XIII
Sir PALAMEDE is come anon
Into a blue delicious bay.
A mountain towers thereupon,
Wherein some fiend of ages gone
Is whelmed by God, yet from his breast
Spits up the flame, and ashes grey.
Hereby Sir Palamede his quest
Pursues withouten let or rest.
Seeing the evil mountain be,
Remembering all his evil years,
He knows the Questing Beast runs free—
Author of Evil, then, is he!
Whereat immediate resounds
The noise he hath sought so long: appears
There quest a thirty couple hounds
Within its belly as it bounds.
Lifting his eyes, he sees at last
The beast he seeks: ’tis like an hart.
Ever it courseth far and fast.
Sir Palamede is sore aghast,
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