Garcilaso did not, however, long enjoy the leisure that he so well employed. Charles V., whose great ambition was to crush the power of France, and to possess himself of a portion of that kingdom, was resolved to take advantage of the disastrous issue of Francis I.'s attempt upon the duchy of Milan, and rashly determined to invade a country whose armies, however he might meet victoriously in other fields, he could not hope to vanquish in their own. He entered France from the south; and recalling Garcilaso, conferred on him an honourable command over eleven companies of infantry. Leaving Naples to join this expedition, he traversed Italy, and from Vaucluse wrote an epistle to Boscan in a fighter and gayer style than is usual with him; while he dwells with affectionate pleasure on the the of friendship that united them, saying, among other things,-- "Whilst much reflecting on the sacred tie Of our affection, which I hold so high, The exchange of talent, taste, intelligence, Shared gifts and multiplied delights which thence Refresh our souls in their perpetual flow-- There nothing is that makes me value so The sweetness of this compact of the heart, Than the affection on my own warm part. * * * * Such were my thoughts. But oh! how shall I set Fully to view my shame and my regret, For having praised so at a single glance, The roads, the dealings, and hotels of France. Shame, that with reason thou may'st now pronounce Myself a fabler, and my praise a bounce; Regret, my time so much to have misused, In rashly lauding what were best abused; For here, all fibs apart, you find but jades Of hacks, sour wines, and pilfering chambermaids, Long ways, long bills, no silver, fleecing hosts. And all the luxury of lumbering posts. Arriving too from Naples by the way-- Naples--the choice, the brilliant, and the gay! Embrace Dural for me--nor rate my muse; October twelfth, given forth from sweet Vaucluse, Where the fine flame of Petrarch had its birth, And where its ashes yet irradiate earth." To the period of this campaign Wiffen is inclined to attribute the composition of his third eclogue which, in point of merit, is the second, and which was avowedly written during a war--for, as he says,-- "'Midst arms--with scarce one pause from bloody toil, When war's hoarse trumpet breaks the poet's dream, Have I there moments stolen, oft claimed."