Page:Works of Voltaire Volume 36.djvu/92



, whose deep genius all admire, You like a muse my laboring breast inspire; I wake at your command, I dream no more, But virtue's laws and nature's paths explore. Melpomene, the theatre I quit, No more I idolize a crowded pit: Let Rufus, son of earth, in hobbling verse, To life's last verge a foolish thought express, And aim at me the darts which he designed To level at the rest of human kind. Four times a month the Zoilus of the age, May pour in fierce invective senseless rage; Their cries by hatred formed I will not hear, Nor mind their tracks which in the dirt appear: Divine philosophy's all powerful charms, Fell envy of her darts with ease disarms; Wrapt in his heaven, great Newton scarcely knows Amongst the sons of men that he has foes: Of mine I think not, to my ravished eyes, Truth shows how I may to that heaven rise; Those vortices which run so strange a race, Heaped without order, moving without space. Those learned visions pass like smoke away, Motion's restored, I see a brighter day,