With Palamon, above the rest in place, Lycurgus came, the surly king of Thrace; Black was his beard, and manly was his face: The balls of his broad eyes roll'd in his head, And glared bewixt a yellow and a red; He look'd a lion with a gloomy stare, And o'er his eye-brows hung his matted hair; Big-boned, and large of limbs, with sinews strong, Broad-shoulder'd, and his arms were round and long. Four milk-white bulls (the Thracian use of old,) Were yoked to draw his car of burnish'd gold. Upright he stood, and bore aloft his shield, Conspicuous from afar, and overlook'd the field. His surcoat was a bear-skin on his back; His hair hung long behind, and glossy raven-black. His ample forehead bore a coronet With sparkling diamonds, and with rubies set; Ten brace, and more, of greyhounds, snowy fair, And tall as stags, ran loose, and coursed around his chair, A match for pards in flight, in grappling for the bear. With golden muzzles all their mouths were bound, And collars of the same their necks surround. Thus through the field Lycurgus took his way; His hundred knights attend in pomp and proud array. To match this monarch, with strong Arcite came Emetrius, king of Inde, a mighty name! On a bay courser, goodly to behold, The trappings of his horse emboss'd with barbarous gold. Not Mars bestrode a steed with greater grace; His surcoat o'er his arms was cloth of Thrace, Adorn'd with pearls, all orient, round, and great; His saddle was of gold, with emeralds set; His shoulders large a mantle did attire, With rubies thick, and sparkling as the fire; His amber-coloured locks in ringlets run, With graceful negligence, and shone against the sun. His nose was aquiline, his eyes were blue, Ruddy his lips, and fresh and fair his hue; Some sprinkled freckles on his face were seen, Whose dusk set off the whiteness of the skin. His awful presence did the crowd surprise, Nor durst the rash spectator meet his eyes, Eyes that confess'd him born for kingly sway, So fierce, they flash'd intolerable day. His age in nature's youthful prime appear'd, And just began to bloom his yellow beard. Whene'er he spoke, his voice was heard around, Loud as a trumpet, with a silver sound; A laurel wreath'd his temples, fresh and green, And myrtle sprigs, the marks of love, were mix'd between. Upon his fist he bore, for his delight, An eagle well reclaim'd, and lily white.