265 When the bird springs reborn from its bower of herbs, Proud of pinion, pleased with new life, Young and full of grace, from the ground he then Skillfully piles up the scattered parts Of the graceful body, gathers the bones, 270 Which the funeral fire aforetime devoured; Then brings altogether the bones and the ashes, The remnant of the flames he arranges anew, And carefully covers that carrion spoil With fairest flowers. Then he fares away, 275 Seeking the sacred soil of his birthplace. With his feet he fastens to the fire's grim leavings, Clasps them in his claws and his country again, The sun-bright seat, he seeks in joy, His own native-land. All is renewed-- 280 His body and feathers, in the form that was his, When placed in the pleasant plain by his Maker, By gracious God. Together he bringeth The bones of his body which were burned on the pyre, Which the funeral flames before had enveloped, 285 And also the ashes; then all in a heap This bird then burieth the bones and embers, His ashes on the island. Then his eyes for the first time Catch sight of the sun, see in the heaven That flaming gem, the joy of the firmament 290 Which beams from the east over the ocean billows. Before is that fowl fair in its plumage, Bright colors glow on its gorgeous breast, Behind its head is a hue of green, With brilliant crimson cunningly blended. 295 The feathers of its tail are fairly divided: Some brown, some flaming, some beautifully flecked With brilliant spots. At the back, his feathers Are gleaming white; green is his neck Both beneath and above, and the bill shines 300 As glass or a gem; the jaws glisten Within and without. The eye ball pierces, And strongly stares with a stone-like gaze, Like a clear-wrought gem that is carefully set Into a golden goblet by a goodly smith. 305 Surrounding its neck like the radiant sun, Is the brightest of rings braided with feathers; Its belly is wondrous with wealth of color, Sheer and shining. A shield extends Brilliantly fair above the back of the fowl. 310 The comely legs are covered with scales; The feet are bright yellow. The fowl is in beauty Peerless, alone, though like the peacock Delightfully wrought, as the writings relate. It is neither slow in movement, nor sluggish in mien, 315 Nor slothful nor inert as some birds are, Who flap their wings in weary flight, But he is fast and fleet, and floats through the air, Marvelous, winsome, and wondrously marked. Blessed is the God who gave him that bliss!