Page:Works of Voltaire Volume 36.djvu/123



Now that the brilliant God of Day Burns Afric' up with forcing ray, Now that the tropic in a sphere Oblique contracts his bright career; Whilst slowly lags each winter's night, My friends, this story may delight. 'Tis of a knight, as poor as bold, The adventure's worthy to be told. 'Tis Sir John Robert that I sing, He lived when Dagobert was king. A trip to holy Rome he made, Less splendid when the Cæsars swayed; From that famed capital he brought Not laurels plucked in fields well fought, Of dispensations, pardons, store, Indulgences he plenty bore; Of money little had he; then Knights errant were poor gentlemen, Then, to the Church's sons alone Were affluence and riches known. A suit of armor, which, with rust, Revolving years must needs incrust, An ambling steed, a dog was all, Robert his property could call; But what's more precious he possessed, With youth's bright gifts our knight was blessed;