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Front Page arrow Titles (by Subject) arrow TO THE QUEEN OF HUNGARY. - 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 THE QUEEN OF HUNGARY. - 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).

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

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TO THE QUEEN OF HUNGARY.

    • Princess, descended from that noble race
    • Which still in danger held the imperial throne,
    • Who human nature and thy sex dost grace,
    • Whose virtues even thy foes are forced to own.
    • The generous French, as fierce as they’re polite,
    • Who to true glory constantly aspire;
    • Whilst obstinately they against thee fight,
    • Thy virtue and great qualities admire.
    • The French and Germans leagued by wondrous ties,
    • Make Christendom one dismal scene of woe;
    • And from their friendship greater ills arise,
    • Than e’er did from their longest quarrels flow.
    • Thus from the equator and the frozen pole,
    • The impetuous winds drive on with headlong force
    • Two clouds, which as they on each other roll,
    • Forth from their sable skirts the thunder force.
    • Do virtuous kings such ruin then ordain?
    • A calm they promise, but excite a storm:
    • Felicity we hope for from their reign,
    • Whilst they with slaughter dire the earth deform.
    • Oh! Fleury, wise and venerable sage,
    • Whom good ne’er dazzles, danger ne’er alarms;
    • Who dost exceed the ancient Nestor’s age:
    • Must Europe never cease to be in arms?
    • Would thou couldst hold with prudent, steady hand,
    • Europa’s balance, shut up Janus’ shrine;
    • Make feuds and discords cease at thy command,
    • And bring from heaven Astrea, maid divine.
    • Would France’s treasures were dispersed no more,
    • But prudently within the realm applied;
    • Opulence to our cities to restore,
    • And make them flourishing on every side.
    • You arts from heaven, and from the muses sprung,
    • Whom Louis brought triumphant into France;
    • Too long your hands are idle, lyres unstrung,
    • ’Tis time to start from so profound a trance.
    • Your labors are of lasting glory sure,
    • Whilst warlike pomps, the triumphs of a day,
    • Blaze for a moment, never long endure,
    • But soon like fleeting shadows pass away.