IX.

Ah, sweet it was, without the city walls,
To hear the doves coo, and the finches sing;
Ah, sweet, to twine their true-loves coronals
Of woven wind-flowers, and each fragrant thing
That blossoms in the footsteps of the spring;
And sweet, to lie, forgetful of their grief,
Where violets trail by waters wandering,
And the wild fig-tree putteth forth his leaf!

X.

Now while they wander'd as they would, they found
A wondrous thing: a marvel of man's skill,
That stood within a vale of hollow ground,
And bulk'd scarce smaller than the bitter-hill, -
The common barrow that the dead men fill
Who died in the long leaguer,--not of earth,
Was this new portent, but of tree, and still
The Trojans stood, and marvell'd 'mid their mirth.

XI.

Ay, much they wonder'd what this thing might be,
Shaped like a Horse it was; and many a stain
There show'd upon the mighty beams of tree,
For some with fire were blacken'd, some with rain
Were dank and dark amid white planks of plane,
New cut among the trees that now were few