50
THE HIGH HISTORY OF GOOD
And eager hope in brilliance burns
Within the circle of his brows
As fast he flies, the snow he spurns.
Ah! what a youth and strength he vows
To the achievement of the quest !
And now the horrid height allows
His mastery: day by day from crest
To crest he hastens: faster fly
His feet: his body knows not rest,
Until with magic speed they ply
Like oars the snowy waves, surpass
In one day’s march the galaxy
Of Europe’s starry mountain mass.
“Now,” quoth he, “let me find the quest!”
The Beast sterte up. Sir Knight, alas!
Day after day they race, nor rest
Till seven days were fairly done.
Then doth the Questing Marvel crest
The ridge: the knight is well outrun.
Now, adding laughter to its din,
Like some lewd comet at the sun,
Around the panting paladin
It runs with all its splendid speed.
Yet, knowing that he may not win,