Page:Works of Voltaire Volume 36.djvu/55

Who cultivates within the well-fenced field,
The treasures which the spring and autumn yield,
Can water, earth, sun's various gifts bestow,
Upon the trees that in his gardens grow;
On slender props he feeble branches rears,
And from the ground the useless plants uptears;
Or prunes them when they too luxuriant shoot,
And drain of needful sap the trunk and root.
His lands afford him all he can desire,
The laws of nature with his toil conspire;
A tree which he has planted with his hand,
Is sure, with others, to enrich the land;
And all the planter's cares are well repaid
With luscious fruits and with a grateful shade.
A gardener never could, by vengeance led,
Make heaven upon it baleful influence shed;
Could ne'er, by curses, make his fruits decay,
Or vines and fig-trees wither quite away.
Wretched those nations where laws still contend!
Their jarring factions never can have end:
The Roman senate, watchful o'er the state,
Morals and rites intent to regulate,
Set to the vestals' number its due bound,
Nor suffered bacchanals to range around.
Aurelius, Trajan, princes of renown,
The pontiff's bonnet wore, and emperor's crown:
The world depended on their care alone,
And the schools' vain disputes were then unknown;
Those legislators, with sage maxims fraught,
Ne'er for their sacred birds with fury fought.
On the same principle Rome now holds command,
The throne and altar by their union stand;