Vv
Sir PALAMEDE the Saracen
Hath cast his sword and arms aside.
To save the world of goodly men,
He sets his teeth to ride—to ride!
Three days: the black horse drops and dies.
The trappings furnish them a fire,
The beast a meal. With dreadful eyes
Stare into death the child, the sire.
Six days : the gaunt and gallant knight
Sees hateful visions in the day.
Where are the antient speed and might
Were wont to animate that clay?
Nine days; they stumble on; no more
His strength avails to bear the child.
Still hangs the mist, and still before
Yawns the immeasurable wild.
Twelve days: the end. Afar he spies
The mountains stooping to the plain ;
A little splash of sunlight lies
Beyond the everlasting rain.
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