The white and green that once he wore to sable folds give room,
Love's purple tints are now replaced by those of grief and gloom.
His Moorish cloak is white and blue, the blue was strewn with stars,
But now a covering like a cloud the starry radiance mars.
And from his head with stripes of black his silken streamers flow,
His bonnet blue he dyes anew in tints of grief and woe.
Alone are seen the tints of green upon his sword-belt spread,
For by that blade the blood of foes in vengeance shall be shed.
The color of the mantle which on his arm he bore
Is like the dark arena's dust when it is drenched in gore.
Black as the buskins that he wears, and black his stirrup's steel,
And red with rust of many a year the rowels at his heel.
He bears not lance or headed spear, for that which once he bore
Was shivered into splinters beside Celinda's door.
He bears a rounded target, whose quarterings display
The full moon darting through the clouds her ineffectual ray.
For though her orb be full the clouds eclipse her silver light;
The motto: "Fair but cruel, black-hearted though so bright.
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