Page:Works of Voltaire Volume 16.djvu/176

154 He is too happy; But he is worthy: he who saved a kingdom Alone can merit her, and heaven is just.

He comes, and with him his assembled people; Lo! the high-priest attends: this way they bend, To deprecate the wrath of angry heaven.

It melts my soul; I weep for their misfortunes. O Hercules, from thy eternal seat Look down on thy afflicted country! hear Thy fellow citizens! O hear thy friend, Who joins his prayers, and be their guardian god!

Ye blasting powers, who waste this wretched empire, And breathe contagion, death, and horrors round us, O quicken your slow wrath, be kind at last, And urge our lingering fate.

Strike, strike, ye gods, Your victims are prepared; ye mountains, fall! Crush us, ye heavens! O death, deliver us, And we shall thank you for the boon.

No more: Cease your loud plaints, the wretch's poor resource;