There was another, like a messenger Becapped, who pilfered crowns for livelihood; No parallel of his this world has seen; He ever seemed to outstrip all rivalry. Soon as he burst from out the western post, He reached within a twinkling to the east. He was so light, that while his course he took, No cloud of dust arose beneath his feet. A youngster was he, boisterous in play, And East Wind was his title in the world. Another was of purest character, And simple in his mind, and frank in mien; His inmost bosom was a well unstained, And fair as were his cheeks, that all admired. And yielding was his tender heart to love; His artless nature moves another’s smile. And, while his heart was thus so pure and clear, He was the mirror-holder to the Rose; And winning was he from his babbling flow; And men had given to him the name of Brook. Another was a thief, as full of tricks Of knavery as a dusky Indian. Well could he snare his victim in a gin; He was a robber full of pranks and tricks. He could the thread spin out with marvellous skill And hang suspended by a single hair. His subtility was endless, and more crooks Were in it than in woman’s curling locks. His heart was full of trickeries and feints, And as a flower his name was Hyacinth. And each of these are ranged around the Rose As escorts at the throne of king and queen. And in the rose garden from time to time The Rose refreshment seeks in cups of wine. The Rose alone of all the flowers around Was decked with satisfying grace, and hence Fit opportunity she gained, in which She might for brighter happiness prepare. XIV HOW IN THE MORNING THE MIRROR-HOLDER OF THE TENDER-CHEEKED ROSE HOLDS THE MIRROR, AND HOW THE ROSE IS PROUD OF HER BEAUTY