Note 82 — Chapter LIV
Reading edition
Lucien's poem of "Charlemagne, ou l'Eglise Delivrée," an epic in twenty-four books, commenced at Tusculum, continued at Malta, and completed in England, appeared in 1814. It was translated into English by Dr. Butler and Mr. Hodgson. From the eighteenth canto, which was written at Malta, and which opens with a digression personal to the poet, we shall make a short extract:—
"Je n'oublirai jamais ta bonté paternelle Favori du très-haut, Clermont, Pontife-roi! Au nouvel hémisphère entrainé loin de toi, Je t'y conserverai le cœur le plus fidèle: Confiant à la mer et ma femme et mes fils Sur des bords ennemis, J'espérai vainement un asile éphémère, Par un triste refus rejetté sur les flots, Après avoir long temps erré loin de la terre, Mélite dans son port enferma nos vaisseaux. "De la captivité je sens ici le poids! Rien ne plait en ces lieux à mon ame abbattue; Rien ne parle à mon cœur; rien ne s'offre à ma vue Accourez, mes enfants: viens, épouse chérie. Doux charme de ma vie, D'un seul de tes regards viens me rendre la paix. Il n'est plus de désert, ou brille ton sourire, Fuyez, sombres chagrins, souvenirs inquiets, Sur ce roc Africain, je resaissis ma lyre."
"Prince Pontiff! loved of heaven—O, Clermont, say, What filial duties shall thy cares repay? E'en on the shores that skirt the western main, Still shall this heart its loyal faith maintain. My precious freight confiding to the deep, Children and wife, I left Frescati's steep, And ask'd a short retreat—I sought no more— But vainly sought it on a hostile shore. Thence by refusal stern and harsh repell'd, O'er the wide wat'ry waste my course I held, In sufferings oft, and oft in perils cast, Till Malta's port received our ships at last. "Here sad captivity's dull weight I find; Nought pleases here, nought soothes my listless mind: Nought here can bid my sickening heart rejoice, Speak to my soul, or animate my voice. Run to my knees, my children! cherish'd wife, Come, softest charm and solace of my life, One look from thee shall all my peace restore: Where beams thy smile, the desert is no more. Hence, restless memory—hence, repinings vain!— On Afric's rock I seize my lyre again."