It happen’d Palamon, the prisoner knight,
  Restless for woe, arose before the light,
  And with his jailer’s leave desired to breathe
  An air more wholesome than the damps beneath. 210
  This granted, to the tower he took his way,
  Cheer’d with the promise of a glorious day: 
  Then cast a languishing regard around,
  And saw, with hateful eyes, the temples crown’d
  With golden spires, and all the hostile ground. 
  He sigh’d, and turn’d his eyes, because he knew
  ’Twas but a larger jail he had in view: 
  Then look’d below, and from the castle’s height
  Beheld a nearer and more pleasing sight: 
  The garden, which before he had not seen, 220
  In spring’s new livery clad of white and green,
  Fresh flowers in wide parterres, and shady walks between. 
  This view’d, but not enjoy’d, with arms across
  He stood, reflecting on his country’s loss;
  Himself an object of the public scorn,
  And often wish’d he never had been born. 
  At last, for so his destiny required,
  With walking giddy, and with thinking tired,
  He through a little window cast his sight,
  Though thick of bars, that gave a scanty light:  230
  But even that glimmering served him to descry
  The inevitable charms of Emily.

    Scarce had he seen, but seized with sudden smart,
  Stung to the quick, he felt it at his heart;
  Struck blind with overpowering light he stood,
  Then started back amazed, and cried aloud.

    Young Arcite heard; and up he ran with haste,
  To help his friend, and in his arms embraced;
  And ask’d him why he look’d so deadly wan,
  And whence and how his change of cheer began? 240
  Or who had done the offence?  But if, said he,
  Your grief alone is hard captivity;
  For love of Heaven, with patience undergo
  A cureless ill, since Fate will have it so: 
  So stood our horoscope in chains to lie,
  And Saturn in the dungeon of the sky,
  Or other baleful aspect, ruled our birth,
  When all the friendly stars were under earth: 
  Whate’er betides, by Destiny ’tis done;
  And better bear like men, than vainly seek to shun. 250
  Nor of my bonds, said Palamon again,
  Nor of unhappy planets I complain;
  But when my mortal anguish caused my cry,
  That moment I was hurt through either eye;
  Pierced with a random shaft, I faint away,
  And perish with insensible decay;
  A glance of some new goddess gave the wound,
  Whom, like Actaeon, unaware I found. 
  Look how she walks along yon shady space! 
  Not Juno moves with more majestic grace; 260
  And all the Cyprian queen is in her face. 
  If thou art Venus (for thy charms confess
  That face was form’d in heaven, nor art thou less