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Now findeth he, as all alone
He moves about the burning East,
The mighty trail of some unknown,
But surely some majestic beast.
So followeth he the forest ways,
Remembering his knightly oath,
And through the hot and dripping days
Ploughs through the tangled undergrowth.
Sir Palamede the Saracen
Came on a forest pool at length,
Remote from any mart of men,
Where there disported in his strength
The lone and lordly elephant.
Sir Palamede his forehead beat.
“O amorous! O militant!
O lord of this arboreal seat!”
Thus worshipped he, and stalking stole
Into the Presence: he emerged.
The scent awakes the uneasy soul
Of that Majestic One: upsurged
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