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Voltaire.

Il habite certainement
Le monde où le destin m'a mise,
Et je suis fon leul élément:
Si l'on vous fait dire autrement,
On vous fait dire une fotise.

La belle courut de ce pas
Chercher au milieu du fracas
Celui qu'elle croyait volage.
Il sera peut-être à Paris,
Dit-elle, avec les beaux esprits,
Qui l'ont peint fi doux et fi fage.
L'un d'eux lui dit: Sur nos avis
Vous pouriez vous tromper peut-être;
Macare n'est qu'en nos écrits;
Nous l'avons peint sans le connoître.

Elle aborda près du palais,
Ferma les yeux, et passa vite:
Mon amant ne sera jamais
Dans cet abominable gîte:
Au moins la cour a des attraits,
Macare auroit pû s'y méprendre;
Mais les noirs suivants de Thémis
Sont les éternels ennemis
De l'objet qui me rend fi tendre.

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Thélème au temple de Rameau,
Chez Melpomene, chez Thalie,
Au premier spectacle nouveau
Croit trouver l'amant qui l'oublie.
Elle est priée à ces repas,
Ou président les délicats,
Nommés la bonne compagnie.
Des gens d'un agréable accueil
Y semblent au premier coup d'oeil
De Macare être la copie;
Mais plus ils étaient occupés
Du foin flateur de le paraitre,
Et plus à ses yeux détrompés
Ils étoient eloignés de l'être.

Voltaire

Enfin Thélème au desespoir,
Lasse de chercher fans rien voir,
Dans sa retraite alla se rendre.
Le premier objet qu'elle y vit,
Fut Macare auprès de son lit
Qui l'attendait pour la surprendre.
Vivez avec moi delormais,
Dit-il, dans une douce paix,
Sans trop chercher, fans trop prétendre.
Et si vous voulez posséder
Ma tendresse avec ma personne,
Gardez de jamais demander
Au-delà de ce que je donne,

Les
gens

de Grec enfarinés
Connoitront Macare et Thélème,
Et vous diront, fous cet embleme,
A quoi nous sommes destinés.
Macare, c'est toi qu'on défire,
On t'aime, on te perd; et je croi
Que je t'ai rencontré chez moi,
Mais je me garde de le dire.
Quand on se vante de t'avoir
On en est privé par l'envie ;
Pour te garder il faut savoir
Te cacher, et cacher sa vie.

Pope.

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(Den nächsten Anlaß zu feinein Temple of Fanie nahm Pope von einem åhnlichen allegorischen Gedichte Chauceưs; The House of Fame, vielleicht auch von einer sehr schön ges schriebenen &hnlichen Allegorie 20 Sifon's im Spectator. Aud) kann man damit die Beschreibung dieses Tempels beim Ovid, Metamorph. B. XII, p. 40. ff. vergleichen, die schon Chaucer vor Augen gehabt hatte. Pope's Gedicht, wora aus hier nur eine Stelle zur Probe geliefert werden kann, hat viele dichterische Schluheiten. Eine scharfsinnige und geschmackvolle Kritik darüber giebt Hr. Warton in seineng Versuch über Pope's Genie, Abscyn. VII.)

THE TEMPLE OF FAME.

v. 137 — 243

The temple shakes, the founding gates unfold;
Wide vaults appear, and roofs of fretted gold:
Rais'd on a thousand pillars, wreath'd around
With laurel-foliage, and with eagles crown'd;
Of bright-transparent beryl were the walls,
The freezes gold, and gold the capitals:
As heav'n with stars, the roof with jewels glows,
And ever-living lamps depend in rows.
Full in the passage of each spacious gate,
The fage historians in white garments wait;
Gray'd o'er their feats the form of Time was found,
His fithe revers'd, and both his pinions bound.
Within stood heroes, who through loud alarms
In bloody fields pursu'd renown in arms.
High on a throne, with trophies charg'd, I view'd
The Youth *) that all things but hinself subdu'd;
His feet on fceptres and tiara's trod,
And his horn'd head bely'd the Libyan god.
There Caesar, grac'd with both Minerva s lhone,

Caesar,

*) Alexander the Great,

Pope.

}

Caefar, the world's great master, and his own;
Unmov’d, superior still in in ev'ry state,
And scarce detested in his country's fate.
But chief were those, who not for empire fought,
But with their toils their people's safety bought:
High o'er the rest Epaminondas stood;
Timoleon, glorious in his brother's blood;
Bold Scipio, faviour of the Roman state,
Great in his triumphs, in retirement great,
And wife Aurelius, in whose well-taught mind
With boundless pow'r unbounded virtue join’d,
His own strict judge, and patron of mankind.

Much-suff'ring heroes next their honours claim,
Those of less noisy and less guilty fame,
Fair Virtue's filent train: supreme of these
Here ever shines the godlike Socrates:
He whom ungrateful Athens could expel.
At all times juft, but when he sign'd the shell.
Here his abode the martyrd Phocion claims,
With Agis, not the last of Spartan names:
Unconquer'd Cato i hews the wound he tore,
And Brutus his ill genius meets no more.
But in the centre of the hallow'd choir
Six pompous columns o'er the rest aspire;
Around the shrine itself of Fame they stand,
Hold the chief honours, and the fane command.
High on the first, the mighty Homer shone;
Eternal adamant compos'd his throne;
Father of verse! in holy fillets drest,
His silver beard wav'd gently o'er his breast;
Though blind, a boldness in liis looks appears;
In
years

he feem'd, but not impair'd by years.
The wars of Troy were round the pillar seen:
Here fierce Tydides wounds the Cyprian Queen;
Here Hector, glorious from Patroclus' fall,
Were draggd in triumph round the Trojan

wall:
Motion and life did ev'ry part inspire.
Bold was the work, and prov'd the inasters fire;

A strong

pope.

A strong expression most he feem'd taffeet.
And here and there disclof'd a brave neglect.

A golden column ņext in rank appear'd
On which a shrine of purest gold was reard
Finish'd the whole, and labour'd ev'ry part
With patient touches of unweary'd art!
The Mantuan *) there in sober triumph sat.
Compoí'd his posture, and his look fedate;
On Homer still he fix'd a rev'rend eye,
Great without pride, in modest majesty.
In living sculpture on the fides were spread
The Latian wars, and haughty Turnus dead;
Eliza stretch'd upon the fun’ral pyre,
Aeneas bending with his aged fire:
Troy fam'd in burning gold, and o'er the throne
ARMS AND THE MAN in golden ciphers í hone.

Four fwans sustain a car of filver bright,
With heads advancd, and pinions stretch'd for

fight.

Here, like some furious prophet, Pindar rode,
And seem'd to labour with th: inspiring god.
Across the harp a careless hand he Aings,
And boldly sinks into the sounding strings.
The figur'd games of Greece the column grace,
Neptune and Jove survey the rapid race.
The youths hang o'er their chariots as they run;
The fiery steeds seem starting from the stone;
The champions in distorted postures threat;
And all appear'd irregularly great.
Here happy Horace tun'd th’ Ausonian lyre
To fu eeter founds, and temper'd Pindar's fire
Pleas'd with Alcaeus' manly rage t' infufe
The softer fpirit of the Sapphic muse
The polish'd pillar diff'rent sculptures grace:
A work out lasting monumental brass,

Here

*) Virgil.

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