Then party-coloured flowers of white and red She wove, to make a garland for her head: This done, she sung and carolled out so clear, That men and angels might rejoice to hear; Even wondering Philomel forgot to sing, And learned from her to welcome in the spring. The tower, of which before was mention made, Within whose keep the captive knights were laid, Built of a large extent, and strong withal, Was one partition of the palace wall; The garden was enclosed within the square, Where young Emilia took the morning air. It happened Palamon, the prisoner knight, Restless for woe, arose before the light, And with his jailor's leave desired to breathe An air more wholesome than the damps beneath. This granted, to the tower he took his way, Cheered with the promise of a glorious day; Then cast a languishing regard around, And saw with hateful eyes the temples crowned With golden spires, and all the hostile ground. He sighed, and turned his eyes, because he knew 'Twas but a larger jail he had in view; Then looked below, and from the castle's height Beheld a nearer and more pleasing sight; The garden, which before he had not seen, In spring's new livery clad of white and green, Fresh flowers in wide parterres, and shady walks between. This viewed, but not enjoyed, with arms across He stood, reflecting on his country's loss; Himself an object of the public scorn, And often wished he never had been born. At last (for so his destiny required), With walking giddy, and with thinking tired, He through a little window cast his sight, Though thick of bars, that gave a scanty light; But even that glimmering served him to descry The inevitable charms of Emily. Scarce had he seen, but, seized with sudden smart, Stung to the quick, he felt it at his heart; Struck blind with overpowering light he stood, Then started back amazed, and cried aloud.