He compares his joy on this occasion to that of a prisoner finding the gates of his prison thrown open.

He returned to Vaucluse, where he waited impatiently for the autumn, when he meant to return to Italy.

He thus describes, in a letter to his dear Simonides, the manner of life which he there led:-- "I make war upon my body, which I regard as my enemy.

My eyes, that have made me commit so many follies, are well fixed on a safe object.

They look only on a woman who is withered, dark, and sunburnt.