s his breast;
Soft drops of pleasure glisten'd in their eyes,
295 Voluptuous tear that love knows how to prize;
No coy reserve the burning bliss restrain'd,
Fond passion, prodigal of pleasure, reign'd;
While Love's mute eloquence their lips employ,
Short sighs and gentle murmurs speak their joy:
300 Their panting hearts with glowing transport swell,
Which love alone inspires, alone can tell.

Young pleasures sporting in luxurious ease,
And infant Cupid's on his amour seize;
Some dragg'd the bloody cuirass o'er the ground,
305 Or from his thigh, the pond'rous blade unbound;
Some from the casque the crystal torrent pour'd,
To wash the crimson spot that stain'd the sword,
And laugh as in their feeble hand they wield
The crown's support, the terror of the field.
310 Discord, who view'd him with insulting spite,
In savage accents utter'd fierce delight;
Rous'd up the league, the happy moment prest,
Reviv'd her serpents drooping in her breast;
And while the monarch languished in repose,
315 Blew the shrill blast, that gathered all his foes.

A conscious blush on Henry's forehead glow'd
As Mornay met him in the soft abode:
Silent at first, the mutual look they fear'd,
But in that silence all the mind appear'd:
320 And Mornay's eye to Henry's soul convey'd,
How wide from virtue and from fame he stray'd.

The gentlest touch of blame we scarce endure,
How oft we loose the friend we mean to cure;
But Henry thus:--"My friend, be ever dear,
325 Who speaks of virtue most be welcome here;
Come to my heart, which yet for glory burns;
My fame, my spirit, with my friend returns;
Away the sweets of vile ignoble rest!
The soft delusion which my soul possest!
330 Far be the slave enamour'd of his chains;
The last great conquest o'er myself remains:
Glory beams forth--and love no more shall sway.
The blood of Spain shall wash the stain away".

"There", Mornay cried," the monarch's voice I own;
335 There spoke the guardian of the Gallic throne:
Love thus subdu'd, adds lustre to your state;
Blest who ne'er feels it,--but who conquers, great".

As Henry's lip pronounc'd the last forewel,
What advers passions in his soul rebel?
340 Full of the beauty he adores and flies,
He blames the t