THE ARGUMENT.
Henry IV. is transported in a vision by St. Louis to heaven, and the infernal regions. He arrives at the palace of the Destinies; where he has an opportunity of seeing his posterity, and the great men hereafter to be produced in France.
The great, the boundless clemency of God,
To soothe the ills of life’s perplexing road,
Sweet sleep, and hope, two friendly beings gave,
Which earth’s dark, gloomy confines never leave.
When man, fatigued by labors of the day,
Has toiled his spirits and his strength away,
That, nature’s friend, restores her powers again,
And brings the blest forgetfulness of pain.
This, oft deceitful, but forever kind,
Diffuses warmth and transport through the mind.
From her the few, whom heaven approves, may learn
The pleasing issue of each high concern,
Pure as her author in the realms above
To them she brings the tidings of his love.
Immortal Louis bid the faithful pair
Expand their downy wings, and soften Henry’s care.
Still sleep repairs to Vincennes’ shady ground;
The winds subside, and silence reigns around.
Hope’s blooming offspring, happy dreams succeed,
And give the pleasing, though ideal meed.
The verdant olive, and the laurel bough,
Entwined with poppies, grace the hero’s brow.
On Bourbon’s temples Louis placed the crown
Whose radiant honors once adorned his own.
“Go, reign,” he cried, “and triumph o’er thy foes;
No other hope the race of Louis knows.
Yet think diviner presents to receive,
Far more, my son, than royalty I give.
What boots renown in arms, should heaven withhold
Her light more precious than the purest gold?
These worldly honors are a barren good;
Rewards uncertain on the brave bestowed:
A transient greatness, and a fading wreath
Blasted by troubles, and destroyed by death.
Empire more durable, for thee designed,
I come to show thee, and inform thy mind.
Attend my steps through paths thou ne’er hast trod,
And fly to meet the bosom of thy God.”
Thus spoke the saint; they mount the car of light,
And swiftly traverse the ethereal height.
Thus midnight lightnings flash, while thunders roll,
And cleave the ambient air from pole to pole.
Thus rose Elijah on the fiery cloud;
The radiant ether with effulgence glowed:
To purer worlds, arrayed in glories bright,
The prophet fled, and vanished from the sight.
Amidst those orbs which move by certain laws
Known to each sage whom love of science draws,
The sun, revolving round his axis turns,
Shines undiminished, and forever burns.
Thence spring those golden torrents, which bestow
All vital warmth, and vigor as they flow.
From thence the welcome day, and year proceeds;
Through various worlds his genial influence spreads.
The rolling planets beam with borrowed rays,
And all around reflect the solar blaze;
Attract each other, and each other shun:
And end their courses where they first begun.
Far in the void unnumbered worlds arise,
And suns unnumbered light the azure skies.
Far beyond all the God of heaven resides,
Marks every orbit, every motion guides.
Thither the hero and the saint repair;
Myriads of spirits are created there,
Which amply people all the globe, and fill
The human body; such the Almighty’s will.
There, with immortal spirits at His feet,
The Judge incorruptible holds His seat.
The God eternal, in all climes adored
By different names, Jehovah, Jove, or Lord.
Before His throne our plaintive sorrows rise;
Our errors He beholds with pitying eyes:
Those senseless portraits, figured by mankind,
To paint His image, and omniscient mind.
All who on earth’s inferior confines breathe,
Attend His summons through the gates of death:
The Eastern sage, with holy wisdom fraught,
The sons of science, whom Confucius taught;
Those who succeed in Zoroaster’s cause,
And blindly yield submission to his laws:
The pale inhabitants of Zembla’s coast,
That dreary region of eternal frost;
America’s sons, with fatal error blind,
Where truth illumines not the savage mind.
The gazing Dervish looks in vain around
At God’s right hand no prophet to be found.
The Bonze, with gloomy, penitential brow,
Derives no comfort from his rigid vow.
At once enlightened, all the dead await
To hear their sentence, and approaching fate.
That mighty Being, whose extended view,
And boundless knowledge looks all nature through,
The past, the present, and the future times,
Rewards their love, or punishes their crimes.
The prince approached not, in those realms of light,
The throne invisible to human sight;
Whence issues forth the terrible decree
Which man presumes too fondly to foresee.
Is God, said Henry to himself, unjust,
On whom the world’s created beings trust?
Will the Almighty not vouchsafe to save
For want of knowledge which He never gave?
Expect religion where it never shone;
And judge the universe by laws unknown?
His hand created all, and all will find
That heaven’s high king is merciful, and kind.
His voice informs the whole, and every part;
Fair nature’s laws are stamped on every heart.
Nature, the same through each inferior clime,
Pure, and unspotted to the end of time,
By this the pagan’s sentence will proceed,
And pagan virtue is religion’s deed.
While thus, with reason narrow, and confined,
On truths mysterious he employed his mind,
A solemn, awful voice was heard around;
All heaven, all nature shuddered at the sound.
Such were the thunders, which from Sinai’s brow,
Diffused a horror through the plains below.
Each seraph glowed with adoration’s fire,
And silence reigned through all the cherub choir.
The rolling spheres the sacred accents caught,
And truths divine to other planets taught.
Distrust thy mental powers, nor blindly stray
As pride, or feebler reason points the way,
The High Invisible who rides above,
Escapes thy knowledge, but demands thy love.
His power, and justice punish, and control —
Each wilful error of the stubborn soul.
To pure devotion be thy heart consigned,
Truth’s radiant orb illumine all thy mind.
These were the sounds, when, through the fields of light,
A rapid whirlwind from the ethereal height
Conveyed the prince to dark, and dreary climes,
Like those where Chaos reigned in elder times.
No solar influence, like its author mild,
Diffuses comfort through the savage wild.
Angels abhor the desolated waste,
Which life’s fair, fruitful blossom never graced.
Confusion, death, each terror of despair,
Fixed on his throne, presides a tyrant there.
O heavens! what shrieks of woe, what piteous cries,
What sulphurous smokes, what horrid flames arise!
“What fiends,” cried Bourbon, “to these climes retreat!
What gulfs, what torrents burst beneath our feet!”
“See here,” the saint returned, “the gates of hell,
Which justice formed, where impious spirits dwell.
Come, view the dismal regions of distress;
These paths are always easy of access.”
There squint-eyed Envy lay, whose poisonous breath
Consumes the verdure of each laurel wreath:
In night’s impenetrable darkness bred,
She hates the living, but applauds the dead.
Her sparkling eyes, which shun the orb of day,
Perceiving Henry, Envy turned away.
Near her, self-loving, self-admiring Pride,
And downcast Weakness, ever pale, reside.
Weakness, which yields to each persuasive crime,
And crops the flower of virtue in its prime.
Ambition there with headstrong fury raves,
With thrones surrounded, sepulchres, and slaves.
Submissive, meek Hypocrisy was nigh,
Hell in her heart, all heaven in her eye.
There Interest, father of all crimes, appeared,
And blinded Zeal by cruelty revered.
These wild, tyrannic rulers of mankind,
When Henry came, their savage air resigned.
Their impious troop ne’er reached his purer soul,
Such virtue yields not to their mad control.
“Who comes,” they cried, “to break the peaceful rest
Of night eternal, and these shades molest?”
Our hero viewed the subterranean scene,
And slowly travelled through the ranks obscene.
Louis led on. — Oh heaven! is that the hand,
Which murdered Valois at the League’s command?
Is that the monster? yes, I know him well,
His arm still holds the parricidal steel.
While barbarous priests proclaim the wretch divine,
And place his portrait on the hallowed shrine,
Though Rome, and faction celebrate his name
To hymns, and praises hell denies his claim.
“Princes, and kings,” the honored saint replied,
“Meet in these realms the punishment of pride.
Behold those tyrants, once adored by all,
Whose height but served to aggrandize their fall.
God pours His vengeance on the sceptred crowd,
For vice committed, and for crimes allowed.
Death, from on high commissioned to destroy,
Cut short the transport of each wayward joy.
No pomp of greatness could the victim save;
Their beams of glory set within the grave.
Now is no civil, sly deceiver near,
To whisper error in the sovereign’s ear.
Once injured truth the sword of terror draws;
Displays each crime, and indicates her cause.
Behold you heroes tremble at her nod,
Esteemed as tyrants in the eyes of God.
Now on their heads descend those thunders dire,
Formed by themselves to set the world on fire.
Close by their side, the weakest of mankind,
Each listless, feeble monarch is reclined;
Whose indolence disgraced the subject land,
Mere airy forms, mere nothings in command.
Sinister counsellors on these await,
Once their imperious ministers of state.
Proud, avaricious, of immortal lives,
Who sold what honors Mars, or Themis gives:
Sold what our fathers purchased by their blood,
And all that’s precious to the great, and good.”
“Tell me,” said Henry, “O ye sons of ease,
Must tender spirits dwell in climes like these?
You, who, on flowery couches, pass away
The tranquil moments of life’s useless day.
Shall virtue’s friends in fiery torments roll?
Whose faults have risen from expanse of soul.
Shall one mistaken, momentary joy
Maturer Wisdom’s plenteous fruits destroy?
This,” cried the prince, “the lot of human race?
Condemned for endless ages to distress!
If all mankind one common hell devours,
Eternal tortures close our transient hours,
Who was not more in non-existence blest?
Who would not perish at his mother’s breast?
Far happier man! had God’s creative hand
Formed him less free, in innocence to stand:
Had God, thus awfully severe, bestowed
The sole capacity of doing good.”
“Think not,” the saint replied, “that sinners feel
Vengeance too heavy, or deserve not hell.
Think not the great Creator of mankind
To these His works is cruel, or unkind.
Lord of all beings, He presides above
With mercy infinite, and boundless love.
Though mortals see the tyrant in their God,
Parental tenderness directs His rod.
Let not these horrid scenes thy soul alarm;
Compassion checks the fury of his arm:
Nor endless punishments inflicts on those
Whose faults from human imperfection rose:
Whose pleasures, followed by remorse, have been
The transient cause of momentary sin.”
Such were his accents — to the realms of light
Both are conveyed with instantaneous flight.
Infernal darkness shuns those flowery plains
Where spotless innocence forever reigns.
There in the floods of purest ether play
The beams refulgent of eternal day.
Each blooming scene seraphic joys bestowed;
And Henry’s soul with unknown raptures glowed.
There tranquil pleasure spreads her every charm
Which thought can fancy, or which heaven can form.
No cares solicit, and no passions move;
But all is governed by angelic love.
Far other love, than that of wild desires,
Which grosser sense, and luxury inspires.
The bright, the sacred flame on earth unknown,
Which burns in heaven, and heavenly minds alone.
Its chaste endearments all their hours employ,
And endless wishes meet with endless joy.
There dwell true heroes; there each pious sage,
And monarchs once the glory of their age.
Thence Charlemagne, and Clovis turn their eyes
On Gallia’s empire from the azure skies:
On golden thrones forever placed sublime,
And clad in honors unimpaired by time.
There, fiercest foes the happy union prove
Of pure affection, and a brother’s love.
Louis the Wise, amidst the royal band,
Tall as a cedar issues his command.
Louis, of France the glory, and the pride,
Who ruled our realms with justice by his side.
Oft would he pardon, oft relief supply;
And wipe the falling tear from every eye.
D’Amboise is still commissioned to attend;
His faithful minister, and warmest friend.
To him alone was Gallia’s honor dear:
To him alone her homage was sincere.
His gentler hands were sullied not with blood;
His every wish was centred in her good.
Oh spotless manners! bright, and halcyon days!
Worthy eternal memory, and praise.
Then wholesome laws adorned, and blessed the State:
Subjects were happy, and the monarch great.
Return, ye halcyon days, with golden wing:
And equal blessings, equal honors bring.
Virtue, descend, another Louis frame
As rich in merit, and as great in fame.
Farther remote, those worthy heroes stood,
Careless of life, and prodigal of blood,
Who died with transport for the public weal;
Led on by duty, not enraged by zeal.
Brave Montmorency, Trimouille, de Foix,
Who sought their passage to those fields of joy.
There Guesclin drinks of pleasure’s purer springs:
Guesclin, the avenger, and the dread of kings.
There too appeared the Amazonian dame,
The tottering throne’s support, and England’s shame.
“These,” cried the saint, “who now possess the skies,
Like thee with glory dazzled Europe’s eyes.
Virtue alone their simpler minds could move:
The Church was nourished by their filial love.
Like me they honored truth’s diviner name:
Our worship uniform, our Church the same.
Say, why does Bourbon follow other laws,
Or why defend religion’s weaker cause?
“Time, with incessant flight prepared to roam,
Quits, and revisits this terrific dome:
And pours with plenteous hand on all mankind
The good, and evil for each race designed.
An altar high of massy iron bears
The fatal annals of succeeding years.
Where God’s own hand has marked, nor marked in vain
Each transient pleasure, each severer pain.
There liberty, that haughty slave, is bound,
With chains invisible encircled round.
Beneath the yoke she bends her stubborn head,
Still unconstrained, unconscious of the deed.
This suppliant turn that hidden chain supplies
Wisely concealed forever from her eyes.
The fates appear her sentence to fulfil:
Each action seems the product of free-will.”
“From thence,” cried Louis, “on the human race
Descends the influence of heavenly grace.
In future times its power thy tongue shall tell:
Its purer radiance all thy heart shall feel.
Those precious moments God alone bestows;
No mortal hastens, and no being knows.
But Oh how slowly comes that period on
When God shall love, and own thee for His son!
Too long shall weakness hide thy brighter rays;
And lead thy steps through errors slippery ways.
Teach him, kind heaven, the happier, better road;
Shorten the days which part him from his God.”
But see what crowds in long succession press
Through the vast region of unbounded space.
These sacred mansions to thy view display
The unborn offspring of some future day.
All times, and places are forever nigh,
All beings present to Jehovah’s eye.
Here fate has marked their destined hour of birth,
Their rise, their grandeur, and their fall on earth.
The various changes of each life to come,
Their vices, virtues, and their final doom.
Draw near, for heaven allows us to foresee
What kings, and heroes shall descend from thee.
That graceful personage is Bourbon’s son,
Formed to support the glory of the crown.
The warlike leader shall his triumphs boast
O’er Belgia’s plains, and proud Iberia’s coast.
To deeds more noble shall his son aspire;
And wreaths more splendid first adorn his sire.
On beds of lilies, near a towering throne,
Two radiant forms before our hero shone.
Monarchs they seemed, of high, imperious pride,
And Roman purple flowed adown their side.
A subject nation couched beneath their feet,
And guards unnumbered formed the train complete.
“These,” said the saint, “are doomed to endless fame:
In all things sovereign, save the royal name,
Richelieu, and Mazarin, designed by fate
Immortal ministers of Gallia’s State.
To them shall policy consign her aid;
And fortune raise them from the altar’s shade.
Ruled by despotic power, shall France confess
Great Richelieu’s genius, Mazarin’s address.
One flies with art before the rising storm:
One braves all danger in its fiercest form.
Both to the princes of our royal blood
With hate relentless enemies avowed.
With high ambition, and with pride inspired,
By all disliked and yet by all admired.
Their artful schemes, and industry shall bring
Plagues on their country, glory on their king.
“O thou, great Colbert, whose enlightened mind
Schemes less extensive for our good designed!
No lustre equals, none excels thy own,
Save that which gilds, and decorates the crown.
Nursed by thy genius, heaven-born plenty reigns,
And pours her treasures over Gallia’s plains.
Colbert by generous deeds to glory rose:
His only vengeance was to bless his foes.
Thus were dispensed the gifts of heavenly grace,
By God’s own confidant on Israel’s race.
That race, whose blasphemy could ne’er remove,
Or quench the beams of mercy, and of love.
“What troops of slaves before that monarch stand!
What numbers tremble at his high command!
No king did Gallia ever yet obey
With such profound submission to his sway.
Though less beloved, more dreaded in her eyes,
Like thee he claims fair glory’s richest prize.
Firm in all danger, in success too warm
When fortune smiles, and conquest meets his arm.
Himself shall crush, superior to intrigue,
Full twenty nations joined in powerful league.
Praise shall attend him to his latest breath,
Great in his life, but greater in his death.
Thrice happy age! when nature’s lavish hand
With all her graces shall adorn the land.
Thrice happy age! when every art refined
Spreads her fair polish o’er the ruder mind.
The muse forever our retreats shall love
More than the shades of Aganippe’s grove.
From sculptured stone the seeming accent flows;
With animated tints the canvas glows.
What sons of science in that period rise,
Measure the universe, and read the skies!
The purer ray of philosophic light
Reveals all nature, and dispels the night.
Presumptuous error from their view retreats;
Truth crowns their labors, and their joy completes.
Thy accents too, sweet music, strike mine ear,
Music, descended from the heavenly sphere.
‘Tis thine to soothe, to soften, and control
Each wayward passion of the ruffled soul.
Unpolished Greece, and Italy have owned
The strong enchantments of thy magic sound.
The subjects ruled by Gallia’s powerful king
Shall bravely conquer, and as sweetly sing.
Shall join the poet’s to the warrior’s praise,
And twine Bellona’s with Apollo’s bays.
E’en now I see this second age of gold
Produce a people of heroic mould.
Here numerous armies skim before my sight;
There fly the Bourbons eager for the fight.
At once his master’s terror, and support,
Great Condé makes the flames of war his sport.
Turenne more calmly meets the hostile power,
In arms his equal, and in wisdom more.
Assemblage rare! in Catinat are seen
The hero’s talents, and the sage’s mien.
Known by his compass Vauban from the tower
Smiles at the tumult, and the cannon’s roar.
England shall tell of Luxembourg’s renown,
In war invincible, at court unknown.
Onward I see the martial Villars move
To wrest the thunder from the bird of Jove.
Conquest attends to bid the battle cease,
And leaves him sovereign arbiter of peace.
Denain shall own brave Villars to have been
The worthy rival of the great Eugene.
“What princely youth draws near, whose manly face
United majesty, and sweetness grace?
See how unmoved — Oh heavens! what sudden shade
Conceals the beauties which his form displayed!
Death flutters round; health, beauty, all are gone:
He falls when ready to ascend the throne.
Heaven formed him all that’s truly just, and good:
Descended, Bourbon, from thy royal blood.
Oh gracious God! shall fate but show mankind
A flower so sweet, and virtues so refined!
What could a soul so generous not obtain!
What joys would France experience from his reign!
Produced, and nurtured by his fostering hand
Fair peace, and plenty had enriched the land.
Each day some new beneficence had brought:
Oh how shall Gallia weep! alarming thought!
When one dark, silent sepulchre contains
The son’s, the mother’s, and the sire’s remains.
“Fallen is the tree, and from its ruins springs
An infant successor to Gallia’s kings.
A tender shoot, from whose increasing shade
France may derive some salutary aid.
Conduct him, Fleury, to the throne of truth.
Wait on his years, and cultivate his youth.
Teach him self-knowledge, and, if Fleury can,
Teach him that Louis is no more than man.
Inspire each virtue which can life adorn;
Kings for their subjects, not themselves are born.
And thou, O France, once more arise to day;
Resume thy majesty beneath his sway.
Let every science, which retired before,
Crown thy fair temples, and adorn thy shore.
The azure waters with thy navies sweep:
So wills the monarch of the briny deep.
See, from the Nile, the Euxine, and the Ind,
Each port by nature, or by art designed,
Commerce aloud demands thee for her seat;
And spreads her richest treasures at thy feet.
Adieu to terror, and adieu to war,
The peaceful olive be thy future care.
“Pursued by envy, and distraction’s crew,
A chief renowned advances to the view;
Easy, not weak, when glory spurs him on,
Engaged by novelties, by trifles won.
Though luxury displays a thousand charms,
And smiling pleasure courts him to her arms,
Yet shall he keep all Europe in suspense
By artful politics, and manly sense.
The world shall move as Orleans shall guide;
And every science flourish at his side.
Empire, my son, himself shall never reach;
‘Tis his the art of government to teach.
“Now burst the lightning from the opening skies,
And Gallia’s standard waved before their eyes.
Iberia’s troops, arrayed in arms complete,
The German eagle crushed beneath their feet.
When thus the saint — no more remains the trace
Of Charles the Fifth, his glory, or his race.
Each earthly being has its final hour;
Eternal wisdom let us all adore.
From here all human revolutions spring:
E’en Spain from Bourbon shall request a king.
Illustrious Philip shall receive the crown;
And sit as monarch on Iberia’s throne.
Surprise was soon succeeded by delight,
And Henry’s soul enraptured at the sight.
Repress thy transports, cried the saint, and dread
This great event, this present to Madrid.
Say, who can fathom heaven’s concealed intent,
Dangers may come, and Paris may repent.
Oh Philip! Oh my sons! shall France and Spain
Thus meet, and never be disjoined again!
How long shall fatal politics forbear
To light the flames of discord, and of war!”
Thus Louis spoke — when lo! the scene withdrew,
Each object vanished from our hero’s view.
The sacred portals closed before his eyes,
And sudden darkness overspread the skies.
Far in the east Aurora moving on
Unlocked the golden chambers of the sun.
Night’s sable robe o’er other climes was spread,
Each dream retired, and every flitting shade.
The prince arose, with heavenly ardor fired,
Unusual vigor all his soul inspired.
Fear, and respect, great Bourbon, now were-thine:
Full on thy brow sat majesty divine.
Thus when before the tribes great Moses stood,
Returned at length from Sinai, and from God,
His eyeballs flashed intolerable light;
Each prostrate Hebrew shuddered at the sight.