XVIII
Sir PALAMEDES for a space
Deliberates on his rustic bed.
“T lack the quarry’s awful pace”
(Quod he); “my limbs are slack as lead.”
So, as he gets his strength, he seeks
The castles where the pennons red
Of dawn illume their dreadful peaks.
There dragons stretch their horrid coils
Adown the winding clefts and creeks :
From hideous mouths their venom boils.
But Palamede their fury ’scapes,
Their malice by his valour foils,
Climbing aloft by bays and capes
Of rock and ice, encounters oft
The loathly sprites, the misty shapes
Of monster brutes that lurk aloft.
O! well he works: his youth returns,
His heart revives: despair is doffed
D
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