The costly quiver, all of burnish'd gold. The noblest of the Grecians next appear, And, weeping, on their shoulders bore the bier; With sober pace they march'd, and often stay'd, And through the master-street the corpse convey'd. 940 The houses to their tops with black were spread, And even the pavements were with mourning hid. The right side of the pall old Egeus kept, And on the left the royal Theseus wept; Each bore a golden bowl, of work divine, With honey fill'd, and milk, and mix'd with ruddy wine. Then Palamon, the kinsman of the slain, And after him appear'd the illustrious train. To grace the pomp, came Emily the bright, With cover'd fire, the funeral pile to light. 950 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 strew'd. The fabric seem'd 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; 960 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 rank'd, shall rest untold by me, With nameless Nymphs that lived in every tree; Nor how the Dryads, or the woodland train, Disherited, ran howling o'er the plain: Nor how the birds to foreign seats repair'd, Or beasts, that bolted out, and saw the forest bared: 970 Nor how the ground, now clear'd, with ghastly fright Beheld the sudden sun, a stranger to the light.