falling with their un- 
 formed fruits ; the tender buds of the vines were- 
 blackened by the cold, the corn covered with a 
 destructive hoar frost hanging to its spikesi 
 The labors and the hopes of the year were all de- 
 stroyed . 
 
 Oppressed with present misfortune, and the 
 frightful prospect of the future, the unluippy 
 M4
 
 1,38 THE PR09T OP APRIL. 
 
 husbandmen cast their eyes, full of compassion, on 
 their terrified families. Dejected, plunged in 
 profound grief, and immoveable on the threshold 
 of their door, they contemplated in melancholy si- 
 lence those vines, those fields, those orchards, 
 which lately promised them such valuable trea- 
 sures, and which a moment had rendered barren ; 
 they contemplated them with sighs, and melted 
 into tears. 
 
 Distressed and inconsolable, their young spouses 
 sighed over the cradle of their tender infants, and 
 bathed them with tears while nourishing them 
 with their breast. 
 
 The old men were heard deploring bitterly their 
 misery, invoking death, and complaining to hea- 
 ven that their unfortunate lives were prolonged. 
 
 Young Lisimou, who can express your grief ? 
 In a few days, alas ! you were to have united your 
 lot to that of the most virtuous shepherdess of the 
 hamlet ; already her lovely companions were pre- 
 paring the garland of flOwers which was to embel- 
 lish her front, sparkling with candor and joy. 
 Happy in your approaching felicity, your relative*
 
 THE FROST OF APRI!. 1S& 
 
 followed by a joyous band of shepherds, were go- 
 ing to conduct you wjth the sound of rural instru- 
 ments to the foot of the Altar, to tie the knot ap- 
 proved by innocence. 
 
 A happiness so desirable is then retarded ! Both 
 poor, the hope of a fertile harvest constituted 
 your only riches ; and that the fatal frost has de- 
 stroyed. Ah ! may a happier spring return to- 
 you ! May propitious heaven crown such pure 
 sentiments! May I be long the witness of your 
 happiness, and one day propose you as models to 
 your children, and teach them, citing you for an 
 example, that the father of men never abandons 
 those whose hearts are faithful to virtue!
 
 THE SHEEPFOLD.
 
 THE SHEEPFOLD. 
 
 ..>.. ..o....<>...,o,.., < y....^,.o 
 
 Peed young lambs, feed along these happy banks, 
 in the midst of this plain enamelled with flowers; 
 quench your thirst in the running brook which 
 waters it ; let -the soft murmurs of its waves lull 
 you to sleep sleep in peace under the shade of 
 these poplars. The- new shepherd, who watches 
 for your security, is beloved of heaven; innocent 
 lambs, you shall no more be exposed to the fury 
 of devouring wolves. 
 
 No more shall the dewy morn behold you 
 without a guide, wandering and exposed to dan- 
 gers, or regretting your young brothers who had
 
 104 THfe SHEfcPFOLD. 
 
 strayed in tlie woods; never in the evening did 
 you return in the same number to the abandoned 
 Bheepfold. 
 
 Flow often have greedy robbers, more cruel 
 than those barbarians who dwell under the frozwi 
 bear ; how often, after having carried you off by 
 stealth, have they plunged in your bosom die mor- 
 tal steel, wetting the earth with your blood, which 
 it imbibed with reluctance. 
 
 Fearful lambs, the Gods touched with your 
 misfortunes have regarded yovt in pity ; doubtless 
 you arc beloved by them, since they have given 
 you such a shepherd. May the righteous Gods 
 preserve him long for your happiness. Alas; if 
 you lose him what will become of you ? unfortu- 
 nate flock what would then be your lot t Where 
 would you iind so much love, so much care? 
 Who would conduct you into the meadow t who 
 would lead you back again to the sheepfold i - 
 And who would, like him, incessantly labor to find 
 for you the most salutary pasturage and the purest 
 waters ?
 
 Re fit least attentive to his voice. While he 
 Jives you will be sheltered from danger, and will 
 not have to dread any of your enemies. 
 
 Enjoy at your leisure what heaven has sent you, 
 days more serene still shine for you. Go out with- 
 out fear, spring out of the shcepfold ; go now, go 
 and bound in the valley, feed on the wild thyme 
 refreshed by the dew of the morning; the vigilant 
 shepherd will follow you every where. 
 
 If by chance some hungry wolf shall again 
 Jroam around the flock, the valiant dogs keeping 
 sentry, will chase this furious animal, and, barking 
 aloud, eagerly pursue him even to his den. 
 
 Or if the martial bird, the eagle with daring 
 looks, stoop suddenly from the lofty mountain to 
 seize one of you in his crooked claws, to carry 
 you to his nest, a ball, more rapid than the 
 lightning shall suddenly strike his extended wings, 
 and the haughty king of the air shall fall lifeless 
 at the foot of the shepherd* 
 
 Feed young lambs, feed along these pleasant 
 banks, in the midst of this plain enamelled witb 
 flowers j quench your thirst in the running brook
 
 !S6 
 
 THE SHEF-rFOLH. 
 
 which waters it ; Jet the soft murmurs of its waves 
 lull you to sleep sleep in peace under the shade 
 of these poplars. The new shepherd, who watches 
 for your security, is beloved of heaven ; innocent 
 lambs, you shall no more be exposed to the fury 
 of devouring wolves.
 
 THE BIRDS.
 
 THE BIRDS. 
 
 UNFORTUNATE birds, whom merciless hands 
 have taken from your nest, alas ! how you raise 
 my compassion! I cannot behold you without 
 pain. No, my wounded heart can no longer sup- 
 port the cries, the plaintive moans of your unhap- 
 py mothers, nor see them continually flying round 
 the cage which deprives them of their dearest 
 hopes. 
 
 Go, innocent birds, go and console them; I re- 
 store you to their love. Do I want to destroy 
 your liberty in order to be happy ? Ah ! /ar from 
 N 2
 
 Q09 TOE BIRM. 
 
 increasing my pleasure, your slavery would sad- 
 den my heart ; night and day I should live in 
 alarm. 
 
 What! your nests have escaped the researches 
 of your enemy, the perfidious adder, and I, per- 
 haps, should have the affliction to see you inces. 
 santly exposed to a -thousand danger, to behold 
 you perish under the cruel claws of that deceitful 
 animal, the domestic tiger, always athirst for your 
 blood! No, I will not be witness of your death: 
 go, fly in the air. 
 
 I shall not entirely lase you, harmonious night- 
 ingales : every year, when the reign of Flora com- 
 mences, will you not return on the wings of ze- 
 phyrs to the grove near my humble cottage ? Yes, 
 you will come again to the borders of these foun- 
 tains, and under these flowery lilacs, to charm 
 jny disconsolate mind by your ravishing songs. 
 
 I shall again hear your sweet warblings, happy 
 Ifoftfti ; with mm?' port I shall again hear you sing 
 on the branches of the fragrant hawthorn, at the 
 rising of the sun, and fill this fertile valley with 
 your melodious sound*.
 
 THE BIRDS. 901 
 
 Amorous goldfinches with what joy I shall 
 again behold you, at the return of the spring sport- 
 ing on my rose bushes, flying lightly from shrub to 
 shrub, pursuing one another at pleasure from 
 branch to branch, dazzling my enchanted eyes 
 with the brilliant colors of your plumage. 
 
 Go then instantly from your prison, go, young 
 birds, for ever abandon my aviary, go, live in your 
 own element ; be at last free ; then will ycur 
 songs be more pleasant; and then shall I be hap- 
 pier. 
 
 When the fickle butterfly displaying his gilded 
 wings to the rays of a fine day, hovering in the 
 air, shall go to render homage to every flower in 
 my garden, you, lovely birds, you will embellish, 
 you will people my orchard. I will protect your 
 nests ; no merciless children shall approach them : 
 I will declare war against the kite and the murder- 
 ous 'Sparrow-hawk. Your songs, your loves will 
 be delightful to me. 
 
 And if at any time rankling care and black me- 
 lancholy, coming out of their eternal asylum, shall 
 N 3
 
 202 
 
 THE BIRDS. 
 
 dare to wing their way toward my solitude, O 
 charming birds ! your sweet concerts will drive 
 them away, and compel them to take shelter un- 
 der the canopy of kings.
 
 THE TOMB.
 
 THE TOMB. 
 
 SAD depository of all that was dear to me in the 
 world, thou whom a weeping spouse formerly 
 raised to the object of her affections, solitary tomb, 
 overshadowed with mournful cypress, wandering 
 with melancholy steps in these gloomy vallios, 
 and a heart swollen with grief, I come, to relieve 
 my pain, and to repeat to thee my woes. 
 
 Heavens ! what afflicting recollections awaken 
 in my distressed soul at the sight of thee. Shall 
 I here call to remembrance those painful ideas ? 
 Shall I be able to describe the bitter anguish,
 
 206" THE TOMB. 
 
 which pierces ray heart afresh, and causes my 
 tears to flow at the recollection of my loss. 
 
 Tender and pure souls, you will sympathize 
 with me, at the recital of my long misfortunes. 
 The cold and unfeeling will be but little affected 
 by them : they will hear the accents of my grief 
 without a sigh : the indifferent are unacquainted 
 with the tender and durable affections of blood 
 and friendship. 
 
 But I, who know these sweet sensations, who 
 have experienced them all ; I who have lost so 
 much, unhappy me ! let me be permitted at least 
 to mourn, and to come under these gloomy 
 shades to breathe forth my sighs. 
 
 Alas ! so good a father, so virtuous a mother, 
 whom I adored, in whom centered the happiness 
 of my life, so soon snatched from me ! And when ? 
 At the moment when my presence seemed to give 
 them new life; when loaded by the marks of 
 their tenderness, I forgot in their presence the tor- 
 ments I had suffered in a long absence. 
 
 I shall always remember that moment, when, 
 forced by cruel destiny to leave the paternal roo
 
 THE TOMB. 207 
 
 I separated myself from the authors of my exist- 
 ence. Motionless, overwhelmed, for a long time 
 they spoke to me only by sighs and profound sob- 
 bings. My father was the first to interrupt this 
 heart-rending silence of grief. O my son ! said 
 he to me, if ever we were dear to thee, remember 
 our love, cherish the remembrance of the tender- 
 est of mothers. 
 
 Bathed with their tears I quitted the arms of 
 one but to fall into those of the other. - 1 was for- 
 ced, alas! to tear myself from them: and when, 
 after the most cruel absence, I ran to embrace 
 them, they disappear for ever. Death has depriv- 
 ed me of them at the moment I was enjoying their 
 most tender caresses, in which I felt, sensibly felt, 
 that, here below, happiness consists alone in the 
 sweet effusions of nature and friendship. Happy 
 days ! alas how short ! I have now nothing left 
 but the tormenting regret of having for ever lost 
 you. 
 
 And you, whose memory will be ever clear to 
 me, faithful friends whom cruel death has ravish- 
 ed from me in the prime of life j whom he has
 
 208 TUB TOMB* 
 
 without pity for me, murdered in my embraces. 
 I called you, and you no more heard my voice; 
 I would hare clasped you in my arms and alrea- 
 dy you were no more. 
 
 Who can console me? Who can relieve my 
 heart? What do I say? my deep wounds will 
 bleed the remainder of my days, and conduct me 
 to the tomb. 
 
 Cruel death, behold the wounds thou hast giv- 
 r"n me. Tell me, what more dreadful evils hast 
 thou in reserve for me ? Thou hast taken away 
 my all. Now lost, plunged in sorrow, a burden 
 to myself, what will become of me ? Where shall 
 I fly? Where direct my steps ? To whom un- 
 bosom my soul? To whom shall I apply for help 
 in the decline of life ? Who will take care of 
 my forlorn old age ? 
 
 An orphan, and insulated in the midst of un- 
 grateful men, I have no longer a friend, I am a 
 stranger and forsaken in the world ; and to crown 
 my misfortunes, I still live. 
 
 Unhappy creature ! I thought to find repose, 
 and to calm my grief by removing from these
 
 THE TOMB. 209 
 
 climates where nothing any longer yielded me 
 comfort, without strength and almost dying, I quit- 
 ted forever, the fertile fields and ancient dwelling 
 of my ancestors. 
 
 Ah, what hitter tears I then shed, and how af 
 fecting was my last farewel ! All nature seemed 
 to sympathize with me : the rocks groaned, the ri- 
 ver that waters those rich countries stayed its waves, 
 and its banks affected by my grief, long re- 
 echoed my mournful lamentations. 
 
 Oh ! how have I deceived myself, I carried in 
 my flight the indelible impression of my sad grief; 
 the remembrance of those whom I loved, has fol- 
 lowed me to other climes ; I shall always remem- 
 ber them, I carry them, I feel them still live in 
 my heart. I think I see them by day, and con- 
 verse with them by night : dear ideas, delightful 
 .illusions of a feeling mind, which vanish at waking, 
 and only increase my poignant anguish. 
 
 There is then no more happiness for me ! I am 
 dead to the world, I must not hope to repose in 
 peace, until I arrive at the tranquil tomb. I live 
 but to mourn. Alas! when will my last day dawn?
 
 510 THE TOMB. 
 
 "When shall I sec my lamp of life turn pale? 
 When shall I disappear as a shadow, or fall under 
 the scythe of death, like a lily cut down by the 
 north wind ? 
 
 In waiting for the termination of my misfor- 
 tunes, O consoling tomb ! I shall henceforth have 
 no other desire, no relief but in approaching these 
 mournful shades, to nourish my griefs, to lalk to 
 thee of my afflictions, to tell them to thee continu- 
 ally, even to thee who hast caused them all. 
 
 How does time change our minds and cause us 
 to dilTerfrom ourselves. In the morning of mylife, 
 I could not bear the sight of a coffin, a dying per- 
 son was to me a spectacle of horror. Did a funeral 
 procession come in my way? I shivered, turned 
 aside my eyes, and ran hastily away, crying like a 
 child, who, seeing a hideous viper crawl from the 
 cavity of a rock, runs away, almost dead with 
 fear. 
 
 I still remember it : I started in the dark, when 
 the bell, tolling, shook the air with its melancholy 
 sounds; it seemed as if the voice of death itself 
 assailed my ears. A universal trembling then
 
 THE TOMB. 211 
 
 seized my frame, my feeble spirits forsook me, 
 and all my blood retired to my palpitating heart. 
 
 Like a traveller who has lost his way in the 
 night in an immense forest, if on a sudden he heat 
 the roaring of a distant torrent, whose fall re-echo- 
 ed aloud redoubles the horror which the gloomy 
 night inspires; motionless, he listens, turns pale 
 with terror, his hair stands erect ; he quickens his 
 steps, thinking himself pursued, at one time by an 
 evil genius and by frightful spectres, at another by 
 wolves howling in thevallies. 
 
 Now tha.t I have lost all that made life dear to 
 me, now that cruel destiny has completed the 
 measure of my woes, I will descend without fear 
 and without regret to the regions of the dead. 
 The image of death no longer terrifies me. What 
 do I say ? Alas ! I daily inplore the tomb, I call 
 it to my assistance. It is not so dreadful, so hor- 
 rible as the vulgar imagine; it is the asylum of 
 the unhappy, often the object of the wishes of the 
 philosopher, and the peaceful port after which 
 the soul, fatigued by the tempests of life, inces- 
 santly sighs.
 
 212 THE TOMB. 
 
 No, I fear death no more; and why should 
 I dread it, if piety, if filial tenderness, h constant 
 friendship have inflamed my soul ? 
 
 Let those tremble at the sight of death, who 
 have the impious audacity to attack the Supreme 
 Being, and to brave his thunder : let them aban- 
 don themselves to despair, and, on the borders of 
 the tomb, with blasphemous mouths invoke anni- 
 hilation. But I who believe in immortality, I, who 
 have always religiously nourished in my heart this 
 sentiment so consoling to an unhappy mind, who 
 have always cherished it as a present from the be- 
 neficent Creator to the man who has unhappily 
 survived his dearest friends, I shall soon go to .a 
 happier country and rejoin the dear objects of my 
 love. 
 
 Yes, I shall go and be for ever united to those 
 sublime souls, in the happy regions, where tender 
 friendship, satisfied and tranquil, no more laments 
 those cruel separations which wound it here be- 
 low. This consoling hope, which the divine good- 
 ness has implanted in my breast, encourages me in
 
 THE TOMB. 213 
 
 the painful path of life, and will constitute the fe- 
 licity of my last moments. 
 
 Ye verdant fields, ye charming hills, over which. 
 I have so often roved, preserve for ever the re- 
 membrance of my sorrows. Beloved fountain, 
 surrounded with flowery shrubs that drink thy 
 pure waters, mayst thou, long after I am no more,, 
 preserve upon thy banks, the trace of my steps. 
 Lofty trees, rehearse my misfortunes to those who 
 shall come to repose under your shade. 
 
 Let the compassionate hand that shall close my 
 eyes, suspend my melodious and tender lute to 
 the branches of the young beech which I plant- 
 ed deposit my ashes at the foot of that tree and 
 carve on its bark these words: 
 
 " Sympathizing men, who come to muse in 
 this valley, stop before this tomb and bathe it 
 with your tears. Alas ! he who is interred here 
 loved his parents and friends so tenderly, that, 
 disconsolate for their loss, he only languished and 
 died of grief." 
 
 O
 
 E L E G I Sv
 
 ELEGY 
 
 OK THE 
 
 DEATH OF A BROTHER. 
 
 Since the day he died, I have only languished; even 
 the pleasures which are offered me, instead of affording me 
 relief, redouble my sorrow for his loss. 
 
 MONTAIGNE. 
 
 0**<y"-'<>" , *^V"'<V"'O""0** 
 
 OIIeavexs! what a terrible shock has my dis- 
 consolate soul just experienced ! how am I again 
 plunged into grief by a mournful event, which has 
 opened afresh all the deep wounds of my hesut. 
 O 3
 
 18 BLEOY 05T T1IB 
 
 Surely I was destined to survive whatever was 
 most dear to me, and to groan over the tomb ot' 
 my whole family. 
 
 My tears were still flowing on the tomb of a 
 father: had I not sufficient cause to weep? Was 
 net my misery great enough ? Could I have ex- 
 pecttd so soon to deplore the death of a brother 
 hardly arrived at the meridian of life, of a bro- 
 ther, the only one, alas! that remained to me ? 
 
 Thus it is neither the flower of youth, the gen- 
 tleness of his manners, [his love of justice, his be- 
 neficence, nor his pity for the distressed, could 
 guarantee him from death. 
 
 He is no more that tender friend for whom 
 1 would have laid down my life ; that half of my- 
 selfthat other self: I have lost him ! The flow- 
 er that blossoms in the morning, in the evening 
 languishing and fading, passes not so swiftly 
 away he is no more In vain I seek him in the 
 rural retreats which he loved under the solitary 
 shades where he so often conducted my steps : 
 X thall find him no more. Ah! woe is me! ho
 
 DEATH OF A BROTHER. 2l<| 
 
 has disappeared for ever, like the shadow that flies 
 rapidly from the eye of the beholder. 
 
 Behold the destiny of miserable man ! A few 
 moments of fleeting felieity, soon followed by 
 lasting grief. This is a life of painful feelings of 
 heart-rending separations 
 
 Alas; he whom I mourn, was to me in the 
 place of a father; and of what a father! He had 
 his candor, his noble disposition, his heroic vir- 
 tues. 
 
 He had seen me grow up from infancy, my ten- ' 
 der years were confided to his care. What would 
 he not have done for me ? He could not have lov- 
 ed his own son more: no, his heart could not have 
 bestowed on him more tender cares,, nor mani- 
 fested, to his least sufferings, a more lively sensi- 
 bility. Never shall I lose the recollection of a 
 conduct so amiable. 
 
 With what pleasure did he cultivate my mind f 
 What charms did he give to virtue by the persua- 
 sive eloquence that flowed from his lips. 
 
 O 4
 
 620 ELEGY ON TUB 
 
 I was indebted to him for whatever constituted 
 the pleasure of my life in its most happy period. 
 He inspired me with the love of letters ; he taught 
 my tender and ingenuous soul to relish the endear- 
 ing, the delicious, sentiment of friendship. For 
 him only I lived ; and death has deprived me of 
 my dearest friend I Oh ! that his scythe had ra- 
 ther cut the thread of my days that I had gone 
 before him to the tomb I 
 
 Inauspicious presages announced to me this 
 dreadful stroke. How often have gloomy terrors 
 agitated my soul ! as if heaven designed sometimes 
 to inform weak mortals of the great misfortunes 
 which threaten them. A thousand doleful ideas 
 have for a long time incessantly tormented inc. 
 In vain I repulsed them; they besieged tike every 
 where in my solitary walks in the gloom of 
 midnight. Often plaintive cries seemed to strike 
 my ear: I have even imagined that I saw my un- 
 happy brother, pale, fainting, stretching out to me 
 his arms Alas! those forebodings were bat too 
 true The dart of death was raised over his head.
 
 DEATH OF A BROTHER; 221 
 
 My name, yes, I know it my name was pro- 
 nounced with his last breath his- faulted ng voice 
 incessantly called me he called- his brother his 
 friend his eyes sought me around the bed of 
 grief in expiring he still asked for me and 
 I was ignorant of his affliction immense regions 
 separated us I could not embrace him before an 
 eternal night had enveloped him in its dreadful 
 darkness ! I shall never more behold him ! 
 
 O heavens ! he no longer lives ; unhappy 
 creature that I am ! I could not support, I coidd 
 not console him !- and to complete my misfor- 
 tune, he could not witness my despair his last 
 looks could not see my flowing tears. 
 
 Alas ! 1 should perhaps have recalled him to 
 life by pressing him to my heart he knew how 
 I lo\ed hiin. My voice might have aroused him ; 
 he might have heard my lamentations and my 
 sobs ; and gently raising his troubled head, he 
 might have opened his eyelids and iixed on me his 
 dying eyes. 1 would have thrown myself into his 
 arms, 1 would have fixed my mouth close to his 
 frozen lips to retain his departingsoul ; or, if cruel
 
 222 
 
 ELEGY ON A BROTHER". 
 
 death insensible to my cries, would have continu- 
 ed for ever inexorable, ah! at least mingling my- 
 groans with those of a disconsolate family, hardly 
 able to support myself, 1 would have accompanied 
 him to the tomb ; and in that moment perhaps my 
 prayers, my most ardent prayers, might have been 
 heard, and I should have fallen into the arms of 
 death on his collin, in bidding him a last farewel.
 
 ELEGY ON THE DEATH 
 
 OF THE 
 
 ABBE DE CONDILLAC. 
 
 I had lost my friend, his tomb was bathed with 
 my tears: inconsolable, I wandered in the solitary 
 places where every thing recalled to my mind that 
 illustrious man. 
 
 O cruel death! said I, inexorable death! 
 oughtest thou to have ravished him so soon from 
 his friends? Oughtest thou to have taken him 
 away at a time, when, braving the injuries of eld
 
 24 ELEGY OK THE DEAT1T OF 
 
 age, he might still have indulged the sweet hop 
 of long life I 
 
 I often stopped, thinking I still heard his voice: 
 my eyes were incessantly turned toward the sa- 
 cred walls where I saw him laid in the tomb. 
 
 One day, overwhelmed with excessive sorrow, 
 I sat down under a willow, and taking again my 
 plaintive lyre, that lyre which he loved, and alas! 
 v hose sounds he will hear no more, I addressed 
 to the sovereign of the universe this mournful ele- 
 gy. May this feeble homage immortalize my 
 grief, and preserve throughout all ages the remem- 
 brance of my affection. 
 
 O thou whose infinite clemency is equal to thy 
 greatness, Father of men, regard" my sorrow, and 
 deign to hear the voice of groaning aud disconso- 
 late friendship. 
 
 That wise mortal whom thou hadst endowed 
 with superior reason, that transcendent spirit, that 
 able advocate for truth, that great man is no more: 
 his virtuous soul, forsaking the earth has taken its 
 flight to the celestial regions.
 
 ME ABBE DE tJOWDILLAC. 225 
 
 Ye everlasting mansions open your doors to re- 
 ceive him; ye confidents of the Most High, ador- 
 ing spirits continually bowing with reverence befoie 
 kis throne, spread your shining wings, fly to meet 
 this sublime soul, and carry him in triumph to the 
 bosom of the Supreme Being. 
 
 Ah ! who is more worthy to enter into the sanc- 
 tuary of eternity, to contemplate, without a veil, 
 the supreme Intelligence, the immutable truth, 
 than the eminent genius who has penetrated be- 
 forehand so far into its profound abyss; (than the 
 religious philosopher who, full of faith in the Dei- 
 ty, has demonstrated his existence with so much 
 energy and majesty ? * 
 
 Who is more worthy to be united to the father 
 of nature, to the being essentially good, than that 
 just man, that pure soul, who shrunk back with 
 holy dread even at the shadow of evil? 
 
 Where "will be found his candor and his noble 
 sentiments ? Who will now be able to unite so 
 much knowledge to so much simplicity of man- 
 ners? What mortal has united more constantly, 
 * See the notes at the end of this elegy.
 
 f26 W,Ef,Y T>X TITC DlATir OF 
 
 and in so high a degree, strict integrity, ancient 
 rectitude, and the fortitude of virtue. ? 
 
 Father of men, regard my sorrow, and deign to 
 h ar the voice of groaning and disconsolate friend- 
 ship. 
 
 Never has any one shown a greater hatred to 
 *ice, more horror at flattery, so much indifference 
 to vain glory> and so much contempt for vile in- 
 (gigM : never has any one been more disinterest- 
 ed, more benevolent, more sensible to friendship. 
 This I have seen, and this I attest to posterity. 
 
 Generous son of the Bourbons, magnanimous 
 prince, whose royal qualities render you worthy 
 of the sovereign rank you hold among the powers 
 of Europe, you, whose first steps that luminous 
 genius directed in the paths of science and sub* 
 lime virtue, with what sentiments you honored 
 his death ! () how your benefits, which survive 
 him, must rejoice his shade, by the glory thereby 
 reflected on your noble mind. 
 
 And you, who caused the happiness of his days, 
 who lived in his heart, you his most tender friends, 
 illustrious Nive rnois, wise Kiralio\ and you who
 
 The abbe de co-ndillac 227 
 
 Shared his celebrity, virtuous Mably, worthy bro- 
 ther of this great man, what has been your grief ! 
 what tears have you shed for his death ! But 
 I, unhappy that I am, overwhelmed with this ir- 
 reparable loss, I will deplore it the rest of my life, 
 I shall be for ever inconsolable. 
 
 Father of men, regard my sorrow, and deign to 
 hear the voice of afflicted and disconsolate friend- 
 ship. 
 
 Ohl how afflicting it is to see a man of genius 
 suffer, to see his eyes covered with the shades of 
 death, and closed for ever from the light! How 
 distressing, to receive his last sighs ! But how 
 delightful to have been beloved by him, to have 
 lived with him so long in that peaceful retreat, 
 where, jealous of his liberty, he passed an hono- 
 rable life. 
 
 Charming field which he loved, young almond 
 trees which he cultivated with his own hands, 
 happy shade, delightful habitation, rendered still 
 more charming by the presence of that iilustrious 
 man, beautiful places, which his dwelling must
 
 ?S ELEGY ON THE DEATH OT 
 
 j>ender for ever famous, with what regret I behold 
 you. 
 
 Alas ! with what heart-rending agony I again 
 behold the house where he died ; and those long 
 walks bordered with willows and poplars, where? 
 I mournfully followed (he hearse which carried 
 the remains of so greatman; the solitary tem- 
 ple where, surrounding his coffin, and mixing 
 their mournful songs with the funeral ceremonies, 
 the ministers of the altar, rendered him the last 
 honors. 
 
 lather of men, regard my sorrow, and deign to 
 hear the voice of groaning and disconsolate friend- 
 ship. 
 
 Ah ! how worthy he is of our tears, this good 
 man in whom humanity was a sentiment, and to 
 whom tender friendship was indispensable. Uow 
 this wise philosopher merits our praises who took 
 a tender care of virtue in distress, and thought he 
 then enly enjoyed wheH he communicated to 
 others. 
 
 My heart still resounds with the cries, the sobs, 
 f the unhappy orphans, of women, of old mea
 
 THX ABBE DE CONDILLAC. 299 
 
 faded by poverty and bent under the weight of 
 years. Alas ! they will no more sec the compas- 
 sionate man, who planted them in their rustic ha- 
 bitation, and alleviated with his generous hand 
 their cruel misfortunes, they will see him no 
 more. How is this excellent man honored by 
 these tears, which flow at the tender recollection 
 of his beneficent virtues! how much more glori- 
 ous they are to his memory, than those grand 
 works which will immortalize his genius. 
 
 O incomprehensible God, whose power and ho- 
 liness are beyond the expression of mortals ; thou 
 in whose eyes the sun is not pure, but who, 
 prompted incessantly by thy goodness, appears 
 glorious in bestowing pardon : thou who reignest 
 in the highest heavens over the empire of know- 
 ledge, who dispenses! genius and virtue and judg- 
 est them with indulgence ; supreme arbiter of our 
 destinies, religion, literature, humanity, recom- 
 mend to thee his pure soul. Receive my friend 
 to thy paternal arms, and crown all thy other 
 gifts by rendering the best of men for ever happy. 
 P
 
 230 ELEGY ON THE DEATH OV 
 
 Rural cemetary where his ashes repose, ancient 
 elms whose shade covers his peaceful tomb, how 
 venerable you appear in my eyes ! With what re- 
 ligious grief I view you ! Ah if the tomb of a 
 friend affects us, if we bathe it with bitter tears, if 
 we cannot behold it without a sigh, at least it 
 does not inspire us with terror like that of the 
 wicked. 
 
 Let the men who are polluted with vice and im- 
 piety, like so many monsters, the reproach of the 
 human race, disappear from the earth, let them 
 be precipitated into the gulph of oblivion. 
 
 Lot the thunder crush their tomb, and the fury 
 of heaven like a destroying whirlwind, disperse 
 their sacrilegious ashes in the air: lit their me- 
 mory and their posterity perish, let nothing of the 
 guilty man remain, but the hatred of his name, 
 and the detestation of his crimes. 
 
 But let the wise man who has enlightened hu- 
 man kind by his genius, who has consoled them 
 by his sentiments : let the philosopher who, rising 
 on rapid wing to the highest speculations of hu- 
 man intelligence, has devoted his whole life to
 
 THE ABBE DE CONEILLAC. 231 
 
 truth and virtue, be the object of veneration to all 
 ages : let men from the remotest regions, out of 
 respect to his name, come to visit the place he in- 
 habited : let the tomb which contains his mortal 
 part, become to great minds a monument of reli- 
 gion : let the sight of this tomb excite in all hearts 
 mournful recollections and lasting grief; let a 
 great man be at last .known ; let him at last be ho- 
 nored when he is no more ; let the splendor of his 
 glory silence envy, and after death let him walk, 
 for ever content and tranquil, in the paths of im- 
 mortality. 
 
 Merciful creator of feeble mortals, be attentive 
 to my grief, and condescend to hear the voice of 
 groaning and disconsolate friendship. 
 
 Innumerable choirs of celestial spirits, sing 
 forth the clemency of the Omnipotent, cause the 
 immense vault'of heaven to resound with his prais- 
 es. Celebrate also, celebrate the virtues of those 
 great geniuses, images of the Deity, whose glory 
 has ascended to the stars: let their harmonious 
 P 2
 
 232 ELEGY OV THE ABBE DE COKDILLAC. 
 
 voices join your sublime songs : seated on thrones 
 of gold, let them tune with you those ravishing 
 hymns which you incessantly sing before the 
 throne of the Eternal.
 
 NOTES, 
 
 J. 
 
 Persons who have known the Abbe de Condillac 
 only by name, will read with pleasure the excel- 
 lent lessons which that enlightened man gave to 
 his august pupil on the most important subjects. 
 
 In the preliminary lessons to the Cours d'Etude, 
 the Abbe taught the young prince, with his usual 
 precision and clearness, how we obtain a know- 
 ledge of God. 
 
 After having employed the comparison of a 
 
 watch, to make him comprehend how evident it 
 
 is, in a succession of causes and effects, that there 
 
 must necessarily be a first cause, and that had 
 
 P 3
 
 234- KOTES. 
 
 there not been a watchmaker there could not 
 have been a watch, he says : 
 
 " Reflect upon yourself, and you will be con- 
 vinced that there is in you, as in a watch, a train 
 of causes and effect*. Reflect upon the universe : 
 this will be to you as a great watch, in which 
 there is still a subordination of causes and ef- 
 fects. But we have just seen that where there is 
 a subordination of causes and effects, there is ne- 
 cessarily a first cause. There is then a first cause 
 which lias made the universe. 
 
 In order to establish this subordination among 
 things, it is necessary to know perfectly all their 
 relations, and understand all their parts. A watch, 
 maker will not be able to make a wntch, if there 
 be any one part of which he does not know the 
 proportions. The being who formed the universe 
 must necessarily possess intelligence. 
 
 As the intelligence of the watchmaker must 
 ; race all the parts of the watch, the intelli- 
 gence of the first cause must embrace the whole 
 universe. If any part escaped his knowledge, it 
 uould not be possible for him to place it in its
 
 NOTES. 235 
 
 proper situation ; and yet his work would be de- 
 stroyed, if only a single thing were out of its 
 place. But an intelligence which embraces every 
 thing, is an infinite intelligence. The intelligence 
 of the first cause is then infinite. 
 
 But to make a watch it is not sufficient merely 
 to understand it, skill or power to do it are also 
 necessary. The power of the first cause is then 
 as extensive as his intelligence : it embraces the 
 whole, is is then infinite. 
 
 Since this first cause embraces every thing, it 
 is every where. It is then immense. 
 
 As this cause is first, it is independent. If it 
 were dependent there would be another cause 
 which would be before it. But since it is necessa- 
 ry there should be one first cause, this first cause 
 must necessarily be independent. 
 
 This first cause being independent, omnipotent, 
 and supremely wise, it effects what it wills. It is 
 then free. 
 
 It cannot acquire new knowledge, for then its 
 intelligence would be limited. It beholds at once 
 P 4
 
 *36* rn w m 
 
 the past and the future. It cannot change it? re- 
 solution ; for if it Changed, it could not have fore- 
 seen every thing. It is then immutable. 
 
 It is a consequence of its independence that it 
 could not have had a beginning, and that it cannot 
 end. If it had commenced, it would depend on 
 that which gave it existence, and if it could end, 
 it would depend on that which might cease to 
 preserve it, k is then eternal. 
 
 As it is intelligent it discerns the good and the 
 evil, judges merit and demerit : as it is free, it 
 consequently acts : that is to say, it loves the 
 good, hates the ill, recompenses virtue, punishes 
 vice, and pardons the penitent who reforms. In 
 all this it does whatever rt wills, because it wills 
 the good, and wills only good. 
 
 The qualities of this cause are called attributes : 
 and we give to the attribute by which it punishes 
 the name of Justice ; to that by which it recom- 
 penses, the name of Goodness; to that by which it 
 pardons, the name of Mercy. 
 
 The power which made all tilings, the intelligence 
 which rules all, the kindness which recompenses,
 
 NOTES. 23/ 
 
 the mercy which pardom, are expressed by one 
 word, ihat of Providence. It comes from a Latin 
 word which signifies top-oxide. It is in eftect, by 
 these attributes that this first cause provides for 
 all. 
 
 A first cause all intelligent, omnipotent, inde- 
 pendent, free, immutable, eternal, immense, just, 
 good, merciful, and whose providence embraces 
 all this is the idea we ought to have of God. &c. 
 &c." 
 
 II. 
 
 The description of the establishment, the rapid 
 progre c s and the triumphs of religion which the 
 .\bbe de Condillac gave to his august pupil in the 
 15th. Book of the Cours d' Etude, Vol. 7- page 85. 
 is well worth quoting here. 
 
 " I have shown you, said he to the prince, the 
 history of that religion which leads us back to the 
 beginning of the world : you have touched, so to 
 pcak, the solid foundations upon which it is esta- 
 blished. Wc are equally culpable when we deny
 
 S38 XOTES. 
 
 the existence of things because we have not seen 
 them, or because we do not comprehend them, 
 and when we think lightly of them without having 
 examined the authority of those who relate them. 
 A wise man will shun both these extremes. 
 God Cannot be deceived, nor will he deceive me. 
 It would then be foolish in me not to believe what 
 lie has said. All are not obliged to reason in re- 
 ligion, but all are obliged to study it with humili- 
 ty. It is here, especially, that confidence is dan- 
 gerous. All men are not capable of deep re- 
 searches ; God comes to the help of the feeble. 
 The ignorant believes and is saved, because grace 
 is to him instead of knowledge; while others who 
 are learned believe not because they refuse the 
 grace; they are blinded either by too much con- 
 fidence, or out of ambition of being singular, or 
 from the desire of giving loose to their passions. 
 But God confounds the pride of the heart, and the 
 irregularity of the aflcctions. We cannot be too 
 much on our guard against that reason which often 
 seeks only to prove what it wishes us to believe. 
 Let not the passions seduce us; letusnotmur-
 
 NOTES, 239 
 
 tnur against that morality which condemns them ; 
 let us love the truth which constrains us, let us 
 worship' it and submit ourselves to it. The man- 
 ner in which religion spread, is the principal ob- 
 ject offered to us in the three first ages of the 
 church. You will see on the one side the obsta- 
 cles it had to encounter, and on the other the mi- 
 raculous means which rendered it victorious. 
 You will soon be convinced that its propagation 
 is a new proof of its divinity. We need only go 
 back to the time of Jesus Christ, and consider the 
 ages before and since that period, for that will be 
 the true point of view to seize the whole of all the 
 truths, which are at the foundation of our faith. 
 All the prophecies were accomplished in Jesus 
 Christ, and so visibly that it was not possible to 
 mistake him. Yet the Jews were so blind as not 
 to see in him the Messiah they expected : the 
 greatest part of them were obstinate in their blind- 
 ness, while the truth preached to the Gentiles 
 made a rapid progress. 
 
 Formed on the model of their divine master, 
 who had instructed them, the apostles preached
 
 240 NOTES. 
 
 the gospel with simplicity, they declared it with 
 courage, and sealed it with their blood. They 
 did not want the artifices of eloquence, nor the 
 subtle reasonings of philosophy: those arts, moro 
 necessary to fable than to truth were foreign to 
 them. In a word, they were neither rhetoricians 
 nor philosophers; they were pious, simple, and 
 courageous. Their disciples followed their ex- 
 ample, attaching themselves to the same simplici- 
 ty, and did not seek in human science wherewith 
 to adorn the truths of the gospel. 
 
 From the beginning of the second age, at the 
 time the gospel was diffusing light over all Europe, 
 the attention of men of letters was drawn to it, the 
 eyes of the learned and of the philosophers began 
 to open. It was no longer the people only who 
 were converted ; the most enlightened minds began 
 to believe. They who were sincerely seeking af- 
 ter truth, were disgusted at last with the vain 
 questions, the inconsistencies, the absurdities and 
 the false wisdom of all sects of philosophers; and 
 beholding the new Religion which was preached 
 to them, they compared it with what they had hi-
 
 NOTES. 241 
 
 therto^known. They studied the christian religi- 
 on, and were convinced of its divinity, they were 
 conquered by the truth of miracles and the ac- 
 complishment of prophecy. They saw something 
 divine in a doctrine whose character was at once 
 the sublimity of opinions, the simplicity of lan- 
 guage, the purity and holiness of morality. It 
 they found in it some mysteries which tbey could 
 not comprehend, they were at least forced to ac- 
 knowledge they could not contest them, nor sub- 
 stitute any thing better in their place. They at 
 last discovered the means to arrive at that tran* 
 quillity, at that happiness, which they had been 
 seeking for ages, and which had given birth to so 
 many systems."
 
 BOOKS LATELY PUBLISHED, AND SOLD BY P. B. WRIGHT. 
 
 Baker's Universe, a Poem, a new Edition, with Notes 
 and the Lite of the Author, by p. b. wright. 
 WHOLESOME truths are inculcated III this poem, res* 
 petting the existence and supremacy of the Deity ; and 
 the -numbers are sufficiently correct. The author wrote 
 at the close of the seventeenth century, and his work is 
 now republished to perpetuate his merits and utility in 
 correcting scepticism and infidelity. The biographical 
 notices of Mr. Baker, and the notes, are additional re- 
 commendations. 
 
 Monthly Review for Mai;, 180.5* 
 WE congratulate the public on the appearance of this new 
 and neat edition of a very admirable poem. It is writ- 
 ten in rhyme, characterised by a considerable portion of 
 ease and harmony. The description it contains of the 
 planetary system rises to sublimity. It cannot be read 
 without leeling a greater degree of reverence for the 
 works and ways of the Deity. 
 
 Monthly Visitor for October, 1804. 
 See also Lady's Monthly Museum, July, 180j, and the 
 Monthly Mirror. 
 
 The following written hy R. Wright. 
 
 A Humble Attempt to promote Union and Peace among 
 
 Christians, boards, 4s 6d 
 
 Extract from the Monthly Review. 
 
 " The object proposed by Mr. Wright is not more noble 
 in itself, than/the means which he would employ to ef- 
 fect it are pure and honorable. Peace, his dear delight, 
 is attempted to be advanced among Christians, by argu- 
 ments addressed to the understanding and to the heart ; 
 by arguments which cannot iail to captivate the liberal 
 and enlightened part of the human species. We have 
 perused this little volume with abundant satisfaction, 
 and if we had less experience of the difficulty of expand- 
 ing the minds ol bigots and enthusiasts, we might expect 
 considerable success to attend the generous and strenu*
 
 JO0X.1 LATELY PUBIttSnED, AND SOLD BV F. B. WMC0T. 
 
 ous efforts of this truly amiable Christian ; who asserts 
 true principles of religious liberty, and deduces frujn 
 tlieni, with perspicuity and lorce, the most important 
 practical conclusions. 
 
 Duty of Children to their Parents, 6d, fine paper Is 
 Christian doctrine of Atonement, (3d, fine paper Is 
 Duty of Christians to seek the peace of the country in 
 
 which they dwell, Is 
 
 Instruction for Youth, in a series of Lectures on moral 
 
 and religious subjects, vol. 1. sewed, liOd, fine paper 
 
 boards, &> 
 
 Dirto, vol. 2. containinga view of the evidences, nature 
 
 and design of Christianity, sewed, 2s od, line paper boards, 
 
 4s 
 
 Tliete volumes may be had separate. 
 
 "WE recommend t hcte Lectures as calculated to make men 
 religion*, on principle, to cause faith and .knowledge to 
 go band in hand. Mr. \V does not descend to discuss 
 the controverted articles of faith, and so tar his observa* 
 turns are adapted to Christians in general. 
 
 Monthly Review, for Srptcmber, 100.7. 
 The Anti-satisfactionisr, or the salvation of sinners by the 
 
 free grace of God, boards, (is 
 
 An Essay on the object, nature nnd design of religious 
 
 worship, od, fine paper Is 
 
 An Essay on the necessity and utility of adhering to first 
 
 principlesfitf religion, ^3d, fine paper Is 
 
 An Essay on the unity and supremacy of the enc God 
 
 and Father, and the inferiority and subordination of his 
 
 Son Jesus Christ, cd, fine paper St 
 
 An Abridgment of five Discourses on the Universal Ilc- 
 
 Bloration, sewed, la od 
 Letters im Election, Is 
 Keply to J)r. Itylaad's Sermon, called " The first Lye 
 
 refuted," scued, Is 
 
 The Tongue, or Essays on the use and abuse of Speech, 
 
 tewed, os 
 
 (F. B. Wright, Printer.
 
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