the Equinox - The Hermetic Library
the Equinox - The Hermetic Library the Equinox - The Hermetic Library
36 THE HIGH HISTORY OF GOOD But plucking up his will, doth launch A mighty poison-dippèd dart: It fareth ever sure and staunch, And smiteth him upon the haunch. Then as Sir Palamede overhauls The stricken quarry, slack it droops, Staggers, and final down it falls. Triumph! Gape wide, ye golden walls! Lift up your everlasting doors, O gates of Camelot! See, he swoops Down on the prey! The life-blood pours: The poison works: the breath implores Its 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:
SIR PALAMEDES, THE SARACEN KNIGHT While such a questing there resounds As God had loosed the very Pit, Or as a thirty couple hounds Are in its belly as it bounds! Full sick at heart, I ween, was then The loyal knight, the weak of wit, The butt of lewd and puny men, Sir Palamede the Saracen. 37
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36<br />
THE HIGH HISTORY OF GOOD<br />
But plucking up his will, doth launch<br />
A mighty poison-dippèd dart:<br />
It fareth ever sure and staunch,<br />
And smiteth him upon <strong>the</strong> haunch.<br />
<strong>The</strong>n as Sir Palamede overhauls<br />
<strong>The</strong> stricken quarry, slack it droops,<br />
Staggers, and final down it falls.<br />
Triumph! Gape wide, ye golden walls!<br />
Lift up your everlasting doors,<br />
O gates of Camelot! See, he swoops<br />
Down on <strong>the</strong> prey! <strong>The</strong> life-blood pours:<br />
<strong>The</strong> poison works: <strong>the</strong> breath implores<br />
Its livelong debt from heart and brain.<br />
Alas! poor stag, thy day is done!<br />
<strong>The</strong> gallant lungs gasp loud in vain:<br />
Thy life is spilt upon <strong>the</strong> plain.<br />
Sir Palamede is stricken numb<br />
As one who, gazing on <strong>the</strong> sun,<br />
Sees blackness ga<strong>the</strong>r. Blank and dumb,<br />
<strong>The</strong> good knight sees a thin breath come<br />
Out of his proper mouth, and dart<br />
Over <strong>the</strong> plain: he seeth it<br />
Sure by some black magician art<br />
Shape ever closer like an hart:
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