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Straight he dissolved, a voiceless shade. “Or scotched or slain,” the knight said then, “What odds? Keep bright and sharp thy blade, Sir Palamede the Saracen!” 95
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.
…on 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
…lands afar, A myriad myriad bows and swords, As clouds that blot the morning star. Soon by an arrow from the sea The Lady of Palamede is slain ; His son, in sally fighting free, Is struck through burgonet and brain.
I Sir PaLaMEDE the Saracen Rode by the marge of many a sea: He had slain a thousand evil men And set a thousand ladies free. Armed to the teeth, the glittering knight Galloped along the sounding shore, His silver arms one lake of light, Their clash one symphony of war. How still the blue enamoured sea Lay in the blaze of Syria’s noon! The eternal roll eternally Beat out its monotonic 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…
… a sable robe; Hath curses, writ by holy men From all the gardens of the globe. He standeth at an altar-stone ; The blood drips from the slain babe’s throat; His chant rolls in a magick moan; His head bows to the crownéd goat. His wand makes curves and spires in air; The smoke of incense curls and quivers; His eyes fix in a glass-cold stare: The land of Egypt rocks and shivers! “Lo! by thy Gods, O God, I vow To burn the authentic bones and blood Of curst Osiris even now To the dark Nile’s upsurging flood! I cast thee down, oh crowned and throne…
…never men Knew—on the quest, the quest, rides he! So long to seek, so far to find ! So weary was the knight, his limbs Were slack as new-slain dove’s; his knees No longer gripped the charger rude. Listless, he aches ; his purpose swims Exhausted in the oily seas Of laxity and lassitude. The soul subsides; its serious motion Still throbs ; by habit, not by will. And all his lust to win the quest Is but a passive-mild devotion. (Ay! soon the blood shall run right chill —And is not death the Lord of Rest ?) There as he basks upon the cliff He year…
…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!
THE HIGH HISTORY OF GOOD xiii, At Naples he thinketh of the Beast as author of Evil, because Free of Will. The Beast, starting up, is slain by him with a poisoned arrow ; but at the moment of Its death It is reborn from the knight’s own belly. xiv, At Rome he meeteth a red robber in a Hat, who speaketh nobly of It as of a king-dove-lamb. He chaseth and slayeth it ; it proves but a child’s toy. xv. In a Tuscan grove he findeth, from the antics of a Satyr, that the Gods still dwell with men, Mistaking orgasm for ecstasy, he is found ridiculous. x…
…n knight. Sir Palamede in all humility alloweth that there is no proof possible, and offereth ordeal of battle, in which the stranger is slain, Sir Palamede heweth him into the smallest dust without pity, xxxix. In a green valley he obtaineth the vision of Pan, Thereby he regaineth all that he had expended of strength and youth; is gladdened thereat, for he now devoteth again his life to the quest; yet more utterly cast down than ever, for that this supreme vision is not the Beast. xl. Upon the loftiest summit of a great mountain he perceiveth …
…. Her he slayeth, and burneth all that encampment. iii, Sir Palamede is besieged in his castle by Severn mouth, and his wife and son are slain, iv. Hearing that his fall is to be but the prelude to an attack on Camelot, he maketh a desperate night sortie, and will traverse the wilds of Wales. y. At the end of his resources among the Welsh mountains, he is compelled to put to death his only remaining child. By this sacrifice he saves the world of chivalry. vi. He having become an holy hermit, a certain dwarf, splendidly clothed, cometh to Arthur…