140 Thus he singeth and carolleth crowned with joy, Until the bright sun in a southern sky Sinks to its setting; then silent he is And listeneth and boweth and bendeth his head, Sage in his thoughts, and thrice he shaketh 145 His feathers for flight; the fowl is hushed. Twelve equal times he telleth the hours Of day and night. 'Tis ordained in this way, And willed that the dweller of the woods should have joy, Pleasure in that plain and its peaceful bliss, 150 Taste delights and life and the land's enjoyments, Till he waiteth a thousand winters of life, The aged warden of the ancient wood. Then the gray-feathered fowl in the fullness of years Is grievously stricken. From the green earth he fleeth, 155 The favorite of birds, from the flowering land, And beareth his flight to a far-off realm, To a distant domain where dwelleth no man, As his native land. Then the noble fowl Becometh ruler over the race of birds, 160 Distinguished in their tribe, and for a time he dwelleth With them in the waste. Then on wings of strength, He flieth to the west, full of winters, Swift on his wing; in swarms then press, The birds about their lord; all long to serve him 165 And to live in loyalty to their leader brave, Until he seeketh out the Syrian land With mighty train. Then turneth the pure one Sharply away, and in the shade of the forest He dwells, in the grove, in the desert place, 170 Concealed and hid from the host of men. There high on a bough he abides alone, Under heaven's roof, hard by the roots Of a far stretching tree, which the Phoenix is called By the nations of earth from the name of that bird. 175 The King of glory has granted that tree, The Holy One of heaven, as I have heard said, That it among all the other trees That grow in the glorious groves of the world Bloometh most brightly. No blight may hurt it, 180 Nor work it harm, but while the world stands It shall be shielded from the shafts of evil. III