'Twas Bonneau's: thither was one night conveyed,
Upon the silvery stream the blushing maid;
There Charles in darkness to his Agnes hied;
They supped, while Bonneau served the rosy tide;
No pomp was seen, 'twas all for pleasure wrought;
Feasts of the Gods, ye are to this but naught.
Each fired alike with Love's ecstatic ray,
Maddened with passion, to their hopes a prey,
Darted warm looks which every wish inspired,
Forerunners of the pleasures they desired.
Their converse tender, nor with coarseness fraught,
Spurred the impatience that usurped each thought;
The prince inflamed, with eyes her charms devoured,
While in her ear, Love's tender tale he poured,
With feverish touch, her lily hand caressed,
While oft his knees 'gainst hers were closely pressed.
The banquet finished, music played awhile,
The air Italian, in chromatic style;
Flutes, hautboys, viols, softly breathed around,
While three melodious voices swelled the sound;
They sang in allegory, and the strain
Told of those heroes mighty love had slain,
Who fled of sounding glory the career,
To please the tender fair they loved most dear.
The concert echoed from concealed alcove,
Close to the chamber, then the scene of love.
Thus beauteous Agnes, the discreet and wise,
Heard all, but was not seen by human eyes.
The moon's pale course spoke midnight near at
The hour for bliss, which lovers understand.
In a recess adorned, which met the gaze,
Neither obscure, nor filled by splendid rays,
Between two rich embroidered sheets were laid
The dazzling beauties of the heavenly maid.
Near the alcove a portal open stood,
Which gentle Alix, dame expert and good,
The chamber quitting never thought to close.
O! you in whose soft breasts the passion glows,
Lovers, 'tis you can feel the sharp desire,
The strong impatience of great Gallia's sire.
The graceful tresses that adorned his head,
Already were with choicest perfumes spread,
He came! O! tender moment, blissful night,
He sprang towards his mistress with delight!
Quick throbbed their hearts; both tender love and
shame
The cheek of Agnes tinged with roseate flame;
But bashfulness soon fled; the lover's arms
Banished all fears, save tender love's alarms;
Dazzled, enchanted were his ardent eyes,
That wildly gazed upon the heavenly prize:
Who but would worship, that like him had pressed
A neck in fairest alabaster dressed;
Two rising orbs at equal distance placed,
Heaving and falling, by Love's pencil traced,
Each crowned with vermil blood of damask rose;
Enchanting bosom which ne'er knew repose,
You seemed the gaze and pressure to invite,
And wooed the longing lips to seek delight.
Ever complying with my reader's taste,
I mean to paint as low as Agnes' waist;
To show that symmetry, devoid of blot,
Where Argus' self could not discern a spot;
But virtue, which the world good manners calls,
Stops short my hand,-And lo! the pencil falls.
In Agnes all was beauty, all was fair,
Voluptuousness, whereof she had her share,
Spurred every sense which instant took th' alarm,
Adding new grace to every brilliant charm
It animated: Love can use disguise,
And pleasure heightens beauty in our eyes.
Three months they shared this ecstasy of joy,
Nor did one envious cloud their bliss annoy.
Love's couch they left, and then to table hied;
There with fresh vigor was each nerve supplied,
Rekindling all that strength which love had tamed;
'Anon to join the chase they felt inflamed,
And mounted both on gallant steeds of Spain,
With yelping hounds they coursed the verdant plain :
Returned, they sought the bath's refreshing stream;
Arabian odors, paste and perfumed cream,
All that could soften, polish and delight,
Was spread with bounteous hand, to please the sight.
The dinner served, what dainties met the eyes,
The pheasant and each tender bird that flies;
Ragouts delicious, which exhaled a smell,
Pleasing the nose and palate, passing well:
Wine d'Ai, whose froth in sparks died quick away,
And goblets of the yellow hued Tokay
Warmed the young brain with fire, that could not fail
In sallies of the liveliest wit to exhale;
Brilliant as liquor when the bubbles swim,
And sparkling dance around the goblet's brim:
Bonneau, with peals of laughter loud and free,
Paid homage to his good king's grand esprit.
The banquet ended, mirth and jest went round; Blind to their own, their neighbors' faults were
By Master Alain verses loud were bawled,
Then were the doctors of the Sorbonne called,
An harlequin, who wore the motley shape,
Some squalling parrots, and an antic ape.
Forth to the play just as the sun withdrew,
The monarch hurried with a chosen few,
And to conclude once more the blissful day,
The pair, with love overcome, both died away.
Plunged in the soft excess of dear delight,
The pleasure seemed redoubled with the night;
Each moment happy and with ardor fired,
No quarrel, nor no jealousy inspired;
No languor: Time and Love in Agnes' sight
Having forgot to wing their wonted flight:
Charles oft would say when locked in her embrace,
Imprinting burning kisses on her face:
"My love, my Agnes, idol of my soul,
Thy charms are dearer than the world's control.
To conquer and to reign is folly now,
My Parliament forsakes me, and I bow
'Fore conquering England's matchless bravery,
Well, let them reign, but let them envy me;
I have thy heart, and am more king than they."
The speech was not heroical, you'll say,
But when an hero's with his love in bed,
'Tis passion sways alike the heart and head;
Fired with this earthly paradise his lot,
What's said at night, next morn may be forgot.
As thus he lived from every sorrow free,
Just like an abbott, in his rich abbey,10
The English Prince, with whom war was the word,"
In camp quite armed, well booted too and spurred,
With dagger at his side and lance in rest,
The vizor down of helm that cased his crest,
Trampled contemptuously the conquered land;
He marched, he flew, all fell beneath his hand,
He levelled walls and turrets, spilt our blood,
Robbed, taxed, and pillaged, for his army's good,
Gave mothers, daughters, to his soldiers' rage,
'And violated nuns of every age,
Drank of the monks' rich stores of rosy wine,
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