The Cyclads seemed to swim amid the main, And hill 'gainst hill, and mount 'gainst mountain smote; With such great fury met those armies twain, Here burnt a ship, there sank a bark or boat; Here darts and wildfire flew, there drowned or slain Of Princes dead the bodies fleet and float; Here Cæsar wins, and yonder conquered been The eastern ships, there fled the Egyptian Queen. VI. Antonius eke himself to flight betook, The Empire lost to which he would aspire; Yet fled not he, nor flight for fear forsook, But followed her, drawn on by fond desire. Well might you see, within his troubled look, Strive and contend love, courage, shame and ire; Oft looked he back, oft gazed he on the fight, But oftener on his mistress and her flight. VII. Then in the secret creeks of fruitful Nile, Cast in her lap he would sad Death await. And in the pleasure of her lovely smile Sweeten the bitter stroke of cursed Fate. All this did art with curious hand compile In the rich metal of that princely gate. The Knights these stories viewed, first and last; Which seen, they forward pressed, and in they passed. VIII. As through his channel crook'd Meander glides With turns and twines, and rolls now to and fro, Whose streams run forth there to the salt sea-sides, Here back return, and to their spring-ward go; Such crooked paths, such ways this palace hides; Yet all the maze their map described so That through the labyrinth they go in fine As Theseus did by Ariadne's line. IX. When they had passed all those troubled ways, The garden sweet spread forth her green to shew; The moving crystal from the fountains plays, Fair trees, high plants, strange herbs, and flowers new, Sun-shiny hills, dales hid from Phœbus' rays, Groves, arbours, mossy caves at orice they view; And that which beauty most, most wonder brought, Nowhere appeared the art which all this wrought. X. So with the rude, the polished mingled was, That natural seemed all, and every part. Nature would craft in counterfeiting pass, And imitate her imitator art. Mild was the air, the clouds were clear as glass, The trees no whirlwind felt nor tempest's smart, But ere their fruit drop off, the blossom comes, This springs, that falls, that ripeneth, and this blooms. XI. The leaves upon the self-same bough did hide, Beside the young, the old and ripened fig. Here fruit was green, there ripe with vermeil side, The apples new and old grew on one twig. The fruitful vine her arms spread high and wide, That bended underneath their clusters big; The grapes were tender here, hard, young and sour, There, purple, ripe and nectar sweet forth pour. XII.