Ix
Sir PaLaMEDE the Saracen
Sailed ever with a favouring wind
Unto the smooth and swarthy men
That haunt the evil shore of Hind:
He queried eager of the quest.
“Ay! Ay!” their cunning sages grinned :
“Tt shines! It shines! Guess thou the rest!
For naught but this our Rishis know.”
Sir Palamede his way addressed
Unto the woods: they blaze and glow;
His lance stabs many a shining blade,’
His sword lays many a flower low
That glittering gladdened in the glade.
He wrote himself a wanton ass,
And to the sea his traces laid,
Where many a wavelet on the glass
His prowess knows. But deep and deep
His futile feet in fury pass,
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