Sir Palamedes

XXIII Now still he holdeth argument : “So grand a Beast must house him well ; Hence, now beseemeth me frequent Cathedral, palace, citadel.” So, riding fast among the flowers Far off, a Gothic spire he spies, That like a gladiator towers Its spear-sharp splendour to the skies. The people cluster round, acclaim : “Sir Knight, good knight, thy quest is won. Here dwells the Beast in orient flame, Spring-sweet, and swifter than the sun!” Sir Palamede the Saracen Spurs to the shrine, afire to win The end; and all the urgent men Throng with him eloquently in. Sir Palamede his vizor drops; He lays his loyal lance in rest; He drives the rowels home—he stops! Faugh! but a black-mouthed money-chest! 63