When Arcite was to Thebes return'd again, The loss of her he loved renew'd his pain; What could be worse, than never more to see 520 His life, his soul, his charming Emily? He raved with all the madness of despair, He roar'd, he beat his breast, he tore his hair. Dry sorrow in his stupid eyes appears, For, wanting nourishment, he wanted tears: His eye-balls in their hollow sockets sink, Bereft of sleep, he loathes his meat and drink. He withers at his heart, and looks as wan As the pale spectre of a murder'd man: That pale turns yellow, and his face receives 530 The faded hue of sapless boxen leaves: In solitary groves he makes his moan, Walks early out, and ever is alone: Nor, mix'd in mirth, in youthful pleasures shares, But sighs when songs and instruments he hears. His spirits are so low, his voice is drown'd, He hears as from afar, or in a swound, Like the deaf murmurs of a distant sound: Uncomb'd his locks and squalid his attire, Unlike the trim of love and gay desire; 540 But full of museful mopings, which presage The loss of reason, and conclude in rage. This when he had endured a year and more, Now wholly changed from what he was before, It happen'd once, that, slumbering as he lay, He dream'd (his dream began at break of day) That Hermes o'er his head in air appear'd, And with soft words his drooping spirits cheer'd: His hat, adorn'd with wings, disclosed the god, And in his hand he bore the sleep-compelling rod: 550 Such as he seem'd, when, at his sire's command, On Argus' head he laid the snaky wand. Arise, he said, to conquering Athens go, There fate appoints an end to all thy woe. The fright awaken'd Arcite with a start, Against his bosom bounced his heaving heart; But soon he said, with scarce-recover'd breath, And thither will I go, to meet my death. Sure to be slain; but death is my desire, Since in Emilia's sight I shall expire. 560 By chance he spied a mirror while he spoke, And gazing there, beheld his alter'd look; Wondering, he saw his features and his hue So much were changed, that scarce himself he knew. A sudden thought then starting in his mind, Since I in Arcite cannot Arcite find, The world may search in vain with all their eyes, But never penetrate through this disguise. Thanks to the change which grief and sickness give, In low estate I may securely live, 570 And see unknown my mistress day by day. He said; and clothed himself in coarse array: A labouring hind in show; then forth he went, And to the Athenian towers his journey bent: One squire attended in the same disguise, Made conscious of his master's enterprise. Arrived at Athens, soon he came to court, Unknown, unquestion'd in that thick resort: