SIR PALAMEDES, THE SARACEN KNIGHT
God save thee, woeful Palamede!
The questing of the Beast is loud
Within thy ear. By Goddes reed,
Thou hast won the tilt from all the crowd !
Within thy proper bowels it sounds
Mighty and musical at need,
As if a thirty couple hounds
Quested within thee, Palamede!
Now, then, he grasps the desperate truth
He hath toiled these many years to see,
Hath wasted strength, hath wasted youth—
He was the Beast; the Beast was he!
He rises from the cave of death,
Runs to the sea with shining face
To know at last the Bounteous Breath,
To taste the Goodly Gift of Grace.
Ah! Palamede, thou hast mistook!
Thou art the butt of all confusion!
Not to be written in my book
Is this most drastic disillusion!
So weak and ill was he, I doubt
If he might hear the royal feast
Of laughter that came rolling out
Afar from that elusive Beast.
G
97