I
Sir PaLaMEDE the Saracen
Rode by the marge of many a sea:
He had slain a thousand evil men
And set a thousand ladies free.
Armed to the teeth, the glittering knight
Galloped along the sounding shore,
His silver arms one lake of light,
Their clash one symphony of war.
How still the blue enamoured sea
Lay in the blaze of Syria’s noon!
The eternal roll eternally
Beat out its monotonic tune.
Sir Palamede the Saracen
A dreadful vision here espied,
A sight abhorred of gods and men,
Between the limits of the tide.
The dead man’s tongue was torn away;
The dead man’s throat was slit across ;
There flapped upon the putrid prey
A carrion, screaming albatross.