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Sir Palamede his forehead beat.
O amorous! O militant!
O lord of this arboreal seat !
Thus worshipped he, and stalking stole
Into the presence: he emerged.
The scent awakes the uneasy soul
Of that Maj estic One: upsurged {29}
The monster from the oozy bed,
And bounded through the crashing glades.
- but now a staring savage head
Lurks at him through the forest shades.
This was a naked Indian,
Who led within the city gate
The fooled and disappointed man,
Already broken by his fate.
Here were the brazen towers, and here
the scupltured rocks, the marble shrine
Where to a tall black stone they rear
The altars due to the divine.
The God they deem in sensual j oy
Absorbed, and silken dalliance:
To please his leisure hours a boy
Compels an elephant to dance.
So maj esty to ridicule
Is turned. To other climes and men
Makes off that strong, persistent fool
Sir Palamede the Saracen. {30}
;,
6IR PALAMEDE the Saracen
Hath hied him to an holy man,
Sith he alone of mortal men
Can help him, if a mortal can.
(So tell him all the Scythian folk.)
Wherefore he makes a caravan,
And finds him. When his prayers invoke
The holy knowledge, saith the sage:
This Beast is he of whom there spoke
The prophets of the Golden Age:
Mark! all that mind is, he is not.
Sir Palamede in bitter rage
Stert e up: Is this the fool, Od wot,
To see t he like of whom I came
From castellated Camelot ?
The sage with eyes of burning flame
Cried: Is it not a miracle?
Ay! for with folly travelleth shame, {31}
And thereto at the end is Hell
Believe! And why believe? Because
It is a thing impossible.
Sir Palamede his pulses pause.
It is not possible (quod he)
That Palamede is wroth, and draws
His sword, decapitating thee.
By parity of argument
This deed of blood must surely be.
With that he suddenly besprent
All Scythia with the sage s blood,
And laughting in his woe he went
Unto a furt her field and flood,
Aye guided by t hat wizard s head,
That like a windy moon did scud
Before him, winking eyes of red
And snapping j aws of white: but then
What cared for living or for dead
Sir Palamede the Saracen? {32}
;,,
6IR PALAMEDE the Saracen
Follows the Head to gloomy halls
Of sterile hate, with icy walls.
A woman clucking like a hen
Answers his lordly bugle-calls.
She rees him in ungainly rede
Of ghosts and virgins, doves and wombs,
Of roods and prophecies and tombs -
Old pagan fables run to seed!
Sir Palamede with fury fumes.
So doth the Head that j abbers fast
Against that woman s tangled tale.
(God s patience at the end must fail!)
Out sweeps the sword - the blade hath passed
Through all her scraggy farthingale.
This chatter lends to Thought a zest
(Quod he), but I am all for Act.
Sit here, until your Talk hath cracked
The addled egg in Nature s nest!
With that he fled the dismal tract. {33}
He was so sick and ill at ease
And hot against his fellow men,
He thought to end his purpose then -
Nay! let him seek new lands and seas,
Sir Palamede the Saracen!
{34}
;,,,
6IR PALAMEDE is come anon
Into a blue delicious bay.
A mountain towers thereupon,
Wherein some fiend of ages gone
Is whelmed by God, yet from his breast
Spits up the flame, and ashes grey.
Hereby Sir Palamede his quest
Pursues withouten let or rest.
Seeing the evil mountain be,
Remembering all his evil years,
He knows the Questing Beast runs free -
Author of Evil, then, is he!
Whereat immediate resounds
The noise he hat h sought so long: appears
There quest a thirty couple hounds
Within its belly as it bounds.
Lifting his eyes, he sees at last
The beast he seeks: tis like an hart.
Ever it courset h far and fast.
Sir Palamede is sore aghast, {35}
But plucking up his will, doth launch
A might poison-dippŠd dart:
It fareth ever sure and staunch,
And smiteth him upon the haunch.
Then as Sir Palamede overhauls
The st ricken quarry, slack it droops,
Staggers, and final down it falls.
Triumph! Gape wide, ye golden walls!
Lift up your everlasting doors,
O gates of Camelot! See, he swoops
Down on the prey! The life-blood pours:
The poison works: the breath implores
Its livelong debt from heart and brain.
Alas! poor stag, t hy day is done!
The gallant lungs gasp loud in vain:
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