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…onic tune. Sir Palamede the Saracen A dreadful vision here espied, A sight abhorred of gods and men, Between the limits of the tide. The dead man’s tongue was torn away; The dead man’s throat was slit across ; There flapped upon the putrid prey A carrion, screaming albatross.
…re, on that ensanguine plain Standeth a-laughing at the dunce The single Beast they had not slain. There, with his friends and followers dead, His brother smitten through the head, Himself sore wounded in the thigh, Weepeth upon the deed of dread, Alone among his murdered men, The champion fool, as fools were then, Utterly broken, like to die, Sir Palamede the Saracen.
…s body. All death’s doubt assails Him. Was it sleep or was it waking? “ By God, I care not, I!” (quod he). “Or wake or sleep, or live or dead, I will pursue this mystery. So help me Grace of Godlihead!” Ay! with thy wasted limbs pursue That subtle Beast home to his den! Who knows but thou mayst win athrough, Sir Palamede the Saracen?
… head, That like a windy moon did scud Before him, winking eyes of red And snapping jaws of white: but then What cared for living or for dead Sir Palamede the Saracen ?
…ow, with two score of men in life And one fair babe, Sir Palamede Resolves one last heroic strife, Attempts forlorn a desperate deed. At dead of night, a moonless night, A night of winter storm, they sail In dancing dragons to the fight With man and sea, with ghoul and gale. Whom God shall spare, ride, ride! (so springs The iron order). Let him fly On honour’s steed with honour’s wings To warn the king, lest honour die! Then to the fury of the blast Their fury adds a dreadful sting : The fatal die is surely cast. To save the king—to save the ki…
… Lepers grow clean ; sick folk grow well ; The deaf men hear, the dumb men talk. He casts out devils with a word; Circleth his wand, and dead men rise. No such a wonder hath been heard Since Christ our God’s sweet sacrifice. “Now, by the glad blood of our Lord!” Quoth Palamede, “ my heart is light. I am the chosen harpsichord Whereon God playeth ; the perfect knight,
…unted well His soul stayed in its proper Hell. Then, when Sir Palamedes came Back to himself, the shrine was dark. Cold was the incense, dead the flame; The slain babe lay there black and stark. What of the Beast? What of the quest? More blind the quest, the Beast more dim. Even now its laughter is suppressed, While his own demons mock at him!
…, Thy blood, O brow whereon the night Sits like a serpent on a tomb! For Palamede those eyes beheld The iron image of his own ; On those dead brows a fate he spelled To strike a Gorgon into stone. He knew his father. Still he sate, Nor quivered nerve, nor muscle stirred ; While round them flapped insatiate The fell, abominable bird. The knight approves the justice done, And pays with that his rowels’ debt ; While yet the forehead of the son Stands beaded with an icy sweat.
…y smash. And lo! it comes to pass He sees in no dim hieroglyphs, In knowledge easy to amass, This hermit (while he drew his breath) Once dead is like a mangy ass. Bruised, broken, but not bound to death, He calls some passing fishermen To bear him. Presently he saith : 47
…mede compelleth him to pursue the quarry in this same fashion. Running like hippogriffs, they plunge over the precipice; and the hermit, dead, appears but a mangy ass. Sir Palamede, sore wounded, is borne by fishers to an hut. xviii. Sir Palamede noteth the swiftness of the Beast. He therefore climbeth many mountains of the Alps. Yet can he not catch It; It outrunneth him easily, and at last, stumbling, he falleth. xix, Among the dunes of Brittany he findeth a witch dancing and conjuring, until she disappeareth in a blaze of light. He then lear…