Voltaire! long life's the greatest curseThat mortals can receive,[pg 296]When they imagine the chief endOf living is to live;Quite thoughtless of their day of death,That birthday of their sorrow!Knowing, it may be distant far,Nor crush them till—to-morrow.These are cold, northern thoughts, conceiv'dBeneath an humble cot;Not mine, your genius, or your state,No castle is my lot:59But soon, quite level shall we lie;And, what pride most bemoans,Our parts, in rank so distant now,As level as our bones;Hear you that sound? Alarming sound!Prepare to meet your fate!One, who writes finis to our works,Is knocking at the gate;Far other works will soon be weigh'd;Far other judges sit;Far other crowns be lost or won,Than fire ambitious wit:Their wit far brightest will be prov'd,Who sunk it in good sense;[pg 297]And veneration most profoundOf dread omnipotence.'Tis that alone unlocks the gateOf blest eternity;O! mayst thou never, never loseThat more than golden key!60Whate'er may seem too rough excuse,Your good I have at heart:Since from my soul I wish you well;As yet we must not part:Shall you, and I, in love with life,Life's future schemes contrive,The world in wonder not unjust,That we are still alive?What have we left? How mean in manA shadow's shade to crave!When life, so vain! is vainer still,'Tis time to take your leave:Happier, than happiest life, is death,Who, falling in the fieldOf conflict with his rebel will,Writes vici, on his shield;So falling man, immortal heirOf an eternal prize;[pg 298]Undaunted at the gloomy grave,Descends into the skies.O! how disorder'd our machine,When contradictions mix!When nature strikes no less than twelve,And folly points at six!To mend the moments of your heart,How great is my delightGently to wind your morals up,And set your hand aright!That hand, which spread your wisdom wideTo poison distant lands:Repent, recant; the tainted ageYour antidote demands;To Satan dreadfully resign'd,Whole herds rush down the steepOf folly, by lewd wits possess'd,And perish in the deep.Men's praise your vanity pursues;'Tis well, pursue it still;But let it be of men deceas'd,And you'll resign the will;And how superior they to thoseAt whose applause you aim;How very far superior theyIn number, and in name!
Voltaire! long life's the greatest curseThat mortals can receive,[pg 296]When they imagine the chief endOf living is to live;Quite thoughtless of their day of death,That birthday of their sorrow!Knowing, it may be distant far,Nor crush them till—to-morrow.These are cold, northern thoughts, conceiv'dBeneath an humble cot;Not mine, your genius, or your state,No castle is my lot:59But soon, quite level shall we lie;And, what pride most bemoans,Our parts, in rank so distant now,As level as our bones;Hear you that sound? Alarming sound!Prepare to meet your fate!One, who writes finis to our works,Is knocking at the gate;Far other works will soon be weigh'd;Far other judges sit;Far other crowns be lost or won,Than fire ambitious wit:Their wit far brightest will be prov'd,Who sunk it in good sense;[pg 297]And veneration most profoundOf dread omnipotence.'Tis that alone unlocks the gateOf blest eternity;O! mayst thou never, never loseThat more than golden key!60Whate'er may seem too rough excuse,Your good I have at heart:Since from my soul I wish you well;As yet we must not part:Shall you, and I, in love with life,Life's future schemes contrive,The world in wonder not unjust,That we are still alive?What have we left? How mean in manA shadow's shade to crave!When life, so vain! is vainer still,'Tis time to take your leave:Happier, than happiest life, is death,Who, falling in the fieldOf conflict with his rebel will,Writes vici, on his shield;So falling man, immortal heirOf an eternal prize;[pg 298]Undaunted at the gloomy grave,Descends into the skies.O! how disorder'd our machine,When contradictions mix!When nature strikes no less than twelve,And folly points at six!To mend the moments of your heart,How great is my delightGently to wind your morals up,And set your hand aright!That hand, which spread your wisdom wideTo poison distant lands:Repent, recant; the tainted ageYour antidote demands;To Satan dreadfully resign'd,Whole herds rush down the steepOf folly, by lewd wits possess'd,And perish in the deep.Men's praise your vanity pursues;'Tis well, pursue it still;But let it be of men deceas'd,And you'll resign the will;And how superior they to thoseAt whose applause you aim;How very far superior theyIn number, and in name!
Voltaire! long life's the greatest curseThat mortals can receive,[pg 296]When they imagine the chief endOf living is to live;Quite thoughtless of their day of death,That birthday of their sorrow!Knowing, it may be distant far,Nor crush them till—to-morrow.These are cold, northern thoughts, conceiv'dBeneath an humble cot;Not mine, your genius, or your state,No castle is my lot:59But soon, quite level shall we lie;And, what pride most bemoans,Our parts, in rank so distant now,As level as our bones;Hear you that sound? Alarming sound!Prepare to meet your fate!One, who writes finis to our works,Is knocking at the gate;Far other works will soon be weigh'd;Far other judges sit;Far other crowns be lost or won,Than fire ambitious wit:Their wit far brightest will be prov'd,Who sunk it in good sense;[pg 297]And veneration most profoundOf dread omnipotence.'Tis that alone unlocks the gateOf blest eternity;O! mayst thou never, never loseThat more than golden key!60Whate'er may seem too rough excuse,Your good I have at heart:Since from my soul I wish you well;As yet we must not part:Shall you, and I, in love with life,Life's future schemes contrive,The world in wonder not unjust,That we are still alive?What have we left? How mean in manA shadow's shade to crave!When life, so vain! is vainer still,'Tis time to take your leave:Happier, than happiest life, is death,Who, falling in the fieldOf conflict with his rebel will,Writes vici, on his shield;So falling man, immortal heirOf an eternal prize;[pg 298]Undaunted at the gloomy grave,Descends into the skies.O! how disorder'd our machine,When contradictions mix!When nature strikes no less than twelve,And folly points at six!To mend the moments of your heart,How great is my delightGently to wind your morals up,And set your hand aright!That hand, which spread your wisdom wideTo poison distant lands:Repent, recant; the tainted ageYour antidote demands;To Satan dreadfully resign'd,Whole herds rush down the steepOf folly, by lewd wits possess'd,And perish in the deep.Men's praise your vanity pursues;'Tis well, pursue it still;But let it be of men deceas'd,And you'll resign the will;And how superior they to thoseAt whose applause you aim;How very far superior theyIn number, and in name!
Voltaire! long life's the greatest curseThat mortals can receive,[pg 296]When they imagine the chief endOf living is to live;Quite thoughtless of their day of death,That birthday of their sorrow!Knowing, it may be distant far,Nor crush them till—to-morrow.These are cold, northern thoughts, conceiv'dBeneath an humble cot;Not mine, your genius, or your state,No castle is my lot:59But soon, quite level shall we lie;And, what pride most bemoans,Our parts, in rank so distant now,As level as our bones;Hear you that sound? Alarming sound!Prepare to meet your fate!One, who writes finis to our works,Is knocking at the gate;Far other works will soon be weigh'd;Far other judges sit;Far other crowns be lost or won,Than fire ambitious wit:Their wit far brightest will be prov'd,Who sunk it in good sense;[pg 297]And veneration most profoundOf dread omnipotence.'Tis that alone unlocks the gateOf blest eternity;O! mayst thou never, never loseThat more than golden key!60Whate'er may seem too rough excuse,Your good I have at heart:Since from my soul I wish you well;As yet we must not part:Shall you, and I, in love with life,Life's future schemes contrive,The world in wonder not unjust,That we are still alive?What have we left? How mean in manA shadow's shade to crave!When life, so vain! is vainer still,'Tis time to take your leave:Happier, than happiest life, is death,Who, falling in the fieldOf conflict with his rebel will,Writes vici, on his shield;So falling man, immortal heirOf an eternal prize;[pg 298]Undaunted at the gloomy grave,Descends into the skies.O! how disorder'd our machine,When contradictions mix!When nature strikes no less than twelve,And folly points at six!To mend the moments of your heart,How great is my delightGently to wind your morals up,And set your hand aright!That hand, which spread your wisdom wideTo poison distant lands:Repent, recant; the tainted ageYour antidote demands;To Satan dreadfully resign'd,Whole herds rush down the steepOf folly, by lewd wits possess'd,And perish in the deep.Men's praise your vanity pursues;'Tis well, pursue it still;But let it be of men deceas'd,And you'll resign the will;And how superior they to thoseAt whose applause you aim;How very far superior theyIn number, and in name!
Voltaire! long life's the greatest curseThat mortals can receive,[pg 296]When they imagine the chief endOf living is to live;
Voltaire! long life's the greatest curse
That mortals can receive,
When they imagine the chief end
Of living is to live;
Quite thoughtless of their day of death,That birthday of their sorrow!Knowing, it may be distant far,Nor crush them till—to-morrow.
Quite thoughtless of their day of death,
That birthday of their sorrow!
Knowing, it may be distant far,
Nor crush them till—to-morrow.
These are cold, northern thoughts, conceiv'dBeneath an humble cot;Not mine, your genius, or your state,No castle is my lot:59
These are cold, northern thoughts, conceiv'd
Beneath an humble cot;
Not mine, your genius, or your state,
No castle is my lot:59
But soon, quite level shall we lie;And, what pride most bemoans,Our parts, in rank so distant now,As level as our bones;
But soon, quite level shall we lie;
And, what pride most bemoans,
Our parts, in rank so distant now,
As level as our bones;
Hear you that sound? Alarming sound!Prepare to meet your fate!One, who writes finis to our works,Is knocking at the gate;
Hear you that sound? Alarming sound!
Prepare to meet your fate!
One, who writes finis to our works,
Is knocking at the gate;
Far other works will soon be weigh'd;Far other judges sit;Far other crowns be lost or won,Than fire ambitious wit:
Far other works will soon be weigh'd;
Far other judges sit;
Far other crowns be lost or won,
Than fire ambitious wit:
Their wit far brightest will be prov'd,Who sunk it in good sense;[pg 297]And veneration most profoundOf dread omnipotence.
Their wit far brightest will be prov'd,
Who sunk it in good sense;
And veneration most profound
Of dread omnipotence.
'Tis that alone unlocks the gateOf blest eternity;O! mayst thou never, never loseThat more than golden key!60
'Tis that alone unlocks the gate
Of blest eternity;
O! mayst thou never, never lose
That more than golden key!60
Whate'er may seem too rough excuse,Your good I have at heart:Since from my soul I wish you well;As yet we must not part:
Whate'er may seem too rough excuse,
Your good I have at heart:
Since from my soul I wish you well;
As yet we must not part:
Shall you, and I, in love with life,Life's future schemes contrive,The world in wonder not unjust,That we are still alive?
Shall you, and I, in love with life,
Life's future schemes contrive,
The world in wonder not unjust,
That we are still alive?
What have we left? How mean in manA shadow's shade to crave!When life, so vain! is vainer still,'Tis time to take your leave:
What have we left? How mean in man
A shadow's shade to crave!
When life, so vain! is vainer still,
'Tis time to take your leave:
Happier, than happiest life, is death,Who, falling in the fieldOf conflict with his rebel will,Writes vici, on his shield;
Happier, than happiest life, is death,
Who, falling in the field
Of conflict with his rebel will,
Writes vici, on his shield;
So falling man, immortal heirOf an eternal prize;[pg 298]Undaunted at the gloomy grave,Descends into the skies.
So falling man, immortal heir
Of an eternal prize;
Undaunted at the gloomy grave,
Descends into the skies.
O! how disorder'd our machine,When contradictions mix!When nature strikes no less than twelve,And folly points at six!
O! how disorder'd our machine,
When contradictions mix!
When nature strikes no less than twelve,
And folly points at six!
To mend the moments of your heart,How great is my delightGently to wind your morals up,And set your hand aright!
To mend the moments of your heart,
How great is my delight
Gently to wind your morals up,
And set your hand aright!
That hand, which spread your wisdom wideTo poison distant lands:Repent, recant; the tainted ageYour antidote demands;
That hand, which spread your wisdom wide
To poison distant lands:
Repent, recant; the tainted age
Your antidote demands;
To Satan dreadfully resign'd,Whole herds rush down the steepOf folly, by lewd wits possess'd,And perish in the deep.
To Satan dreadfully resign'd,
Whole herds rush down the steep
Of folly, by lewd wits possess'd,
And perish in the deep.
Men's praise your vanity pursues;'Tis well, pursue it still;But let it be of men deceas'd,And you'll resign the will;
Men's praise your vanity pursues;
'Tis well, pursue it still;
But let it be of men deceas'd,
And you'll resign the will;
And how superior they to thoseAt whose applause you aim;How very far superior theyIn number, and in name!
And how superior they to those
At whose applause you aim;
How very far superior they
In number, and in name!