The Equinox (Volume I, Number III)

112 THE HIGH HISTORY OF GOOD Surely there stole a subtle madness Into their veins, more strong than death: For all the roots of sin and sadness Were plucked. As a flower perisheth, So all sin died. And in that place All they did know the Beauteous Breath And taste the Goodly Gift of Grace. Then fell the night. Above the baying Of the great Beast, that was the bass To all the harps of Heaven a-playing, There came a solemn voice (not one But was upon his knees in praying And glorifying God). The Son Of God Himself—men thought—spoke then. “ Arise! brave soldier, thou hast won The quest not given to mortal men. Arise! Sir Palamede Adept, Christian, and no more Saracen ! On wake or sleeping, wise, inept, Still thou didst seek. Those foolish ways On which thy folly stumbled, leapt, All led to the one goal. Now praise Thy Lord that He hath brought thee through To win the quest!” The good knight lays