As then, no wind at all there blew, No swelling cloud accloyed the air, The sky, like grass of watchet hue, Reflected PHŒBUS' golden hair; The garnished tree no pendant stirred, No voice was heard of any bird. There might you see the burly bear, The lion king, the elephant. The maiden unicorn was there, So was ACTÆON'S horned plant: And what of wild or tame are found, Were couched in order on the ground. ALCIDES' speckled poplar tree; The palm that monarchs do obtain; With love juice stained, the mulberry, The fruit that dews the poet's brain; And PHILLIS' filbert there away Compared with myrtle and the bay: The tree that coffins doth adorn, With stately height threat'ning the sky, And for the bed of love forlorn, The black and doleful ebony: All in a circle compassed were Like to an amphitheatre. Upon the branches of those trees, The air-winged people sat, Distinguishèd in odd degrees; One sort is this, another that. Here PHILOMEL that knows full well What force and wit in love doth dwell. The sky-bred eagle, royal bird, Perched there upon an oak above; The turtle by him never stirred, Example of immortal love. The swan that sings about to die; Leaving MEANDER, stood thereby. And that which was of wonder most, The Phœnix left sweet Araby; And on a cedar in this coast, Built up her tomb of spicery. As I conjecture by the same, Prepared to take her dying flame. In midst and centre of this plot, I saw one grovelling on the grass; A man or stone, I knew not what. No stone; of man, the figure was. And yet I could not count him one, More than the image made of stone. At length I might perceive him rear His body on his elbows' end: Earthly and pale with ghastly cheer, Upon his knees he upward tend; Seeming like one in uncouth stound, To be ascending out the ground. A grievous sigh forthwith he throws, As might have torn the vital strings; Then down his cheeks the tears so flows As doth the stream of many springs. So thunder rends the cloud in twain, And makes a passage for the rain. Incontinent with trembling sound, He woefully 'gan to complain; Such were the accents as might wound, And tear a diamond rock in twain. After his throbs did somewhat stay, Thus heavily he 'gan to say. "O sun!" said he, seeing the sun, "On wretched me, why dost thou shine? My star is fallen, my comfort done; Out is the apple of my eyen. Shine upon those possess delight, And let me live in endless night!"