The Works of Voltaire/Volume 36/Thoughts on the Newtonian Philosophy
Thoughts on the Newtonian Philosophy, addressed to the Marchioness du Châtelet.
Emilia, whose deep genius all admire,
You like a muse my laboring breast inspire;
I wake at your command, I dream no more,
But virtue's laws and nature's paths explore.
Melpomene, the theatre I quit,
No more I idolize a crowded pit:
Let Rufus, son of earth, in hobbling verse,
To life's last verge a foolish thought express,
And aim at me the darts which he designed
To level at the rest of human kind.
Four times a month the Zoilus of the age,
May pour in fierce invective senseless rage;
Their cries by hatred formed I will not hear,
Nor mind their tracks which in the dirt appear:
Divine philosophy's all powerful charms,
Fell envy of her darts with ease disarms;
Wrapt in his heaven, great Newton scarcely knows
Amongst the sons of men that he has foes:
Of mine I think not, to my ravished eyes,
Truth shows how I may to that heaven rise;
Those vortices which run so strange a race,
Heaped without order, moving without space.
Those learned visions pass like smoke away,
Motion's restored, I see a brighter day,
Space which contains the universal soul,
Sees in its bosom vast creation roll;
God speaks, and at His voice old Chaos flies,
All things towards a common centre rise;
The spring of nature, by dark ignorance night
Concealed, had long lain hid from mortal sight:
Newton the compass takes, he lifts the veil,
He makes truth's light o'er ignorance prevail:
With learned hand he to my eye displays
That star's bright robe which seasons rules and days;
The sparkling diamond's variegated dyes,
With gorgeous lustre dazzle human eyes;
Each ray's pure substance to spectators show
The various colors of fair Iris's Bow;
Blended, they light impart to mortal eyes,
They vivify the world, and fill the skies.
Ye ministering angels to the king of kings,
Ye burning seraphs, who with constant wings
Cover the Almighty Power's eternal throne
Of men, would you not envy him alone?
He rules the sea, I see the humid deep,
Time ever with attracting Cynthia keep;
Its efforts strong a central power restrains,
Ocean rolls back, and in its bed remains;
Comets which men as much as thunder fear,
To terrify the world at length forbear;
In an ellipse immense your wanderings end,
Rise near the star of day and near descend;
Your fiery tresses shake, returning strive,
Exhausted, drooping nature to revive.
Sister of Phœbus, star which in the skies,
Long time deceived the inquirer's erring eyes:
Newton has fixed the bounds of thy career,
Move on, and rule the day, the month and year:
Earth change thy form, and let thy masses weight,
Sinking the Pole the Equator elevate;
Pole, which seem motionless to every eye,
The Bear, that frozen constellation, fly;
And let your long protracted periods last,
Till numberless revolving years are past.
What noble objects these! what high delights!
Feels the rapt soul filled with such glorious light!
The mind let loose from its corporeal chains,
A conversation with its God maintains.
How couldst thou say, whilst yet in tender youth,
Receive these treasures of eternal truth,
Shun pleasures which consume our youthful days,
And to such views sublime thy genius raise;
With Newton tread paths ne'er trod before,
And nature's winding labyrinth explore?
May I with you her temple penetrate,
And to all France these truths sublime relate;
Whilst Algarotti, whose instructions please,
This stranger to the Tiber's shore conveys:
Let him with flowers adorn her beauteous face,
Compass in hand, her lineaments I'll trace:
With my rough pencil I'll express each line,
None can embellish beauty so divine.