To cut the yellowing ears that summer swells,
Pauses in trouble while his heaving breast
Appears to wonder at its new desires;
So he stays, spell-bound, in these regions fair,
And, sighing, turns from his unfinished sheaves.
Near him the shepherdess forgets her flocks,
And drops the spindle from her trembling hand.
How with such sorcery could Gabrielle strive?
The spell entranced her irresistibly;
'Twas hers to combat on that hapless day
Her youth, her heart, a hero, and the god."
Everything being thus satisfactorily accounted for, without detriment either to the heroism of the monarch or the modesty of the maiden (all blame for whatever may happen obviously resting with the supernatural powers who have so craftily brought them together), the pair are kept in the silken chains of the malignant deity, while the chiefs of the army wonder what has become of the general, and the soldiers, bereft of his leadership, seem already vanquished. In these critical circumstances, the Genius of France, summoned to the rescue by St Louis, interposes, and leads the prudent Mornay, "whose solid virtues were his only loves"—and who has, consequently, but small indulgence for the king's weakness—to the retreat of the enthralled monarch. The uncompromising sage, fixing on him, even in the very arms of Gabrielle, a sad and severe gaze, preserves a silence that must have been very embarrassing to the king, who at last breaks it by acknowledging his own fault and Mornay's devotion. The fair D'Estrées is left, fainting, to the protecting care of Love, and the errant monarch returns to his army.
