Phrase search ignores case and repeated whitespace. All-words search finds whole words anywhere on the same page. OCR errors can affect results.
…ts livelong debt from heart and brain. Alas! poor stag, thy day is done! The gallant lungs gasp loud in vain: Thy life is spilt upon the plain. Sir Palamede is stricken numb As one who, gazing on the sun, Sees blackness gather. Blank and dumb, The good knight sees a thin breath come Out of his proper mouth, and dart Over the plain : he seeth it Sure by some black magician art Shape ever closer like an hart:
60 Until the questing rose again. For there, 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.
…at shuns The shock, and splits, and splits again, Until the baffled warrior sees A myriad myriad swarms of these A-questing over all the plain. The good knight reins his charger in. “ Now, by the faith of Paladin! The subtle quest at last I ken.” Rides off to Camelot to plight The faith of many a noble knight, Sir Palamede the Saracen. 57
The knight spurs on, and soon espies A monster coursing on the plain. He hears the horrid questing rise And thunder in his weary brain. This time, to slay it or be slain! Too easy task! The charger gains Stride after stride with little pains Upon the lumbering, flapping thing. He stabs the lamb, and splits the brains Of that majestic-seeming king. He clips the wing and pares the claw— What turns to laughter all his joy, To wondering ribaldry his awe? The beast’s a mere mechanic toy, Fit to amuse an idle boy! 39
VIII Know ye where Druid dolmens rise In Wessex on the widow plain? Thither Sir Palamedes plies The spur, and shakes the rattling rein. He questions all men of the Beast. None answer. Is the quest in vain? With oaken crown there comes a priest In samite robes, with hazel wand, And worships at the gilded East. Ay! thither ride! The dawn beyond Must run the quarry of his quest. He rode as he were wood or fond, Until at night behoves him rest. —He saw the gilding far behind Out on the hills toward the West! With aimless fury hot and blind He flung…
…d. Still hangs the mist, and still before Yawns the immeasurable wild. Twelve days: the end. Afar he spies The mountains stooping to the plain ; A little splash of sunlight lies Beyond the everlasting rain. 15
…rest he discards, And only turns his dark regards On single prints, on marks unique. Sir Palamede doth now attain Unto a wide and grassy plain, Whereon he spies the thing to seek. Thereat he putteth spur to horse And runneth him a random course, The Beast a-questing aye before. But praise to good Sir Palamede! *Hath gotten him a fairy steed Alike for venery and for war, So that in little drawing near The quarry, lifteth up his spear To run him of his malice through.
78 XXX STARRED is the blackness of the sky; Wide is the sweep of the cold plain Where good Sir Palamede doth lie, Keen on the Beast-slot once again. All day he rode; all night he lay With eyes wide open to the stars, Seeking in many a secret way The key to unlock his prison bars. Beneath him, hark! the marvel sounds! The Beast that questeth horribly. As if a thirty couple hounds Are in his belly questeth he. Beneath him? Heareth he aright? He leaps to’s feet—a wonder shews: Steep dips a stairway from the light To what obscurity God knows. Still…
… sharp and swift the archers speed Their yardlong arrows from the wall. Their numbers thin; their strength decays; Their fate is written plain to read. These are the dread deciduous days Of iron-souled Sir Palamede. He hears the horrid laugh that rings From camp to camp at night ; he hears The cruel mouths of murderous kings Laugh out one menace that he fears. No sooner shall the heroes die Than, ere their flesh begin to rot, The heathen turns his raving eye To Caerlon and Camelot.
16 His strength is done; he cannot stir. The child complains—how feebly now! His eyes are blank ; he looks at her; The cold sweat gathers on his brow. To save the world—three days away|! His life in knighthood’s life is furled, And knighthood’s life in his—to-day |— His darling staked against the world | Will he die there, his task undone? Or dare he live, at such a cost? He cries against the impassive sun : The world is dim, is all but lost. Then, with the bitterness of death Cutting his soul, his fingers clench The piteous passage of her brea…
…a trill So soft and warm, so red and ripe, That echo answers from the hill In eager and voluptuous strain, While grows upon the sounding plain A gallop, and a questing turned To one profound melodious bay. Sir Palamede with pleasure burned, And bowed him to the idol grey That on the altar sneered and leered With loose red lips behind his beard. Sir Palamedes and the Beast Are woven in a web of gold Until the gilding of the East Burns on the wanton-smiling wold : And still Sir Palamede believed His holy quest to be achieved ! But now the dawn fr…