Cover’d with cloth of gold, on which was laid 910
  The corpse of Arcite, in like robes array’d. 
  White gloves were on his hands, and on his head
  A wreath of laurel, mix’d with myrtle spread. 
  A sword keen-edged within his right he held,
  The warlike emblem of the conquer’d field: 
  Bare was his manly visage on the bier: 
  Menaced his countenance; even in death severe. 
  Then to the palace-hall they bore the knight,
  To lie in solemn state, a public sight. 
  Groans, cries, and howlings fill the crowded place, 920
  And unaffected sorrow sate on every face. 
  Sad Palamon above the rest appears,
  In sable garments, dew’d with gushing tears: 
  His auburn locks on either shoulder flow’d,
  Which to the funeral of his friend he vow’d: 
  But Emily, as chief, was next his side,
  A virgin-widow, and a mourning bride. 
  And that the princely obsequies might be
  Perform’d according to his high degree,
  The steed, that bore him living to the fight, 930
  Was trapp’d with polish’d steel, all shining bright,
  And cover’d with the achievements of the knight. 
  The riders rode abreast, and one his shield,
  His lance of cornel-wood another held;
  The third his bow, and, glorious to behold,
  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