SIR PALAMEDES, THE SARACEN KNIGHT
She knows him, and black fears bedim
Those eyes ; she offers to his gaze
The blue-veined breasts that suckled him
In childhood’s sweet and solemn days.
Weeping she bares the holy womb!
Shrieks out the mother’s last appeal :
And reads irrevocable doom
In those dread eyes of ice and steel.
He winds his horn: his warriors pour
In thousands on the fenceless foe;
The sunset stains their hideous war
With crimson bars of after-glow.
He winds his horn : the night-stars leap
To light ; upspring the sisters seven ;
While answering flames illume the deep,
The blue pavilions blaze to heaven.
Silent and stern the northward way
They ride; alone before his men
Staggers through black to rose and grey
Sir Palamede the Saracen.