This once resolved, the peasants were enjoined Sere-wood, and firs, and doddered oaks to find. With sounding axes to the grove they go, Fell, split, and lay the fuel in a row; Vulcanian food: a bier is next prepared, On which the lifeless body should be reared, Covered with cloth of gold; on which was laid The corps of Arcite, in like robes arrayed. White gloves were on his hands, and on his head A wreath of laurel, mixed with myrtle, spread. A sword keen-edged within his right he held, The warlike emblem of the conquered field: Bare was his manly visage on the bier; Menaced his countenance, even in death severe. Then to the palace-hall they bore the knight, To lie in solemn state, a public sight: Groans, cries, and bowlings fill the crowded place, And unaffected sorrow sat on every face. Sad Palamon above the rest appears, In sable garments, dewed with gushing tears; His auburn locks on either shoulder flowed, Which to the funeral of his friend he vowed; But Emily, as chief, was next his side, A virgin-widow and a mourning bride. And, that the princely obsequies might be Performed according to his high degree, The steed, that bore him living to the fight, Was trapped with polished steel, all shining bright, And covered with the atchievements of the knight. The riders rode abreast; and one his shield, His lance of cornel-wood another held; The third his bow, and, glorious to behold, The costly quiver, all of burnished gold. The noblest of the Grecians next appear, And weeping on their shoulders bore the bier; With sober pace they marched, and often stayed, And through the master-street the corps conveyed. The houses to their tops with black were spread, And even the pavements were with mourning hid. The right side of the pall old Ægeus kept, And on the left the royal Theseus wept; Each bore a golden bowl of work divine, With honey filled, and milk, and mixed with ruddy wine. Then Palamon, the kinsman of the slain, And after him appeared the illustrious train. To grace the pomp came Emily the bright, With covered fire, the funeral pile to light. With high devotion was the service made, And all the rites of pagan honour paid: So lofty was the pile, a Parthian bow, With vigour drawn, must send the shaft below. The bottom was full twenty fathom broad, With crackling straw, beneath in due proportion strowed. The fabric seemed a wood of rising green, With sulphur and bitumen cast between To feed the flames: the trees were unctuous fir, And mountain-ash, the mother of the spear; The mourner-yew and builder-oak were there, The beech, the swimming alder, and the plane, Hard box, and linden of a softer grain, And laurels, which the gods for conquering chiefs ordain. How they were ranked shall rest untold by me, With nameless Nymphs that lived in every tree; Nor how the Dryads and the woodland train,