12
IV
Now, with two score of men in life
And one fair babe, Sir Palamede
Resolves one last heroic strife,
Attempts forlorn a desperate deed.
At dead of night, a moonless night,
A night of winter storm, they sail
In dancing dragons to the fight
With man and sea, with ghoul and gale.
Whom God shall spare, ride, ride! (so springs
The iron order). Let him fly
On honour’s steed with honour’s wings
To warn the king, lest honour die!
Then to the fury of the blast
Their fury adds a dreadful sting :
The fatal die is surely cast.
To save the king—to save the king !
Hail! horror of the midnight surge !
The storms of death, the lashing gust,
The doubtful gleam of swords that urge
Hot laughter with high-leaping lust!