Young Arcite heard; and up he ran with haste, To help his friend, and in his arms embraced; And asked him why he looked so deadly wan, And whence, and how, his change of cheer began? Or who had done the offence? "But if," said he, "Your grief alone is hard captivity, For love of Heaven with patience undergo A cureless ill, since Fate will have it so: So stood our horoscope in chains to lie, And Saturn in the dungeon of the sky, Or other baleful aspect, ruled our birth, When all the friendly stars were under earth; Whate'er betides, by Destiny 'tis done; And better bear like men than vainly seek to shun." Nor of my bonds," said Palamon again, Nor of unhappy planets I complain; But when my mortal anguish caused my cry, The moment I was hurt through either eye; Pierced with a random shaft, I faint away, And perish with insensible decay: A glance of some new goddess gave the wound, Whom, like Actaeon, unaware I found. Look how she walks along yon shady space; Not Juno moves with more majestic grace, And all the Cyprian queen is in her face. If thou art Venus (for thy charms confess That face was formed in heaven), nor art thou less, Disguised in habit, undisguised in shape, O help us captives from our chains to scape! But if our doom be past in bonds to lie For life, and in a loathsome dungeon die, Then be thy wrath appeased with our disgrace, And show compassion to the Theban race, Oppressed by tyrant power!"--While yet he spoke, Arcite on Emily had fixed his look; The fatal dart a ready passage found And deep within his heart infixed the wound: So that if Palamon were wounded sore, Arcite was hurt as much as he or more: Then from his inmost soul he sighed, and said, "The beauty I behold has struck me dead: Unknowingly she strikes, and kills by chance; Poison is in her eyes, and death in every glance. Oh, I must ask; nor ask alone, but move Her mind to mercy, or must die for love." Thus Arcite: and thus Palamon replies (Eager his tone, and ardent were his eyes,) "Speakest thou in earnest, or in jesting vein?" "Jesting," said Arcite, "suits but ill with pain." "It suits far worse," (said Palamon again, And bent his brows,) "with men who honour weigh, Their faith to break, their friendship to betray; But worst with thee, of noble lineage born, My kinsman, and in arms my brother sworn. Have we not plighted each our holy oath, That one should be the common good of both; One soul should both inspire, and neither prove His fellow's hindrance in pursuit of love? To this before the Gods we gave our hands, And nothing but our death can break the bands.