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TO COUNT ALGAROTTI AT THE COURT OF SAXONY. - The Works of Voltaire, Vol. X The Dramatic Works Part 1 (Zaire, Caesar, The Prodigal, Prefaces) and Part II (The Lisbon Earthquake and Other Poems).

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TO COUNT ALGAROTTI AT THE COURT OF SAXONY. - Voltaire, The Works of Voltaire, Vol. X The Dramatic Works Part 1 (Zaire, Caesar, The Prodigal, Prefaces) and Part II (The Lisbon Earthquake and Other Poems). [1901]

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From The Works of Voltaire, A Contemporary Version, (New York: E.R. DuMont, 1901), A Critique and Biography by John Morley, notes by Tobias Smollett, trans. William F. Fleming. Vol. X The Dramatic Works Part 1 (Zaire, Caesar, The Prodigal, Prefaces) and Part II (The Lisbon Earthquake and Other Poems).

Author: Voltaire
Translator: William F. Fleming
Notes: Tobias Smollett

Part of: The Works of Voltaire. A Contemporary Version, in 21 vols.

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TO COUNT ALGAROTTI AT THE COURT OF SAXONY.

Paris, Feb. 21, 1747.

These strains, O Algarotti, hear,
To Pindus and Cythera dear,
Who dost from Heaven the gifts inherit,
To love, to please, to write with spirit;
Who with each shining talent graced
Can suit thyself to every taste.
While you in lofty palace sit
A poet’s weak address permit;
No art or care these lines display,
Written ’midst the giddy and the gay.
The bliss, O Saxony, we owe
To thee should make our hearts o’erflow
With gratitude, the poet’s lays
Should still be lavish in thy praise;
From thee the valiant hero came,
Who France defends, the royal dame
Who makes it famous o’er the earth,
In thy blessed realm received her birth.
Know this accomplished princess still
Each day continues to fulfil
What oft your muse of her foretold,
What you could prophet-like unfold.
From this description doubtless you
Will think I’ve seen and heard her, too;
It is not so; I’ll freely own
My muse obscure and little known,
Such charms excited to rehearse,
But tells the simple truth in verse,
Re-echoes what all mortals say,
Who homage to such beauty pay.
A dauphiness, by crowds surrounded,
With ceremony is confounded.
Prudently I at first gave place
To dames whose hoops fill so much space,
Who occupy with gaudy pride
Of the apartment every side.
Was Virgil struck with Livia’s state,
Still at her toilet first to wait?
He let Cornelia pass neglected,
Nor peers nor chancellor respected;
Nobles he passed regardless by,
Pomp never once could catch his eye.
He with Tibullus and the muse
To laugh at care would rather choose.
But in my turn I shall obtain
My wish, and not apply in vain.
I to the graces every day
With fervent heart devoutly pray.
Daughters of love, I cry, oh, deign
Propitiously to aid my strain;
And when your sister you attend,
My muse present her as a friend.
But of the sacred nuptial bands,
The tie that joined the royal hands
Of the most noble pair on earth,
Renowned for virtue as for birth—
Venus’s maids of honor may
Indeed be able to display
Those glories; but a wretch profane
Like me should not attempt the strain.
If we may credit the report
Unanimous of the whole court,
From them a race shall soon take rise,
Whose glories shall the world surprise.
To the great minister of state
Who regulates the kingdom’s fate,
A bard’s respects and homage pay,
I would not tire him with my lay.
Those offerings exquisite and rare
Deemed by the great and by the fair,
Who live on flattery and lies,
Such elevated souls despise.
Adieu! Inspire through Saxon plains
A taste for soft Italian strains,
And for the truths by Newton taught,
Newton! almost a God in thought!
In more sublime, more heavenly lays,
Sing fair Æmilia’s deathless praise.