The Works of Voltaire/Volume 36/The Reply
The Answer.
You ask me, and I'll tell in rhyme,
How we at Cirey pass our time:
What need I to you this relate,
Our master, you we imitate:
From you we've learned the wisest rules,
Taught in famed Epicurus' schools.
We here all sacrifice like you,
To every art and nature too.
And yet we but at distance follow
Your steps, though guided by Apollo.
Thus when the brilliant god of day
Casts from heaven's height a shining ray,
Upon some chamber dark as night,
Of those blest rays the shining light,
The chambers deep obscure pervades
And dissipate the gloomy shades,
Then the spectators cast their eyes on
A miniature of the horizon.
Such a comparison may show
That some philosophy I know,
That I've read Newton and Kirkherus,
Authors both learned, profound and serious.
Perhaps my muse this 'tone assuming,
May be by many thought presuming;
Perhaps I spoil at the same time
As well philosophy as rhyme,
But novelties have charms for me
From laws poetic I'd be free;
Let others in their lyric lays
Say the same thing a thousand ways,
The world with ancient fables tire,
I new and striking truths admire.
Ye deities adored by swains,
Naiad and nymphs that trip the plains,
Satyrs to dancing still inclined,
Ye boys called Cupids by mankind,
Who whilst our meadows bloom in spring,
Inspire men love's soft joys to sing,
Assist a poet with your skill,
The charms 'twixt sense and rhyme to fill.
The enchanting pleasures well I know
Which from harmonious numbers flow;
The ear's a passage to the heart,
Sound can to thought new charms impart;
But geniuses I must prefer
Though even nobly wild they err,
To pedants whose exact discourse
Is void of genius as of force.
Gardens where symmetry's displayed,
Trees which in rows yield equal shade,
Who thus arranged you on the plain
May boast his art and skill in vain:
Gardens from you I must retire,
Too much of art I can't admire.
The spacious forest suits my mind,
Where nature wanders unconfined,
Its shades with awe spectators fill,
They baffle all the artist's skill.
But in my free and artless strain,
Nature I imitate in vain,
Though wild, I can't like nature please,
I can't boast charming nature's ease.
This rhapsody, great prince, excuse,
'Tis but the folly of my muse,
Reason had o'er me lost her sway,
When I composed this hurried lay,
Judgment was from my breast expelled,
For fair Emilia I beheld.