the Equinox - The Hermetic Library

the Equinox - The Hermetic Library the Equinox - The Hermetic Library

24.03.2013 Views

62 SIR PALAMEDES, THE SARACEN KNIGHT The knight at last wins to behold The full conception. Breathless-blue The fair lake's mirror crystal-cold Wherein he gazes, keen to view The vast Design therein, to chase The Beast to his last avenue. Then—O thou gosling scant of grace! The dream breaks, and Sir Palamede Wakes to the glass of his fool's face! “Ah, 'sdeath!” (quod he), “by thought and deed This brute for ever mocketh me. The lance is made a broken reed, The brain is but a barren tree— For all the beautiful Design Is but mine own geometry!” With that his wrath brake out like wine. He plunged his body in, and shattered The whole delusion asinine. All the false water-nymphs that flattered He killed with his resounding curse— O fool of God! as if it mattered! So, nothing better, rather worse, Out of the blue bliss of the pool Came dripping that inveterate fool!

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

XXIII<br />

NOW still he holdeth argument:<br />

“So grand a Beast must house him well;<br />

Hence, now beseemeth me frequent<br />

Ca<strong>the</strong>dral, palace, citadel.”<br />

So, riding fast among <strong>the</strong> flowers<br />

Far off, a Gothic spire he spies,<br />

That like a gladiator towers<br />

Its spear-sharp splendour to <strong>the</strong> skies.<br />

<strong>The</strong> people cluster round, acclaim:<br />

“Sir Knight, good knight, thy quest is won.<br />

Here dwells <strong>the</strong> Beast in orient flame,<br />

Spring-sweet, and swifter than <strong>the</strong> sun!”<br />

Sir Palamede <strong>the</strong> Saracen<br />

Spurs to <strong>the</strong> shrine, afire to win<br />

<strong>The</strong> end; and all <strong>the</strong> urgent men<br />

Throng with him eloquently in.<br />

Sir Palamede his vizor drops;<br />

He lays his loyal lance in rest;<br />

He drives <strong>the</strong> rowels home—he stops!<br />

Faugh! but a black-mou<strong>the</strong>d money-chest!<br />

63

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