TRUE, I had sworn to moralize no more, | |
| To narrate brief, avoiding long discourse, | |
| But garrulous the God-head I adore, | |
| And who is proof against Don Cupid’s force? | |
| His inspiration fires my fevered brain, | 5 |
| And my pen scribbles on the unequal strain. | |
| Young beauties, maidens, widows, wives enrolled | |
| Upon his charming banners’ ample fold; | |
| Ye who alike receive his flames or darts, | |
| Now tell me, when two glowing youthful hearts, | 10 |
| Equal in talents, merit and in grace, | |
| When both would court you in the fond embrace, | |
| Pressing alike, and fanning rapture’s fire, | |
| Awakening in the breast each keen desire; | |
| Does not a strange embarrassment ensue? * * * * * | 15 |
| More than the king, Monrose already knew, | |
| And with address from prating pages drew | |
| Full information where fair Agnes lay; | |
| Discreetly reconnoitering his way, | |
| Just as a cat when quiet lies the house, | 20 |
| Watches the stealthy passage of a mouse, | |
| And stealing forth the feeble foe to meet, | |
| Lets not the earth feel the impress of her feet, | |
| But once in view upon the prey she springs; | |
| Monrose alike, impelled by love’s own wings, | 25 |
| With arms extended onward cautious steals, | |
| Planting the toes, and raising high the heels; | |
| O Agnes! Agnes! in thy room he kneels. | |
| Less quickly fly to amber lightest straws, | |
| Less quickly steel obeys magnetic laws, | 30 |
| Than on his knees the bold Monrose we find | |
| Beside the couch where the fond belle reclined. | |
| For words they had nor leisure nor desire, | |
| Sudden as thought bright blazed the amorous fire | |
| In an eye’s twinkling, one warm amorous kiss, | 35 |
| Their half-closed mouths united straight in bliss; | |
| Their dying eyes the tender fires disclose, | |
| Their soul comes floating to their lips of rose; | |
| Their lips, which kissing, closer contact seek | |
| And eloquently thus their passion speak! | 40 |
| Mute intercourse, the language of desire, | |
| Enchanting prelude, organ of love’s fire: | |
| Yet for a trice, ’t was fitting to forget | |
| This concert sweet, this exquisite duet. | |
| Fair Agnes’ hand assists to disengage | 45 |
| The cumbrous garments of the impatient page, | |
| Who casts aside his troublesome attire, | |
| Disguise averse to nature and desire, | |
| To mortals in the golden age unknown, | |
| Shunned by the God who still hath naked gone. | 50 |
| Ye Gods, what treasures! It is Flora say, | |
| With Youthful Zephyrus in wanton play? | |
| Or is it Psyche fair caressing Love? | |
| Or is it Venus in the Idalian grove | |
| Clips fast the boy afar from the emprise | 55 |
| Of garish day, while Mars is wrath and sighs? * * * * * | |
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