The Fyh Fstory oj Cood Sr Pclcmedes the Scrccen Knyht cnd hs jollowny oj the Questny 8ecst.

An epc
poem, supposedly cn clleyory cbout the Crect work cnd the obstccles to be jcced on the wcy.
Needless to scy most oj t s personcl to Crowley.
Publshed n EQ l (4), and re-ssued on ts own n 1913.
197 = Zoon (Greek), 8east.
63(&,$/6833/(0(17
Liber CXCVII
THE HICH HISTDPY
DF
CDDD SIP PALAhEDES
THE SAPACEN KNICHT
AND
DF HIS FDLLDWINC
DF THE UESTINC EAST 1
8Y
ALElSTER CR0WLEY
RlGHTLY SET F0RTH lN RlME
72$//$1%(11(77
Bhi kkhu Ananda Met t eyya my good kni ght comrade i n t he quest , I dedi cat e t hi s i mperf ect account of i t , i n
some smal l recogni t i on of hi s suggest i on of i t s f orm.
hANDALAY, November 105
1wEF NOTE: Ths work s recd to best ejject cjter Crowleys Conjessons. The sectons cre metcphorc
cccounts oj Crowleys own secrch jor enlyhtenment, sometmes wth chcnyed detcls or settnys. E.y., the
yenercl jocus on Arthur thct comes n ct lll should be tcken to represent Crowleys lcstny but jrustrcted
desre to serve cnd scve cll the 8rtcns. Acts oj kllny by the prncpcl chcrccter represent renuncctons oj
cttcchment.

APCUhENT
i. Si r Pal amede, t he Saracen kni ght , ri di ng on t he shore of Syri a, f i ndet h hi s f at hers corpse, around whi ch an
al bat ross ci rcl et h. He approvet h t he vengeance of hi s peers.
ii. On t he shore of Arabi a he f i ndet h hi s mot her i n t he embrace of a l oat hl y negro beneat h bl ue pavi l i ons. Her
he sl ayet h, and burnet h al l t hat encampment .
iii. Si r Pal amede i s besi eged i n hi s cast l e by Severn mout h, and hi s wi f e and son are sl ai n.
iv. Heari ng t hat hi s f al l i s t o be but t he prel ude t o an at t ack of Camel ot , he maket h a desperat e ni ght sort i e,
and wi l l t raverse t he wi l ds of Wal es.
v. At t he end of hi s resources among t he Wel sh mount ai ns, he i s compel l ed t o put t o deat h hi s onl y remai ni ng
chi l d. By t hi s sacri f i ce he saves t he worl d of chi val ry.
vi. He havi ng become an hol y hermi t , a cert ai n dwarf , spl endi dl y cl ot hed, comet h t o Art hurs court , beari ng
t i di ngs of a Quest i ng Beast . The kni ght s f ai l t o l i f t hi m, t hi s bei ng t he t est of wort hi ness.
vii. Lancel ot f i ndet h hi m upon Scawf el l , cl ot hed i n hi s whi t e beard. he ret urnet h, and, t ouchi ng t he dwarf
but wi t h hi s f i nger, herl et h hi m t o t he heaven.
viii. Si r Pal amede, ri di ng f ort h on t he quest , seet h a Drui d worshi p t he sun upon St onehenge. He ri det h
east ward, and f i ndet h t he sun set t i ng i n t he west . Furi ous he t aket h a Vi ki ng shi p, and by sword and whi p
f aret h seaward.
ix. Comi ng t o Indi a, he l earnet h t hat It gl i t t eret h. Vai nl y f i ght i ng t he waves, t he l eaves, and t he snows, he i s
swept i n t he Hi mal ayas as by an aval anche i nt o a val l ey where dwel l cert ai n ascet i cs, who pel t hi m wi t h t hei r
eyebal l s.
x. Seeki ng It as Maj est y, he chaset h an el ephant i n t he Indi an j ungl e. The el ephant escapet h; but he, l ed t o
Tri chi nopol i by an Indi an l ad, seet h an el ephant f orced t o dance ungai nl y bef ore t he Mahal i ngam.
xi. A Scyt hi an sage decl aret h t hat It t ranscendet h Reason. Theref ore Si r Pal amede unreasonabl y decapi t at et h
hi m.
xii. An anci ent hag prat et h of It as Evangel i cal . Her he hewed i n pi eces.
{v}
xiii. At Napl es he t hi nket h of t he Beast as aut hor of Evi l , because Free of Wi l l . The Beast , st art i ng up, i s sl ai n
by hi m wi t h a poi soned arrow; but at t he moment of It s deat h It i s reborn f rom t he kni ght s own bel l y.
xiv. At Rome he meet et h a red robber i n a Hat , who speaket h nobl y of It as of a ki ng-dove-l amb. He chaset h
and sl ayet h i t ; i t proves but a chi l ds t oy.
xv. In a Tuscan grove he f i ndet h, f rom t he ant i cs of a Sat yr, t hat t he Gods si l l dwel l wi t h men. Mi st aki ng
orgasm f or ecst ast y, he i s f ound ri di cul ous.
xvi. Bai t i ng f or It wi t h gi l ded corn i n a moonl i t val e of Spai n, he f i ndet h t he bai t st ol en by bermi n.
xvii. In Cret e a met aphysi ci an weavet h a l abyri nt h. Si r Pal amede compel l et h hi m t o pursue t he quarry i n t hi s
same f ashi on. Runni ng l i ke hi ppogri f f s, t hey pl unge over t he preci pi ce; and t he hermi t , dead, appears but a
mangy ass. Si r Pal amede, sore wounded, i s borne by f i shers t o an hut .
xviii. Si r Pal amede not et h t he swi f t ness of t he Beast . He t heref ore cl i mbet h many mount ai ns of t he Al ps. Yet
can he not cat ch It ; It out runnet h hi m easi l y, and at l ast , st umbl i ng, he f al l et h.
xix. Among t he dunes of Bri t t any he f i ndet h a wi t ch danci ng and conj uri ng, unt i l she di sappearet h i n a bl aze
of l i ght . He t hen l earnet h musi c, f rom a vi l e gi rl , unt i l he i s as ski l f ul as Orpheus. In Pari s he pl ayet h i n a
publ i c pl ace. The peopl e, at f i rst t hrowi ng hi m coi ns, soon desert hi m t o f ol l ow a f ool i sh Egypt i an wi zard. No
Beast comet h t o hi s cal l .
xx. He arguet h out t hat t here can be but on Beast . Fol l owi ng si ngl e t racks, he at l engt h f i ndet h t he quarry,
but on pursui t It el duet h hi by mul t i pl yi ng i t sel f . Thi s on t he wi de pl ai ns of France.
xxi. He gat heret h an army suf f i ci ent t o chase t he whol e herd. In Engl ands mi dst t hey rush upon t hem; but
t he herd j oi n t oget her, l eadi ng on t he ki nght s, who at l engt h rush t oget her i nt o a ml e, wherei n al l but Si r
Pal amede are sl ai n, whi l e t he Beast , as ever, st andet h al oof , l aughi ng.
xxii. He arguet h It s exi st ence f rom desi gn of t he Cosmos, not i ng t hat It s t racks f orm a geomet ri cal f i gure.
But seet h t hat t hi s depends upon hi s sense of geomet ry; and i s t heref ore no proof . Medi t at i ng upon t hi s
l i keness t o hi msel f - It s subj ect i vi t y, i n short - he seet h It i n t he Bl ue Lake.
Thi t her pl ungi ng, al l i s shat t ered.
xxiii. Seeki ng It i n shri nes he f i ndet h but a money-box; whi l e t hey t hat hel ped hi m (as t hey sai d) i n hi s
search, but robbed hi m.
xxiv. Argui ng It s obscuri t y, he seeket h It wi t hi n t he bowel s of Et na, cut t i ng of f al l avenues of sense. Hi s own
t hought s pursue hi m i nt o madness.
{vi }
xxv. Upon t he Paci f i c Ocean, he, t hi nki ng t hat It i s not -Sel f , t hrowet h hi msel f i nt o t he sea. But t he Beast
set t et h hi m ashore.
xxvi. Rowed by Kanakas t o Japan, he prai set h t he st abi l i t y of Fuj i -Yama.
But , an eart hquake ari si ng, t he pi l gri ms are swal l owed up.
xxvii. Upon t he Yang-t ze-ki ang he cont empl at et h i mmort al change. Yet , percei vi ng t hat t he changes
t hemsel ves const i t ut e st abi l i t y, he i s agai n baul ked, and bi ddet h hi s men bear hi m t o Egypt .
xxviii. In an Egypt i an t empl e he hat h perf ormed t he Bl oody Sacri f i ce, and cursed Osi ri s. Hi msel f suf f eri ng
t hat curse, he i s st i l l f ar f rom t he At t ai nment .
xxix. In t he l and of Egypt he perf ormet h many mi racl es. But f rom t he st at ue of Memnon i ssuet h t he quest i ng,
and he i s recal l ed f rom t hat i l l usi on.
xxx. Upon t he pl ai ns of Chal dea he descendet h i nt o t he bowel s of t he eart h, where he behol det h t he Vi si bl e
Image of t he soul of Nat ure f or t he Beast . Yet Eart h bel chet h hi m f ort h.
xxxi. In a sl um ci t y he converset h wi t h a Rat i onal i st . Learni ng not hi ng, nor even heari ng t he Beast , he goet h
f ort h t o cl eanse hi msel f .
xxxii. Seeki ng t o i mi t at e t he Beast , he goet h on al l -f ours, quest i ng horri bl y. The t ownsmen cage hi m f or a
l unat i c. Nor can he i mi t at e t he el usi veness of t he Beast . Yet at one not e of t hat quest i ng t he pri son i s
shat t ered, and Si r Pal amede rushet h f ort h f ree.
xxiii. Si r Pal amede hat h gone t o t he shores of t he Mi ddl e Sea t o rest ore hi s heal t h. There he pract i set h
devot i on t o t he Beast , and becomet h maudl i n and sent i ment al . Hi s knaves mocki ng hi m, he beat et h one sore;
f rom whose bel l y i ssuet h t he quest i ng.
xxiv. Bei ng ret i red i nt o an hermi t age i n Fenl and, he t raverset h space upon t he back of an eagl e. He knowet h
al l t hi ngs - save onl y It . And i ncont i nent beseedhet h t he eagl e t o set hi m down agai n.
xxxv. He l ect uret h upon met aphysi cs - f or he i s now t ot al l y i nsane - t o many l earned monks of Cant abri g.
They appl aud hi m and det ai n hi m, t hough he hat h heard t he quest i on and woul d away. But so f eebl e i s he
t hat he f l eet h by ni ght .
xxxvi. It hat h of t en happened t o Si r Pal amede t hat he i s haunt ed by a shadow, t he whi ch he may not
recogni se. But at l ast , i n a sunl i t wood, t hi s i s di scovered t o be a cert ai n hunchback, who doubt et h whet her
t here be at al l any Beast or any quest , or i f t he whol e l i f e of Si r Pal amede be not a vai n i l l usi on. Hi m,
wi t hout seei ng t o conquer wi t h words, he sl ayet h i ncont i nent .
xxxvii. In a cave by t he sea, f eedi ng on l i mpet s androot s, Si r Pal amede abi det h, si ck unt o deat h.
Hi mseemet h t he Beast quest et h wi t hi n hi s own bowel s; he i s t he {vi i } Beast . St andi ng up, t hat he may enj oy
t he reward, he f i ndet h anot her answer t o t he ri ddl e. Yet abi det h i n t he quest .
xxxviii. Si r Pal amede i s conf ront ed by a st ranger kni ght , whose arms are hi s own, as al so hi s f eat ures. Thi s
kni ght mocket h Si r OPal amede f or an i mpudent pret ender, and i mpersonat or of t he chosen kni ght . Si r
Pal amede i n al l humi l i t y al l owet h t hat t here i s no proof possi bl e, and of f eret h ordeal of bat t l e, i n whi ch t he
st ranger i s sl ai n. Si r Pal amede hewet h hi m i nt o t he smal l est dust wi t hout pi t y.
xxxix. In a green val l ey he obt ai net h t he vi si on of Pan. Thereby he regai net h al l t hat he had expended of
st rengt h and yout h; i s gl addened t hereat , f or he now devot et h agai n hi s l i f e t o t he quest ; yet more ut t erl y
cast down t han ever, f or t hat t hi s supreme vi si on i s not t he Beast .
xI. Upon t he l of t i est summi t of a great mount ai n he percei vet h Naught . Even t hi s i s, however, not t he Beast .
xIi. Ret urni ng t o Camel ot t o announce hi s f ai l ure, he maket h ent rance i nt o t he Ki ngs hal l , whence he st art ed
out upon t he quest . The Beast comet h nest l i ng t o hi m. Al l t he kni ght s at t ai n t he quest . The voi ce of Chri st i s
heard: wel l done. He sayet h t hat each f ai l ure i s a st ep i n t he Pat h. The poet prayet h success t herei n f or
hi msel f and hi s readers.
{vi i i }






THE HICH HISTDPY DF CDDD SIP PALAhEDES
THE SAPACEN KNICHT;
AND DF HIS FDLLDWINC DF THE UESTINC EAST
I SIP PALAhEDE t he Saracen Rode by t he marge of many a sea: He had sl ai n a t housand evi l men And set a
t housand l adi es f ree. Armed t o t he t eet h, t he gl i t t eri ng ki nght Gal l oped al ong t he soundi ng shore, Hi s si l ver
arms one l ake of l i ght , Thei r cl ash one symphony of war. How st i l l t he bl ue enamoured sea Lay i n t he bl aze
of Syri as noon! The et ernal rol l et ernal l y Beat out i t s monot oni c t une. Si r Pal amede t he Saracen A dreadf ul
vi si on here espi ed, A si ght abhorred of gods and men, Bet ween t he l i mi t of t he t i de. The dead mans t ongue
was t orn away; The dead mans t hroat was sl i t across; There f l apped upon t he put ri d prey A carri on,
screami ng al bat ross. {3}
So hal t ed he hi s horse, and bent To cat ch remembrance f rom t he eyes That st ared t o God, whose ardour sent
Hi s radi ance f rom t he rut hl ess ski es. Then l i ke a st at ue st i l l he sat e; Nor qui vered nerve, nor muscl e st i rred;
Whi l e round t hem f l apped i nsat i at e The f el l , abomi nabl e bi rd. But t he col dest horror drave t he l i ght From
kni ght l y eyes. How pal e t hy bl oom, Thy bl ood, O brow whereon t hat ni ght Si t s l i ke a serpent on a t omb! For
Pal amede t hose eyes behel d The i ron i mage of hi s own; On t hose dead brows a f at e he spel l ed To st ri ke a
Gorgon i nt o st one. He knew hi s f at her. St i l l he sat e, Nor qui vered nerve, nor muscl e st i rred; Whi l e round
t hem f l apped i nsat i at e The f el l , abomi nabl e bi rd. The kni ght approves t he j ust i ce done, And pays wi t h t hat
hi s rowel s debt ; Whi l e yet t he f orehead of t he son St ands beaded wi t h an i cy sweat . {4}
Gods angel , st andi ng si ni st er, Unf url s t hi s scrol l - a sabl e st ai n: "Who wi ns t he spur shal l pl y t he spur Upon hi s
proper heart and brai n. " He gave t he si gn of mal i son On t rai t or kni ght s and perj ured men; And ever by t he
sea rode on Si r Pal amede t he Saracen.
II EHDLD! Arabi as burni ng shore Ri ngs t o t he hoof s of many a st eed. Lord of a l egi on ri des t o war The
i ndomi t abl e Pal amede. The Payni m f l y; hi s t roops del i ght In murder of many a myri ad men, Fol l owi ng
exul t ant i nt o f i ght Si r Pal amede t he Saracen. Now when a year and day are done Si r Pal amedes i s aware Of
bl ue pavi l i ons i n t he sun, And banneret s f l ut t eri ng i n t he ai r. Forward he spurs; hi s armour gl eams; Then on
hi s haunches rears t he st eed; Above t he l ordl y si l k t here st reams The pennon of Si r Pal amede! Af l ame, a
bri degroom t o hi s spouse, He ri des t o meet wi t h gal l i ard grace Some sci on of hi s hol y house, Or germane t o
hi s royal race. {6}
But oh! t he eyes of shame! Beneat h The t al l pavi l i ons sapphi re shade There sport a band wi t h wand and
wreat h, Languorous boy and l aughi ng mai d. And i n t he cent re i s a si ght Of hat ef ul l ove and shamel ess shame:
A recreant Abyssi ani an kni ght Sport s grossl y wi t h a want on dame. How bl ack and swi ni sh i s t he knave! Hi s
hel l i sh grunt , hi s best i al gri n; Her t ri l l i ng l augh, her gest ure suave, The cool sweat swi mmi ng on her ski n! She
l ooks and l aughs upon t he kni ght , Then t urns t o buss t he bl ubber mout h, Drai ni ng t he dregs of t hat bl ack
bl i ght Of wi ne t o ease t hei r doubl e drout h! God! what a gl ance! Si r Pal amede Is st ri cken by t he sword of f at e:
Hi s mot her i t i s i n very deed That gl eef ul goes t he goat i sh gai t . Hi s mot her i t hi s, t hat pure and pal e Cri ed i n
t he pangs t hat gave hi m bi rt h; The hol y i mage he woul d vei l From aught t he t i ni est t ai nt of eart h. {7}
She knows hi m, and bl ack f ear bedi m Those eyes; she of f ers t o hi s gaze The bl ue-vei ned breast s t hat suckl ed
hi m In chi l dhoods sweet and sol emn days. Weepi ng she bares t he hol y womb! Shri eks out t he mot hers l ast
appeal : And reads i rrevocabl e doom In t hose dread eyes of i ce and st eel . He wi nds hi s horn: hi s warri ors pour
In t housands on t he f encel ess f oe; The sunset st ai ns t hei r hi deous war Wi t h cri mson bars of af t er-gl ow. He
wi nds hi s horn; t he ni ght -st ars l eap To l i ght ; upspri ng t he si st ers seven; Whi l e answeri ng f l ames i l l ume t he
deep, The bl ue pavi l i ons bl aze t o heaven. Si l ent and st ern t he nort hward way They ri de; al one bef ore hi s
men St aggers t hrough bl ack t o rose and grey Si r Pal amede t he Saracen. {8}
III THEPE i s a rock by Severn mout h Whereon a mi ght y cast l e st ands, Front i ng t he bl ue i mpassi ve Sout h And
l ooki ng over l ordl y l ands. Oh! hi gh above t he envi ous sea Thi s f ort ress domi nat es t he t i des; There, i l l at
heart , t he chi val ry Of st rong Si r Pal amede abi des. Now comes i rrupt i on f rom t he f ol d That l i ve by murder:
day by day The good kni ght st ri kes hi s deadl y st roke; The vul t ures cl aw t he at t ended prey. But day by day
t he heat hen hordes. Gat her f rom dreadf ul l ands af ar, A myri ad myri ad bows and swords, As cl ouds t hat bl ot
t he morni ng st ar. Soon by an arrow f rom t he sea The Lady of Pal amede i s sl ai n; Hi s son, i n sal l y f i ght i ng f ree,
Is st ruck t hrough burgonet and brai n. {9}
But day by day t he f oes i ncrease, Though day by day t hei r t housands f al l : Laughs t he unshaken f ort al i ce; The
good kni ght s l augh no more at al l . Gri mmer t han heat her hordes can scowl , The spect re hunger rages t here;
He passes l i ke a mi dni ght owl , Hoot i ng hi s heral dry, despai r. The kni ght s and squi res of Pal amede St al k pal e
and l ean t hrough court and hal l ; Though sharp and swi f t t he archers speed Thei r yardl ong arrows f rom t he
wal l . Thei r numbers t hi n; t hei r st rengt h decays; Thei r f at e i s wri t t en pl ai n t o read: These are t he dread
deci duous days Of i ron-soul ed Si r Pal amede. He hears t he horri d l augh t hat ri ngs From camp t o camp at
ni ght ; he hears The cruel mout hs of murderous ki ngs Laugh out one menace t hat he f ears. No sooner shal l t he
heroes di e Than, ere t hei r f l esh begi n t o rot , The heat hen t urns hi s ravi ng eye To Caerl on and Camel ot . Ki ng
Art hur i n i gnobl e sl ot h Is sunk, and dal l i ance wi t h hi s dame, Forget f ul of hi s kni ght l y oat h, And carel ess of hi s
ki ngl y name. Bef ool ed and cuckol ded, t he ki ng Is yet t he ki ng, t he ki ng most hi gh; And on hi s l i f e t he hi nges
swi ng That cl ose t he door of chi val ry. Sbl ood! shal l i t si nk, and ri se no more, That bl aze of t i me, when men
were men?That i s t hy quest i on, warri or Si r Pal amede t he Saracen! {11}
IV Now, wi t h t wo score of men i n l i f e And one f ai r babe, Si r Pal amede Resol ves one l ast heroi c st ri f e,
At t empt s f orl orn a desperat e deed. At dead of ni ght , a moonl ess ni ght , A ni ght of wi nt er st orm, t hey sai l In
danci ng dragons t o t he f i ght Wi t h man and sea, wi t h ghoul and gal e. Whom God shal l spare, ri de, ri de! (so
spri ngs The i ron order). Let hi m f l y On honours st eed wi t h honours wi ngs To warn t he ki ng, l est honour di e!
Then t o t he f ury of t he bl ast Thei r f ury adds a dreadf ul st i ng: The f at al di e i s surel y cast . To save t he ki ng -
t o save t he ki ng! Hai l ! horror of t he mi dni ght surge! The st orms of deat h, t he l ashi ng gust , The doubt f ul
gl eam of swords t hat urge Hot l aught er wi t h hi gh-l eapi ng l ust ! {12}
Though one by one t he heroes f al l , Thei r desperat e way t hey sl owl y wi n, And kni ght l y cry and comrade-cal l
Ri se hi gh above t he savage di n. Now, now t hey l and, a dwi ndl i ng crew; Now, now f resh armi es hem t hem
round. They cl eave t hei r bl ood-bought avenue, And cl ust er on t he upper ground. Ah! but dawns dreadf ul
f ront uprears! The t al l t owers bl aze, t o i l l ume t he f i ght ; Whi l e many a myri ad heat hen spears March
nort hward at t he earl i est l i ght . Fal l s t hy l ast comrade at t hy f eet , O l ordl y-soul ed Si r Pal amede?Teari ng t he
savage f rom hi s seat , He l eaps upon a coal -bl ack st eed. He gal l ops ragi ng t hrough t he press: The af f ri ght ed
heat hen f ear hi s eye. There madness gl eams, t here mast erl ess The whi rl i ng sword shri eks shri l l and hi gh. The
shri nk, he gal l ops. Cl osel y cl i ngs The chi l d sl ung at hi s wai st ; and he Heeds nought , but gal l ops wi de, and
si ngs Wi l d war-songs, chant s of gramarye! {13}
Si r Pal amded t he Saracen Ri des l i ke a cent aur mad wi t h war; He sabres many a mi l l i on men, And t rampl es
many a mi l l i on more! Bef ore hi m l i es t he unt ravel l ed l and Where never a human soul i s known, A desert by a
wi zard banned, A soul l ess wi l derness of st one. Nor grass, nor corn, del i ght t he val es; Nor beast , nor bi rd,
span space. Immense, Bl ack rai n, grey mi st , whi t e wrat h of gal es, Fi l l t he dread armoury of sense. NOr shi nes
t he sun; nor moon, nor st ar Thei r subt l e l i ght at al l di spl ay; Nor day, nor ni ght , di sput e t he scaur: Al l s one
i nt ol erabl e grey. Bl ack l l yns, grey rocks, whi t e hi l l s of snow! No f l ower, no col our: l i f e i s not . Thi s i s no way
f or men t o go From Severn-mout h t o Camel ot . Despai r, t he worl d upon hi s speed, Dri ve (l i ke a l i on f rom hi s
den Whom hunger hunt s) t he man at need, Si r Pal amede t he Saracen. {14}
V SIP PALAhEDE t he Saracen Hat h cast hi s sword and arms asi de. To save t he worl d of goodl y men, He set s
hi s t eet h t o ri de - t o ri de! Three days: t he bl ack horse drops and di es. The t rappi ngs f urni sh t hem a f i re, The
beast a meal . Wi t h dreadf ul eyes St are i nt o deat h t he chi l d, t he si re. Si x days: t he gaunt and gal l ant kni ght
Sees hat ef ul vi si ons i n t he day. Where are t he ant i ent speed and mi ght Were wont t o ani mat e t hat cl ay?Ni ne
days; t hey st umbl e on; no more Hi s st rengt h avai l s t o bear t he chi l d. St i l l hangs t he mi st , and st i l l bef ore
Yawns t he i mmeasurabl e wi l d. Twel ve days: t he end. Af ar he spi es The mount ai ns st oopi ng t o t he pl ai n; A
l i t t l e spl ash of sunl i ght l i es Beyond t he everl ast i ng rai n. {15}
Hi s st rengt h i s done; he cannot st i r. The chi l d compl ai ns - how f eebl y now! Hi s eyes are bl ank; he l ooks at
her; The col d sweat gat hers on hi s brow. To save t he worl d - t hree days away! Hi s l i f e i n kni ght hoods l i f e i s
f url ed, And kni ght hoods l i f e i n hi s - t o-day! - Hi s darl i ng st aked agai nst t he worl d! Wi l l he di e t here, hi s t ask
undone?Or dare he l i ve, at such a cost ?He cri es agai nst t he i mpassi ve sun: The worl d i s di m, i s al l but l ost .
When, wi t h t he bi t t erness of deat h Cut t i ng hi s soul , hi s f i ngers cl ench The pi t eous passage of her breat h. The
dews of horror ri se and drench Si r Pal amede t he Saracen. Then, ri si ng f rom t he hi deous meal , He pl unges t o
t he l and of men Wi t h nerves renewed and l i mbs of st eel . Who i s t he naked man t hat ri des Yon t amel ess
st al l i on on t he pl ai n, Hi s f ace l i ke Hel l s?What f ury gui des The mani ac beast wi t hout a rei n?{16}
Who i s t he naked man t hat spurs A charger i nt o Camel ot , Hi s f ace l i ke Chri st s?what gl ory st i rs The ai r around
hi m, do ye wot ?Si r Art hur arms hi m, makes array Of seven t i mes t en t housand men, And bi ds t hem f ol l ow
and obey Si r Pal amede t he Saracen. {17}
VI SIP PALAhEDE t he Saracen The eart h f rom murder hat h rel eased, Is hi dden f rom t he eyes of men. Si r
Art hur si t s agai n at f east . The hol y order burns wi t h zeal : It s f ame revi ves f rom west t o east . Now, f ol l owi ng
Fort unes whi rl i ng-wheel , There comes a dwarf t o Art hurs hal l , Al l cased i n damnascen?d st eel . A scept re and
a gol den bal l He bears, and on hi s head a crown; But on hi s shoul ders drapes a pal l Of vel vet f l owi ng sabl y
down Above hi s vest of cramoi si e. Now dot h t he ki ng of hi gh renown Demand hi m of hi s di gni t y. Whereat t he
dwarf begi ns t o t el l A quest of l of t i est chi val ry. {18}
Quod he: "By Goddes hol y spel l , So hi gh a vent ure was not known, Nor so di vi ne a mi racl e. A cert ai n beast
t here runs al one, That ever i n hi s bel l y sounds A hugeous cry, a monst er moan, As i f a t hi rt y coupl e hounds
Quest ed wi t h hi m. Now God sai t h (I swear i t by Hi s hol y wounds And by Hi s l ament abl e deat h, And by Hi s hol y
Mot hers f ace! ) That he shal l know t he Beaut eous Breat h And t ast e t he Goodl y Gi f t of Grace Who shal l
achi eve t hi s marvel quest . " Then Art hur st ert e up f rom hi s pl ace, And st ert e up bol dl y al l t he rest , And sware
t o seek t hi s goodl y t hi ng. But now t he dwarf dot h beat hi s breast , And speak on t hi s wi se t o t he ki ng, That he
shoul d wort hy kni ght be f ound Who wi t h hi s hands t he dwarf shoul d bri ng By mi ght one span f rom of f t he
ground. Whereat t hey j eer, t he dwarf so smal l , The kni ght s so st rong: t he wal l s resound {19}
Wi t h l aught er rat t l i ng round t he hal l . But Art hur f i rst essays t he deed, And may not budge t he dwarf at al l .
Then Lancel ot sware by Goddes reed, And pul l ed so st rong hi s muscel burst , Hi s nose and mout h brake out a-
bl eed; Nor moved he t hus t he dwarf . From f i rst To l ast t he envi ous kni ght s essayed, And al l t hei r mal i ce had
t he worst , Ti l l st rong Si r Bors hi s prowess pl ayed - And al l hi s mi ght avai l ?d nought , . Now once Si r Bors had
been bet rayed To Payni m; hi m i n t rai t ri se caught , They bound t o f our st rong st al l i on st eers, To t ear asunder,
as t hey t hought , The pal adi n of Art hurs peers. But he, a-bendi ng, breaks t he spi ne Of t hree, and on t he
f ourt h he rears Hi s bul k, and ri des away. Di vi ne t he wonder when t he gi ant f ai l s To st i r t he f at uous dwarf ,
mal i gn Who smi l es! But Boors on Art hur rai l s That never a kni ght i s wort h but one. "By Goddes deat h" (quod
he), "what ai l s {20}
Us marsh-l i ght s t o f orget t he sun?There i s one man of mort al men Wort hy t o wi n t hi s beni son, Si r Pal amede
t he Saracen. " Then went t he appl audi ng murmur round: Si r Lancel ot gi rt hi m t here and t hen To ri de t o t hat
enchant ed ground Where ami d t i mel ess snows t he den Of Pal amedes mi ght be f ound. 2 {21}
2wEF NOTE: See Conjessons. Ths rejers to thct porton oj Crowleys lje spent ct 8oleskne cs Alcstor, the
Sprt oj Soltude. Vll 8EFOL0 Sr Lcncelot oj the Lcke 8recstny the stony screes: behold Fow brecth must
jcl cnd muscle cche 8ejore he recch the cy jold Thct Pclcmede the Scrccen wthn ts hermtcye mcy hold.
At lcst he cometh to c den Perched hyh upon the scvcye sccur, Remote jrom every hcunt oj men, From
every hcunt oj lje cjcr. There doth he jnd St Pclcmede Sttny cs stecdjcst cs c stcr. Sccrcely he knew the
knyht ndeed, For he wcs compcssed n c becrd whte cs the strecms oj snow thct jeed The lcke oj Cods
cnd men revered Thct stteth upon Ccuccsus. So muttered he c dcrklny werd, [22]
And smot e hi s bosom murderous. Hi s nai l s l i ke eagl es cl aws were grown; Hi s eyes were wi l d and dul l ; but
t hus Si r Lancel ot spake: "Thy deeds at one By kni ght l y devoi r! " He ret urned That "Whi l e t he l and was
overgrown Wi t h gi ant , f i end, and ogre burned My sword; but now t he Payni m bars Are broke, and men t o
vi rt ue t urned: Theref ore I si t upon t he scars Ami d my beard, even as t he sun Si t s i n t he company of t he
st ars! " Then Lancel ot bade t hi s deed be done, The achi evement of t he Quest i ng Beast . Whi ch when he spoke
t hat hol y one Rose up, and gat hi m t o t he east Wi t h Lancel ot ; when as t hey drew Unt o t he pal ace and t he
f east He put hi s l i t t l est f i nger t o The dwarf , who rose t o upper ai r, Pi erci ng t he f ar et ernal bl ue Beyond t he
reach of song or prayer. Then di d Si r Pal amede amend Hi s nakedness, hi s horrent hai r, {23}
Hi s nai l s, and made hi s penance end, Cl ot hi ng hi msel f i n st eel and gol d, Armi ng hi msel f , hi s l i f e t o spend IN
vi gi l col d and wanderi ng bol d, Di sdai ni ng song and dal l i ance sof t , Seeki ng one purpose t o behol d, And hol di ng
ever t hat al of t , Nor f eari ng God, nor heedi ng men. So t hus hi s hermi t habi t dof f ed Si r Pal amede t he Saracen.
{24}
VIII KNDW ye where Drui d dol mens ri se In Wessex on t he wi dow pl ai n?Thi t her Si r Pal amedes pl i es The spur,
and shakes t he rat t l i ng rei n. He quest i ons al l men of t he Beast . None answer. Is t he quest i n vai n?Wi t h oaken
crown t here comes a pri est In sami t e robes, wi t h hazel wand, And worshi ps at t he gi l ded East . Ay! t hi t her
ri de! The dawn beyond Must run t he quarry of hi s quest . He rode as he were wood or f ond, Unt i l at ni ght
behoves hi m rest . - He saw t he gi l di ng f ar behi nd Out on t he hi l l s t oward t he West ! Wi t h ai ml ess f ury hot and
bl i nd He f l ung hi m on a Vi ki ng shi p. He sl ew t he rover, and i ncl i ned {25}
The seamen t o hi s st i ngi ng whi p. Accursd of God, despi si ng men, Thy reckl ess oars i n ocean di p, Si r
Pal amede t he Saracen! {26}
IX SIP PALAhEDE t he Saracen Sai l ed ever wi t h a f avouri ng wi nd Unt o t he smoot h and swart hy men That
haunt t he evi l shore of Hi nd: He queri ed eager of t he quest . "Ay! Ay! " t hei r cunni ng sages gri nned: "It shi nes!
It shi nes! Guess t hou t he rest ! For naught but t hi s our Ri shi s know. " Si r Pal amede hi s way addressed Unt o t he
woods: t hey bl aze and gl ow; Hi s l ance st abs many a shi ni ng bl ade, Hi s sword l ays many a f l ower l ow That
gl i t t eri ng gl addened i n t he gl ade. He wrot e hi msel f a want on ass, And t o t he sea hi s t races l ai d, Where many
a wavel et on t he gl ass Hi s prowess knows. But deep and deep Hi s f ut i l e f eet i n f ury pass, {27}
Unt i l one bi l l ow curl s t o l eap, And f l i ngs hi m breat hl ess on t he shore Hal f drowned. O f ool ! hi s Gods asl eep,
Hi s armour i n i l l usi ons war It sel f i l l usi on, al l hi s mi ght And courage vai n. Yet ardours pour Through every
art ery. The kni ght Scal es t he Hi mal ayas f rozen si des, Crowned wi t h i l l i mi t abl e l i ght , And t here i n const ant
war abi des, Smi t i ng t he spangl es of t he snow; Smi t i ng unt i l t he vernal t i des Of eart h l eap hi gh; t he st eady
f l ow Of sunl i ght spl i t s t he i cy wal l s: They sl i de, t hey hurl t he kni ght bel ow. Si r Pal amede t he mi ght y f al l s Int o
an hol l ow where t here dwel t A bearded crew of monachal s Asl eep i n vari ous vi si ons spel t By myst i c symbol s
unt o men. But when a f orei gner t hey smel t They dri ve hi m f rom t hei r hol y den, And wi t h t hei r gl i t t eri ng
eyebal l s pel t Si r Pal amede t he Saracen. 3 {28}
3wEF NOTE: ln other words, when Crowley went secrchny jor cn ecstern mcster n cnd cbout the lndcn
subcontnent, the loccl tecchers just stcred ct hm untl he went cwcy. X Now jndeth he, cs cll clone Fe
moves cbout the burnny Ecst, The myhty trcl oj some unknown, 8ut surely some mcjestc becst. So
jolloweth he the jorest wcys, Rememberny hs knyhtly octh, And throuyh the hot cnd drppny dcys
Plouyhs throuyh the tcnyled underyrowth. Sr Pclcmede the Scrccen Ccme on c jorest pool ct lenyth,
Remote jrom cny mcrt oj men, where there dsported n hs strenyth The lone cnd lordly elephcnt. Sr
Pclcmede hs jorehecd bect. O cmorous! O mltcnt! O lord oj ths crborecl sect! Thus worshpped he, cnd
stclkny stole lnto the presence: he emeryed. The scent cwckes the unecsy soul Oj thct hcjestc One:
upsuryed {29}
The monst er f rom t he oozy bed, And bounded t hrough t he crashi ng gl ades. - but now a st ari ng savage head
Lurks at hi m t hrough t he f orest shades. Thi s was a naked Indi an, Who l ed wi t hi n t he ci t y gat e The f ool ed and
di sappoi nt ed man, Al ready broken by hi s f at e. Here were t he brazen t owers, and here t he scupl t ured rocks,
t he marbl e shri ne Where t o a t al l bl ack st one t hey rear The al t ars due t o t he di vi ne. The God t hey deem i n
sensual j oy Absorbed, and si l ken dal l i ance: To pl ease hi s l ei sure hours a boy Compel s an el ephant t o dance.
So maj est y t o ri di cul e Is t urned. To ot her cl i mes and men Makes of f t hat st rong, persi st ent f ool Si r Pal amede
t he Saracen. {30}
XI SIP PALAhEDE t he Saracen Hat h hi ed hi m t o an hol y man, Si t h he al one of mort al men Can hel p hi m, i f a
mort al can. (So t el l hi m al l t he Scyt hi an f ol k. ) Wheref ore he makes a caravan, And f i nds hi m. When hi s
prayers i nvoke The hol y knowl edge, sai t h t he sage: "Thi s Beast i s he of whom t here spoke The prophet s of
t he Gol den Age: Mark! al l t hat mi nd i s, he i s not . " Si r Pal amede i n bi t t er rage St ert e up: "Is t hi s t he f ool , Od
wot , To see t he l i ke of whom I came From cast el l at ed Camel ot ?" The sage wi t h eyes of burni ng f l ame Cri ed:
"Is i t not a mi racl e?Ay! f or wi t h f ol l y t ravel l et h shame, {31}
And t heret o at t he end i s Hel l Bel i eve! And why bel i eve?Because It i s a t hi ng i mpossi bl e. " Si r Pal amede hi s
pul ses pause. "It i s not possi bl e" (quod he) "That Pal amede i s wrot h, and draws Hi s sword, decapi t at i ng t hee.
By pari t y of argument Thi s deed of bl ood must surel y be. " Wi t h t hat he suddenl y besprent Al l Scyt hi a wi t h t he
sages bl ood, And l aught i ng i n hi s woe he went Unt o a f urt her f i el d and f l ood, Aye gui ded by t hat wi zards
head, That l i ke a wi ndy moon di d scud Bef ore hi m, wi nki ng eyes of red And snappi ng j aws of whi t e: but t hen
What cared f or l i vi ng or f or dead Si r Pal amede t he Saracen?{32}
XII SIP PALAhEDE t he Saracen Fol l ows t he Head t o gl oomy hal l s Of st eri l e hat e, wi t h i cy wal l s. A woman
cl ucki ng l i ke a hen Answers hi s l ordl y bugl e-cal l s. She rees hi m i n ungai nl y rede Of ghost s and vi rgi ns, doves
and wombs, Of roods and propheci es and t ombs - Ol d pagan f abl es run t o seed! Si r Pal amede wi t h f ury
f umes. So dot h t he Head t hat j abbers f ast Agai nst t hat womans t angl ed t al e. (Gods pat i ence at t he end must
f ai l ! ) Out sweeps t he sword - t he bl ade hat h passed Through al l her scraggy f art hi ngal e. "Thi s chat t er l ends t o
Thought a zest " (Quod he), "but I am al l f or Act . Si t here, unt i l your Tal k hat h cracked The addl ed egg i n
Nat ures nest ! " Wi t h t hat he f l ed t he di smal t ract . {33}
He was so si ck and i l l at ease And hot agai nst hi s f el l ow men, He t hought t o end hi s purpose t hen - Nay! l et
hi m seek new l ands and seas, Si r Pal amede t he Saracen! {34}
XIII SIP PALAhEDE i s come anon Int o a bl ue del i ci ous bay. A mount ai n t owers t hereupon, Wherei n some f i end
of ages gone Is whel med by God, yet f rom hi s breast Spi t s up t he f l ame, and ashes grey. Hereby Si r Pal amede
hi s quest Pursues wi t hout en l et or rest . Seei ng t he evi l mount ai n be, Rememberi ng al l hi s evi l years, He
knows t he Quest i ng Beast runs f ree - Aut hor of Evi l , t hen, i s he! Whereat i mmedi at e resounds The noi se he
hat h sought so l ong: appears There quest a t hi rt y coupl e hounds Wi t hi n i t s bel l y as i t bounds. Li f t i ng hi s eyes,
he sees at l ast The beast he seeks: t i s l i ke an hart . Ever i t courset h f ar and f ast . Si r Pal amede i s sore aghast ,
{35}
But pl ucki ng up hi s wi l l , dot h l aunch A mi ght poi son-di pp?d dart : It f aret h ever sure and st aunch, And smi t et h
hi m upon t he haunch. Then as Si r Pal amede overhaul s The st ri cken quarry, sl ack i t droops, St aggers, and
f i nal down i t f al l s. Tri umph! Gape wi de, ye gol den wal l s! Li f t up your everl ast i ng doors, O gat es of Camel ot !
See, he swoops Down on t he prey! The l i f e-bl ood pours: The poi son works: t he breat h i mpl ores It s l i vel ong
debt f rom heart and brai n. Al as! poor st ag, t hy day i s done! The gal l ant l ungs gasp l oud i n vai n: Thy l i f e i s
spi l t upon t he pl ai n. Si r Pal amede i s st ri cken numb As one who, gazi ng on t he sun, Sees bl ackness gat her.
Bl ank and dumb, The good kni ght sees a t hi n breat h come Out of hi s proper mout h, and dart Over t he pl ai n:
he seet h i t Sure by some bl ack magi ci an art Shape ever cl oser l i ke an hart : {36}
Whi l e such a quest i ng t here resounds As God had l oosed t he very Pi t , Or as a t hi rt y coupl e hounds Are i n i t s
bel l y as i t bounds! Ful l si ck at heart , I ween, was t hen The l oyal kni ght , t he weak of wi t , The but t of l ewd
and puny men, Si r Pal amede t he Saracen. {37}
XIV NDPTHWAPD t he good kni ght gal l ops f ast , Resol ved t o seek hi s f oe at home, When rose t hat Vi si on of t he
past , The royal bat t l ement s of Rome, A rui ned ci t y, and a dome. There i n t he broken Forum sat A red-robed
robber i n a Hat . "Whi t her away, Si r Kni ght , so f ey?" "Pri est , f or t he dove on Ararat I coul d not , nor I wi l l not ,
st ay! " "I know t hy quest . Seek on i n vai n A gol den hart wi t h si l ver horns! Li f e spri nget h out of di vers pai ns.
What crown t he Ki ng of Ki ngs adorns?A crown of gems?A crown of t horns! The Quest i ng Beast i s l i ke a ki ng In
f ace, and hat h a pi geons wi ng And cl aw; i t s body i s one f l eece Of bl oody whi t e, a l ambs i n spri ng. Enough.
Si r Kni ght , I gi ve t hee peace. " {38} The Kni ght spurs on, and soon espi es A monst er coursi ng on t he pl ai n. he
hears t he horri d quest i ng ri se And t hunder i n hi s weary brai n. Thi s t i me, t o sl ay i t or be sl ai n! Too easy t ask!
The charger gai ns St ri de af t er st ri de wi t h l i t t l e pai ns Upon t he l umberi ng, f l appi ng t hi ng. He st abs t he l amb,
and spl i t s t he brai ns Of t hat maj est i c-seemi ng ki ng. He cl i ps t he wi ng and pares t he cl aw - What t urns t o
l aught er al l hi s j oy, To wonderi ng ri bal dry hi s awe?The beast s a mere mechani c t oy, Fi t t o amuse an i dl e
boy! {39}
XV SIP PALAhEDE t he Saracen Hat h come t o an umbrageous l and Where nymphs abi de, and Pagan men. The
Gods are ni gh, say t hey, at hand. How warm a t hrob f rom Venus st i rs The pul ses of her worshi ppers! Nor shal l
t he Tuscan God be f ound Rel uct ant f rom t he al t ar-st one: Hi s perf ume shal l del i ght t he ground, Hi s presence
t o hi s hol d be known In darkl i ng grove and gl i mmeri ng shri ne - O pl y t he ki ss and pour t he wi ne! Si r Pal amede
i s f ai rl y come Int o a pl ace of gl owi ng bowers, Where al l t he Voi ce of Ti me i s dumb: Bef ore an al t ar crowned
wi t h f l owers He seet h a sat yr f ondl y dot e And l angui sh on a swan-sof t goat . Then he i n mi d-caress desi res
The ear of st rong Si r Pal amede. {40}
"We burn, " qout h he, "no f ut i l e f i res, Nor pl ay upon an i dl e reed, Nor penance vai n, nor f at uous prayers - The
Gods are ours, and we are t hei rs. " Si r Pal amedes pl ucks t he pi pe The sat yr t ends, and bl ows a t ri l l So sof t and
warm, so red and ri pe, That echo answers f rom t he hi l l In eager and vol upt uous st rai n, Whi l e grows upon t he
soundi ng pl ai n A gal l op, and a quest i ng t urned To one prof ound mel odi ous bay. Si r Pal amede wi t h pl easure
burned, And bowed hi m t o t he i dol grey That on t he al t ar sneered and l eered Wi t h l oose red l i ps behi nd hi s
beard. Si r Pal amedes and t he Beast Are woven i n a web of gol d Unt i l t he gi l di ng of t he East Burns on t he
want on-smi l i ng wol d: And st i l l Si r Pal amede bel i eved Hi s hol y quest t o be achi eved! But now t he dawn f rom
gl owi ng gat es Fl oods al l t he l and: wi t h snarl i ng l i p The Beast st ands of f and cachi nnat es. That st i ngs t he good
kni ght l i ke a whi p, {41}
As suddenl y Hel l s own di sgust Eat s up t he j oy he had of l ust . The brut al gl ee hi s f ol l y t ook For hol y j oy breaks
down hi s brai n. Of f bol t s t he Beast : t he eart h i s shook As out a quest i ng roars agai n, As i f a t hi rt y coupl e
hounds Are i n i t s bel l y as i t bounds! The peasant s gat her t o deri de The kni ght : creat i on j oi ns i n mi rt h.
Ashamed and scorned on every si de, There gal l ops, hat ef ul t o t he eart h, The l aughi ng-st ock of beast s and
men, Si r Pal amede t he Saracen. {42}
XVI WHEPE shaf t s of moonl i ght spl ash t he val e, Besi de a st ream t here si t s and st rai ns Si r Pal amede, wi t h
passi on pal e, And haggard f rom hi s broken brai ns. Yet eagerl y he wat ches st i l l A mossy mound where dai nt y
grai ns Of gi l ded corn t hei r beaut y spi l l To t empt t he quarry t o t he range Of Pal amede hi s archer ski l l . Al l
mi ght he si t s, wi t h ardour st range And hope new-f l edged. A gambl er born Aye t hi ngs t he l uck one day must
change, Though sense and ski l l he l aughs t o scorn. so now t here rush a t housand rat s In sabl e si l ence on t he
corn. They sport t hei r square or shovel hat s, A squeaki ng, t oot h-bare brot herhood, Innumerabl e as summer
gnat s {43}
Buzzi ng some st reaml et t hrough a wood. Si r Pal amede grows mi ght y wrot h, And mut t ers mal edi ct i ons rude,
Seei ng hi s quarry f ar and l ot h And t hi eves despoi l i ng al l t he bai t . Now, carel ess of t he kni ght l y oat h, The sun
pours down hi s east ern gat e. The chase i s over: see ye t hen, Coursi ng af ar, af oam at f at e Si r Pal amede t he
Saracen! {44}
XVII SIP PALAhEDE hat h t ol d t he t al e Of t hi s mi sf ort une t o a sage, How al l hi s vent ures nought avai l , And al l
hi s hopes di ssol ve i n rage. "Now by t hi ne hol y beard, " quot h he, "And by t hy venerabl e age I charge t hee t hi s
my ri ddl e ree. " Then sai d t hat gent l e eremi t e: "Thi s t ask i s easy unt o me! Know t hen t he Quest i ng Beast
ari ght ! One i s t he Beast , t he Quest i ng one: And one wi t h one i s t wo, Si r Kni ght ! Yet t hese are one i n t wo, and
none di sj oi ns t hei r subst ance (mark me wel l ! ), Conf ounds t hei r persons. Ri ght l y run Thei r at t ri but es:
i mmeasurabl e, Incomprehensi bundabl e, Unspeakabl e, i naudi bl e, {45} Int angi bl e, i ngust abl e, Insensi t i ve t o
human smel l , Invari abl e, i mpl acabl e, Invi nci bl e, i nsci abl e, Irrat i onapsychi cabl e, Inequi l egi j urabl e,
Immamemi momummabl e. Such i s i t s nat ure: wi t hout part s, Pl aces, or persons, pl umes, or pel l , Havi ng nor
l ungs nor l i ght s nor heart s, But t wo i n one and one i n t wo. Be he accurs?d t hat di spart s Them now, or
seemet h so t o do! Hi m wi l l I pi l e t he curses on; Hi m wi l l I hand, or saw hi m t hrough, Or burn wi t h f i re, who
doubt s upon Thi s doct ri ne, hot ot ot on spel l s The hol y word ot ot ot on. " The poor Si r Pal amedes quel l s Hi s ri si ng
spl een; he doubt s hi s ears. "How may I cat ch t he Beast ?" he yel l s. The smi l i ng sage rebukes hi s f ears: "Ti s
easi er t han al l , Si r Kni ght ! By si mpl e f ai t h t he Beast appears. {46}
By si mpl e f ai t h, not heat hen mi ght , Cat ch hi m, and t hus achi eve t he quest ! " Then quot h t hat mel anchol y
wi ght : "I wi l l bel i eve! " The hermi t bl essed Hi s convert : on t he hori zon Appears t he Beast . "To t hee t he rest ! "
He cri es, t o urge t he good kni ght on. But no! Si r Pal amedes gri ps The hermi t by t he woebegone Bear of hi m;
t hen away he ri ps, Wood as a mani ac, t o t he West , Where down t he sun i n spl endour sl i ps, And where t he
quarry of t he quest Cant ers. They run l i ke hi ppogri f f s! Li ke men pursued, or swi ne possessed, Over t he di zzy
Cret an cl i f f s t hey smash. And l o! i t comes t o pass He sees i n no di m hi erogl yphs, In knowl edge easy t o amass,
Thi s hermi t (whi l e he drew hi s breat h) Once dead i s l i ke a mangy ass. Brui sed, broken, but not bound t o
deat h, He cal l s some passi ng f i shermen To bear hi m. Present l y he sai t h: {47}
"Bear me t o some remot est den To Heal me of my i l l s i mmense; For now hat h nei t her mi ght nor sense Si r
Pal amede t he Saracen. " {48}
XVIII SIP PALAhEDES f or a space Del i berat es on hi s rust i c bed. "I l ack t he quarrys awf ul pace" (Quod he); "my
l i mbs are sl ack as l ead. " So, as he get s hi s st rengt h, he seeks The cast l es where t he pennons red Of dawn
i l l ume t hei r dreadf ul peaks. There dragons st ret ch t hei r horri d coi l s Adown t he wi ndi ng cl ef t s and creeks:
From hi deous mout hs t hei r venom boi l s. But Pal amede t hei r f ury scapes, Thei r mal i ce by hi s val our f oi l s,
Cl i mbi ng al of t by bays and capes Of rock and i ce, encount ers of t The l oat hl y spri t es, t he mi st y shapes Of
monst er brut es t hat l urk al of t . O! wel l he works: hi s yout h ret urns Hi s heart revi ves: despai r i s dof f ed {49}
And eager hope i n bri l l i ance burns Wi t hi n t he ci rcl e of hi s brows As f ast he f l i es, t he snow he spurns. Ah!
what a yout h and st rengt h he vows To t he achi evement of t he quest ! And now t he horri d hei ght al l ows Hi s
mast ery: day by day f rom crest To crest he hast ens: f ast er f l y Hi s f eet : hi s body knows not rest , Unt i l wi t h
magi c speed t hey pl y Li ke oars t he snowy waves, surpass In one days march t he gal axy Of Europes st arry
mount ai n mass. "Now, " quot h he, "l et me f i nd t he quest ! " The Beast st ert e up. Si r Kni ght , Al as! Day af t er day
t hey race, nor rest Ti l l seven days were f ai rl y done. Then dot h t he Quest i ng Marvel crest The ri dge: t he
kni ght i s wel l out run. Now, addi ng l aught er t o i t s di n, Li ke some l ewd comet at t he sun, Around t he pant i ng
pal adi n It runs wi t h al l i t s spl endi d speed. Yet , knowi ng t hat he may not wi n, {50}
He st rai ns and st ri ves i n very deed, So t hat at l ast a boul der t ri ps The hero, t hat he burst s a-bl eed, And
sangui ne f rom hi s bearded l i ps The t orrent of hi s bei ng breaks. The Beast i s gone: t he hero sl i ps Down t o t he
val l ey: he f orsakes The f ond i dea (every bone In al l hi s body burns and aches) By speed t o at t ai n t he dear
Unknown, By f orce t o achi eve t he great Beyond. Yet f rom t hat brai n may spri ng f ul l -grown Anot her f ol l y j ust
as f ond. {51}
XIX THE knight hat h f ound a naked gi rl Among t he dunes of Bret on sand. She spi nnet h i n a myst i c whi rl , And
hat h a bagpi pe i n her hand, Wheref rom she drawet h di smal groans The whi l e her maddeni ng saraband She
pl i es, and wi t h di scordant t ones Desi res a cert ai n devi l -grace. She gat hers wreckage-wood, and bones Of
seamen, j et sam of t he pl ace, And bui l ds t herewi t h a f i re, wherei n She dances, boundi ng i nt o space Li ke an
i nf l at ed asss ski n. She raves, and reel s, and yel l s, and whi rl s So t hat t he t ears of t oi l begi n To dew her
breast s wi t h ardent pearl s. Nor dot h she mi t i gat e her dance, The bagpi pe ever l ouder ski rl s, {52}
Unt i l t he shapes of deat h advance And gat her round her, shri eki ng l oud And wai l i ng oer t he wi de expanse Of
sand, t he gi bberi ng, mewi ng crowd. Li ke cat s, and apes, t hey gat her cl ose, Ti l l , l i ke t he horror of a cl oud
Wrappi ng t he f l ami ng sun wi t h rose, They hi de her f rom t he heros si ght . Then dot h he must t hereat morose,
When i n one wi l d cascade of l i ght The pageant breaks, and t hunder roars: Down f l aps t he l oat hl y wi ng of
ni ght . He sees t he l onel y Bret on shores Lapped i n t he l evi n: t hen hi s eyes See how she shri eki ng soars and
soars Int o t he st arl ess, st ormy ski es. Wel l ! wel l ! t hi s l esson wi l l he l earn, How musi cs mel l owi ng art i f i ce May
bi d t he breast of nat ure burn And cal l t he gods f rom st ar and shri ne. So now hi s soundi ng courses t urn To f i nd
an i nst rument di vi ne Whereon he may pursue hi s quest . How gl i t t er green hi s gl eef ul eyne {53}
When, where t he mi ce and l i ce i nf est A f i l t hy hovel , l i es a wench Beari ng a baby at her breast , Drunk and
debauched, one sol i d st ench, But carryi ng a si l ver l ut e. Boardet h her, nor dot h baul k nor bl ench, And l ong
abi det h brut e by brut e Ami d t he unsavoury denzens, Unt i l hi s mel odi es uproot The oaks, l ure l i ons f rom t hei r
dens, Turn ri vers back, and st i l l t he spl een Of serpent s and of Saracens. Thus t hen equi pped, he qui t s t he
quean, And i n a ci t y f ai r and wi de Cal l s up wi t h musi c wi l d and keen The Quest i ng Marvel t o hi s si de. Then do
t he sport f ul ci t y f ol k About hi s l onel y st ance abi de: Maki ng t hei r hol i day, t hey j oke The mel anchol y ass: t hey
t hrow Thei r cl at t eri ng coppers i n hi s poke. so day and ni ght t hey come and go, But never comes t he Quest i ng
Beast , Nor dot h t hat l aughi ng peopl e know {54}
How agonys unl eaveni ng yeast St i rs Pal amede. Anon t hey t i re, And f ol l ow an Egypt i an pri est Who boast s hi m
mast er of t he f i re To draw down l i ght ni ng, and i nvoke The gods upon a sandal pyre, And bri ng up devi l s i n t he
smoke. Si r Pal amede i s al l al one, Wrapped i n hi s mi sery l i ke a cl oak, Despai ri ng now t o charm t he Unknown.
So arms and horse he t akes agai n. Si r Pal amede hat h overt hrown The j est ers. Now t he count ry men, St upi dl y
st ari ng, see at noon Si r Pal amede t he Saracen A-ri di ng l i ke an harvest moon In si l ver arms, wi t h gl i t t eri ng
l ance, Wi t h pl um?d hel m, and wi ng?d shoon, At hwart t he admi ri ng l and of France. {55}
XX SIP PALAhEDE hat reasoned out Beyond t he shadow of a doubt That t hi s hi s Quest i ng Beast i s one; For
were i t Beast s, he must suppose An earl i er Beast t o f at her t hose. So al l t he t racks of herds t hat run Int o t he
f orest he di scards, And onl y t urns hi s dark regards On si ngl e pri nt s, on marks uni que. Si r Pal amede dot h now
at t ai n Unt o a wi de and grassy pl ai n, Whereon he spi es t he t hi ng t o seek. Thereat he put t et h spur t o horse
And runnet h hi m a random course, The Beast a-quest i ng aye bef ore. But prai se t o good Si r Pal amede! Hat h
got t en hi m a f ai ry st eed Al i ke f or venery and f or war, So t hat i n l i t t l e drawi ng near The quarry, l i f t et h up hi s
spear To run hi m of hi s mal i ce t hrough. {56}
Wi t h t hat t he Beast hopes no escape, Di ssol vet h al l hi s l ordl y shape, Spl i t t et h hi m sudden i nt o t wo. Si r
Pal amede i n f ury runs Unt o t he nearer beast , t hat shuns The shock, and spl i t s, and spl i t s agai n, Unt i l t he
baf f l ed warri or sees A myri ad myri ad swarms of t hese A-quest i ng over al l t he pl ai n. The good kni ght rei ns hi s
charger i n. "Now, by t he f ai t h of Pal adi n! The subt l e quest at l ast I hen. " Ri des of f t he Camel ot t o pl i ght The
f ai t h of many a nobl e kni ght , Si r Pal amede t he Saracen. {57}
XXI Now dot h Si r Pal amede advance The l ord of many a sword and l ance. i n merri e Engl ands summer sun
Thei r shi el ds and arms a-gl i t t eri ng gl ance And l augh upon t he mossy mead. Now wi nds t he horn of Pal amede,
As f ar upon t he hori zon He spi es t he Quest i ng Beast a-f eed. Wi t h l oyal craf t and honest gui l e They spread
t hei r ranks f or many a mi l e. f or when t he Beast hat heard t he horn he pract i set h hi s anci ent wi l e, And many
a myri ad beast s i nvade The st i l l ness of t hat arm?d gl ade. Now every kni ght t o rest hat h borne Hi s l ance, and
gi ven t he accol ade, And run upon a beast : but t hey Sl i p f rom t he f at al poi nt away And course about ,
conf usi ng al l That gal l ant concourse al l t he day, {58}
Leadi ng t hem ever t o a val e Wi t h hugeous cry and monst er wai l . t hen suddenl y t hei r voi ces f al l , And i n t he
parks resoundi ng pal e Onl y t he cl amour of t he chase i s heard: oh! t o t he cent re race The unsuspi ci ous
kni ght s: but he The Quest i ng Beast hi s f ormer f ace Of uni t y resumes: t he course Of warri ors shocks wi t h man
and horse. In mut ual madness swi f t t o see They shat t er wi t h unbri dl ed f orce One on anot her: down t hey go
Swi f t i n st upendous overt hrow. Out sword! out l ance! Curi ass and hel m Spl i nt er beneat h t he kni ght l y bl ow.
t hey st orm, t hey charge, t hey hack and hew, They rush and wheel t he press at hrough. The wei ght , t he
murder, over whel m One, t wo, and al l . Nor si l ence knew Hi s empi re t i l l Si r Pal amede (The l ast ) upon hi s f ai ry
st eed St ruck down hi s brot her; t hen at once Fel l si l ence on t he bl oody mead, {59}
Unt i l t he quest i ng rose agai n. For t here, on t hat ensangui ne pl ai n St andet h a-l aughi ng at t he dunce The
si ngl e Beast t hey had not sl ai n. There, wi t h hi s f ri ends and f ol l owers dead, Hi s brot her smi t t en t hrough t he
head, Hi msel f sore wounded i n t he t hi gh, Weepet h upon t he deed of dread, Al one among hi s murdered men,
The champi on f ool , as f ool s were t hen, Ut t erl y broken, l i ke t o di e, Si r Pal amede t he Saracen. {60}
XXII SIP PALAhEDE hi s wi t s dot h ral l y, Nursi ng hi s wound besi de a l ake Wi t hi n an admi rabl e val l ey, Whose
wal l s t hei r t hi rst on heaven sl ake, And i n t he moonl i ght myst i cal Thei r count l ess spears of si l ver shake. Thus
reasons he: "In each and al l Fyt t es of t hi s quest t he quarrys t rack Is wondrous geomet ri cal . In spi re and whorl
t wi st s out and back The hart wi t h f ai r symmet ri c l i ne. And l o! t he grai n of wi t I l ack - Thi s Beast i s Mast er of
Desi gn. So st udyi ng each t wi st ed pri nt In t hi s mi ri f i c mi nd of mi ne, My heart may happen on a hi nt . " Thus as
t he seeker af t er gol d Eagerl y chases grai n or gl i nt , {61}
The kni ght at l ast wi ns t o behol d The f ul l concept i on. Breat hl ess-bl ue The f ai r l akes mi rror cryst al -col d
Wherei n he gazes, keen t o vi ew The vast Desi gn t herei n, t o chase The Beast t o hi s l ast avenue. t hen - O t hou
gosl i ng scant of grace! The dream breaks, and Si r Pal amede Wakes t o t he gl ass of hi s f ool s f ace! "Ah,
sdeat h! " (quod he), "by t hought and deed Thi s brut e f or ever mocket h me. The l ance i s made a broken reed,
The brai n i s but a barren t ree - For al l t he beaut i f ul Desi gn Is but mi ne own geomet ry! " Wi t h t hat hi s wrat h
brake out l i ke wi ne. He pl unged hi s body i n, and shat t ered The whol e del usi on asi ni ne. Al l t he f al se wat er-
nymphs t hat f l at t ered He ki l l ed wi t h hi s resoundi ng curse - O f ool of God! as i f i t mat t ered! So, not hi ng
bet t er, rat her worse, Out of t he bl ue bl i ss of t he pool Came dri ppi ng t hat i nvet erat e f ool ! {62}
XXIII NDW st i l l he hol det h argument : "So grand a Beast must house hi m wel l ; hence, now beseemet h me
f requent Cat hedral , pal ace, ci t adel . " So, ri di ng f ast among t he f l owers Far of f , a Got hi c spi re he spi es, That
l i ke a gl adi at or t owers It s spear-sharp spl endour t o t he ski es. The peopl e cl ust er round, accl ai m: "Si r Kni ght ,
good kni ght , t hy quest i s won. Here dwel l s t he Beast i n ori ent f l ame, Spri ng-sweet , and swi f t er t han t he sun! "
Si r Pal amede t he Saracen Spurs t o t he shri ne, af i re t o wi n The end; and al l t he urgent men Throng wi t h hi m
el oquent l y i n. Si r Pal amede hi s vi zor drops; He l ays hi s l oyal l ance i n rest ; He dri ves t he rowel s home - he
st ops! Faugh! but a bl ack-mout hed money-chest ! {63}
He t urns - t he f ri endl y f ol k are gone, gone wi t h hi s sumpt er-mul es and t rai n Beyond t he i nf i ni t e hori zon Of al l
he hopes t o see agai n! Hi s brai n bef ool ed, hi s pocket pi cked - How t he Beast cachi nnat ed t hen, Far f rom t hat
dol ef ul derel i ct Si r Pal amede t he Saracen! {64}
XXIV "DNE t hi ng at l east " (quot h Pal amede), "Beyond di sput e my soul can see: Thi s Quest i ng Beast t hat mocks
my need Dwel l et h i n deep obscuri t y. " So del vet h he a darksome hol e Wi t hi n t he bowel s of Et na dense,
Cl osi ng t he harbour of hi s soul To al l t he pi rat e-shi ps of sense. And now t he quest i ng of t he Beast Rol l s i n hi s
very sel f , and hi gh Leaps hi s whi l e heart i n f i ery f east On t he expect ed ecst asy. But echoi ng f rom t he cent ral
roar Reverberat es many a mournf ul moan, And shapes more myst i c t han bef ore Baf f l e i t s f orml ess monot one!
Ah! mocks hi m many a myri ad vi si on, Warri ng wi t hi n hi m mast erl ess, Turni ng devot i on t o deri si on, Beat i t ude
t o beast l i ness. {65}
They swarm, t hey grow, t hey mul t i pl y; The St rong kni ght s brai n goes al l a-swi m, Paced by t hat maddeni ng
mi nst rel sy, Those dog-l i ke demons hunt i ng hi m. The l ast bar breaks; t he st eel wi l l snaps; The bl ack hordes
ri ot i n hi s brai n; A t housand t hreat eni ng t hunder-cl aps Smi t e hi m - i nsane - i nsane - i nsane! Hi s muscl es roar
wi t h sensel ess rage; The pal e kni ght st aggers, deat hl y si ck; Reel s t o t he l i ght t hat sorry sage, Si r Pal amede
t he Lunat i ck. {66}
XXV A SAVACE sea wi t hout a sai l , Grey gul phs and green a-gl i t t eri ng, Rare snow t hat f l oat s - a vest al vei l
Upon t he f orehead of t he spri ng. Here i n a pl ungi ng gal l eon Si r Pal amede, a l i st l ess drone, Dri f t s desperat el y
on - and on - And on - wi t h heart and eyes of st one. The deep-scarred brai n of hi m i s heal ed Wi t h wi nd and
sea and st ar and sun, The assoi l i ng grace t hat God reveal ed For gree and bount eous beni son. Ah! st i l l he
t rust s t he recreant brai n, Thrown i n a t housand t ourney-j ust s; St i l l he raves on i n reason-st rai n Wi t h
sensel ess "ought s" and f at uous "must s. " "Al l t he del usi ons" (arguet h The ass), "al l uproars, surel y ri se From
t hat curst Me whose name i s Deat h, Whereas t he Quest i ng beast bel i es {67}
The Me wi t h Thou; t hen swi f t t he quest To sl ay t he Me shoul d hook t he Thou. " Wi t h t hat he crossed hi m,
brow and breast , And f l ung hi s body f rom t he prow. An end?Al as! on si l ver sand Open hi s eyes; t he surf -ri ngs
roar. What snort s t here, swi mmi ng f rom t he l and?The Beast t hat brought hi m t o t he shore! "O Beast ! " quot h
purpl e Pal amede, "A monst er st range as Thou am I. I coul d not l i ve bef ore, i ndeed; And not I cannot even
di e! Who chose me, of t he Tabl e Round By mi racl e accl ai med t he chi ef ?Here, wat erl ogged and muscl e-
bound, Marooned upon a coral reef ! " {68}
XXVI SIP PALAhEDE t he Saracen Hat h got t en hi m a swi f t canoe, Paddl ed by st al wart Sout h Sea men. They
cl eave t he oi l y breast s of bl ue, St rai ni ng t oward t he west eri ng di sk Of t he t al l sun; t hey bat t l e t hrough Those
weary days; t he wi nd i s bri sk; The st ars are cl ear; t he moon i s hi gh. Now, even as a whi t e basi l i sk That
sl ayet h al l men wi t h hi s eye, St ands up bef ore t hem t aperi ng The cone of speechl ess sanct i t y. Up, up i t s
sl opes t he pi l gri ms swi ng, Chant i ng t hei r pagan gramarye Unt o t he dread vol cano-ki ng. "Now, t hen, by
Goddes reed! " quod he, "Behol d t he secret of my quest In t hi s f ar-f amed st abi l i t y! {69}
For al l t hese Payni m kni ght s may rest In t he bl ack bl i ss t hey st ruggl e t o. " But f rom t he eart hs f ul l -f l owered
breast Brake t he bl i nd roar of eart hquake t hrough, Teari ng t he bel l y of i t s mot her, Engul phi ng al l t hat
heat hen crew, That cri ed and cursed on one anot her. Aghast he st andet h, Pal amede! For t wi nned wi t h
Eart hquake l aughs her brot her The Quest i ng Beast . As Goddes reed Sweat s bl ood f or si n, so now t he heart Of
t he good kni ght begi ns t o bl eed. Of al l t he rui nous shaf t s t hat dart Wi t hi n hi s l i ver, t hi s hat h pl i ed The most
i nt ol erabl e smart . "By Goddes wounds! " t he good kni ght cri ed, "What i s t hi s quest , grown dai l y daf t er, Where
not hi ng - not hi ng - may abi de?West ward! " They f l y, but rol l i ng af t er Echoes t he Beast s unsat i sf i ed And
i next i ngui shabl e l aught er! {70}
XXVII SIP PALAhEDE goes achi ng on (Pox of despai rs dread i nt erdi ct ! ) Aye t o t he west ern hori zon, St i l l
medi t at i ng, sharp and st ri ct , Upon t he changes of t he eart h, It s t owers and t empl es derel i ct , The ready rui n
of i t s mi rt h, The f l owers, t he f rui t s, t he l eaves t hat f al l , The j oy of l i f e, i t s growi ng gi rt h - And not hi ng as t he
end of al l . Yea, even as t he Yang-t ze rol l ed It s rapi ds past hi m, so t he wal l Of t hi ngs brake down; hi s eyes
behol d The mi ght y Beast serenel y couched Upon i t s breast of burni shed gol d. "Ah! by Chri st s bl ood! " (hi s soul
avouched), "Not hi ng but change (but change! ) abi des. Deat h l urks, a l eopard curl ed and crouched, {71}
In al l t he seasons and t he t i des. But ah! t he more i t changed and changed" - (The good kni ght l aughed t o spl i t
hi s si des! ) "What ?Is t he soul of t hi ngs deranged?The more i t changed, and ri ppl ed t hrough It s changes, and
st i l l changed, and changed, The l i ker t o i t sel f i t grew. Bear me, " he cri ed, "t o purge my bi l e To t he ol d l and
of Hormakhu, That I may si t and curse awhi l e At al l t hese f ol l i es f ond t hat pen My quest about - on, on t o
Ni l e! Tread t enderl y, my merry men! For not hi ng i s so voi d and vi l e As Pal amede t he Saracen. " {72}
XXVIII SIP PALAhEDE t he Saracen Hat h cl ad hi m i n a sabl e robe; Hat h curses, wri t by hol y men From al l t he
gardens of t he gl obe. He st andet h at an al t ar-st one; The bl ood dri ps f rom t he sl ai n babes t hroat ; Hi s chant
rol l s i n a magi ck moan; Hi s head bows t o t he crown?d goat . Hi s wand makes curves and spi res i n ai r; The
smoke of i ncense curl s and qui vers; Hi s eyes f i x i n a gl ass-col d st are: The l and of Egypt rocks and shi vers! "Lo!
by t hy Gods, O God, I vow To burn t he aut hent i c bones and bl ood Of curst Osi ri s even now To t he dark Ni l es
upsurgi ng f l ood! I cast t hee down, oh crowned and t hroned! To bl ack Amennt i s voi d prof ane. Unt i l mi ne
anger be at oned Thou shal t not ever ri se agai n. " {73}
Wi t h f i rm red l i ps and square bl ack beard, Osi ri s i n hi s st rengt h appeared. He made t he si gn t hat savet h men
On Pal amede t he Saracen. Hat h hushed hi s conj urat i on gri m: The curse comes back t o sl eep wi t h hi m. Hat h
f al l en hi msel f t o t hat prof ane Whence none mi ght ever ri se agai n. Dread t ort ure racks hi m; al l hi s bones Get
voi ce t o ut t er f ort h hi s groans. The very poi son of hi s bl ood Joi ns i n t hat crys soul -shaki ng f l ood. For many a
chi l i ad count ed wel l Hi s soul st ayed i n i t s proper Hel l . Then, when Si r Pal amedes came Back t o hi msel f , t he
shri ne was dark. Col d was t he i ncense, dead t he f l ame; The sl ai n babe l ay t here bl ack and st ark. What of t he
Beast ?What of t he quest ?More bl i nd t he quest , t he Beast more di m. Even now i t s l aught er i s suppressed,
Whi l e hi s own demons mock at hi m! {74}
O t hou most desperat e dupe t hat Hel l s Mal i ce can make of mort al men! Meddl e no more wi t h magi ck spel l s,
Si r Pal amede t he Saracen! {75}
XXIX HA! but t he good kni ght , st ri di ng f ort h From Set s abomi nabl e shri ne, Pursues t he quest wi t h bi t t er
wrat h, So t hat hi s words f l ow out l i ke wi ne. And l o! t he soul t hat hearet h t hem Is st rai ght way heal ed of
suf f eri ng. Hi s f ame runs t hrough t he l and of Khem: They f l ock, t he peasant and t he ki ng. There he works
many a mi racl e: The bl i nd see, and t he cri ppl es wal k; Lepers grow cl ean; si ck f ol k grow wel l ; The deaf men
hear, t he dumb men t al k. He cast s out devi l s wi t h a word; Ci rcl et h hi s wand, and dead men ri se. No such a
wonder hat h been heard Si nce Chri st our Gods sweet sacri f i ce. "Now, by t he gl ad bl ood of our Lord! " Quot h
Pal amede, "my heart i s l i ght . I am t he chosen harpsi chord Whereon God pl ayet h; t he perf ect kni ght , {76}
The sai nt of Mary" - t here he st ayed, For out of Memnons si ngi ng st one So f i erce a quest i ng barked and
brayed, It t urned hi s l aught er t o a groan. Hi s vow f orgot , hi s t ask undone, Hi s soul whi pped i n Gods bi t t er
school ! (He moaned a mi ght y mal i son! ) The perf ect kni ght ?The perf ect f ool ! "Now, by Gods wounds! " quot h
he, "my st rengt h Is burnt out t o a pest of pai ns. Let me f l i ng of f my curse at l engt h In ol d Chal deas st arry
pl ai ns! Thou bl ess?d Jesus, f oul l y nai l ed Unt o t he cruel Cal vary t ree, Look on my soul s poor f ort assai l ed By
al l t he host s of devi l ry! Is t here no medi ci ne but deat h That shal l avai l me i n my pl ace, That I may know t he
Beaut eous Breat h And t ast e t he Goodl y Gi f t of Grace?Keep Thou yet f i rm t hi s t rembl i ng l eaf My soul , dear
God Who di ed f or men; Yea! f or t hat si nner-soul t he chi ef , Si r Pal amede t he Saracen! " {77}
XXX STAPPED i s t he bl ackness of t he sky; Wi de i s t he sweep of t he col d pl ai n Where good Si r Pal amede dot h
l i e, Keen on t he Beast -sl ot once agai n. Al l day he rode; al l ni ght he l ay Wi t h eyes wi de open t o t he st ars,
Seeki ng i n many a secret way The key t o unl ock hi s pri son bars. Beneat h hi m, hark! t he marvel sounds! The
Beast t hat quest et h horri bl y. As i f a t hi rt y coupl e hounds Are i n hi s bel l y quest et h he. Beneat h hi m?Hearet h
he ari ght ?He l eaps t osf eet - a wonder shews: St eep di ps a st ai rway f rom t he l i ght To what obscuri t y God
knows. St i l l never a t remor shakes hi s soul (God prai se t hee, kni ght of adamant ! ); He pl ungers t o t hat
gruesome goal Fi rm as an ol d bul l -el ephant ! {78}
The broad st ai r wi nds; he f ol l ows i t ; Dark i s t he way; t he ai r i s bl i nd; Bl ack, bl ack t he bl ackness of t he pi t ,
The l i ght l ong bl ot t ed out behi nd! Hi s sword sweeps out ; hi s keen gl ance peers For some shape gl i mmeri ng
t hrough t he gl oom: Naught , naught i n al l t hat voi d appears; More st i l l , more si l ent t han t he t omb! Ye now t he
good kni ght i s aware Of some bl ack f orce, of some dread t hrone, Wai t i ng beneat h t hat awf ul st ai r, Beneat h
t hat pi t of sl i ppery st one. Yea! t hough he sees not anyt hi ng, Nor hears, hi s subt l e sense i s ware That ,
l ackeyed by t he devi l -ki ng, The Beast - t he Quest i ng Beast - i s t here! So t hough hi s heart beat s cl ose wi t h
f ear, Though horror gri ps hi s t hroat , he goes, Goes on t o meet i t , spear t o spear, As good kni ght shoul d, t o
f ace hi s f oes. Nay! but t he end i s come. Bl ack eart h Bel ches t hat peerl ess Pal adi n Up f rom her gul phs -
unt i mel y bi rt h! - Her horror coul d not hol d hi m i n! {79}
Whi t e as a corpse, t he hero hai l s The dawn, t hat ni ght of f ear st i l l shaki ng Hi s body. Al l deat hs doubt assai l s
Hi m. Was i t sl eep or was i t waki ng?"By God, I care not , I! " (quod he). "Or wake or sl eep, or l i ve or dead, I wi l l
pursue t hi s myst ery. So hel p me Grace of Godl i head! " Ay! wi t h t hy wast ed l i mbs pursue That subt l e Beast
home t o hi s den! Who know but t hou mayst wi n at hrough, Si r Pal amede t he Saracen?{80}
XXXI FPDh Gods sweet ai r Si r Pal amede Hat h come unt o a demon bog, A ci t y where but rat s may breed In
sewer-st ench and f et i d f og. Wi t hi n i t s heart pal e phant oms crawl . Breat hl ess wi t h f ool i sh hast e t hey j og And
j ost l e, al l f or naught ! They scrawl Vai n t hi ngs al l ni ght t hat t hey di sown Ere day. They cal l and bawl and
squal l Hoarse cri es; t hey moan, t hey groan. A st one Hat h bet t er sense! And t hese among A cabbage-headed
god t hey own, Wi t h wanderi ng eye and j abberi ng t ongue. He, rot t i ng i n t hat gri my sewer And charnel -house
of deat h and dung, Shri eks: "How t he ai r i s sweet and pure! Gi ve me t he ent rai l s of a f rog And I wi l l t each
t hee! Lo! t he l ure {81}
Of l i ght ! How l ucent i s t he f og! How nobl e i s my cabbage-head! How sweet l y f ragrant i s t he bog! "Gods
wounds! " (Si r Pal amedes sai d), "What have I done t o earn t hi s port i on?Must I, t he cl ean kni ght born and bred,
Sup wi t h t hi s f i l t hy t oad-abort i on?" Nat hl ess he st ayed wi t h hi m awhi l e, Lest by di sdai n hi s ment i on t orsi on
Sl i p back, or mi ss t he serene smi l e Shoul d crown hi s quest ; f or (as onesai t h) The unknown may l urk wi t hi n t he
vi l e. So he who sought t he Beaut eous Breat h, Desi red t he Goodl y Gi f t of Grace, Went equal i nt o l i f e and
deat h. But oh! t he f oul ness of hi s f ace! Not here was anyt hi ng of wort h; He t urned hi s back upon t he pl ace,
Sought t he bl ue sky and t he green eart h, Ay! and t he l ust ral sea t o cl eanse That f i l t h t hat st ank about hi s
gi rt h, {82}
The sores and scabs, t he wart s and wens, The namel ess vermi n he had gat hered In t hose i nsuf f erabl e dens,
The f oul di seases he had f at hered. So now t he quest sl i ps f rom hi s brai n: "Fi rst (Chri st ! ) l et me be cl ean
agai n! " {83}
XXXII "HA!" cri es t he kni ght , "may pat i ent t oi l Of brai n di ssol ve t hi s cruel coi l ! In Af ri c t hey t hat chase t he
ost ri ch Cl ot he t hem wi t h f eat hers, subt l y f oi l It s vi gi l ance, come cl ose, t hen dart It s deat h upon i t . Brave my
heart ! Do t hus! " And so t he kni ght di sgui ses Hi msel f , on hands and knees dot h st art Hi s hunt , goes quest i ng up
and down. So i n t he f i el ds t he peasant cl own Fl i es, shri eki ng, f rom t he dreadf ul f i gure. But when he came t o
any t own They caged hi m f or a l unat i c. Quod he: "Woul d God I had t he t ri ck! The beast escaped f rom my
devi ces; I wi l l t he same. The bars are t hi ck, But I am st rong. " He wrenched i n vai n; Then - what i s t hi s?What
wi l d, sharp st rai n Smi t es on t he ai r?The pri son smashes. Hark! t i s t he Quest i ng Beast agai n! {84}
Then as he rushes f ort h t he not e Roars f rom t hat Beast s mal i gnant t hroat Wi t h l aught er, l aught er, l aught er,
l aught er! The wi t s of Pal amedes f l oat In ecst asy of shame and rage. "O Thou! " excl ai ms t he baf f l ed sage;
"How shoul d I mat ch Thee?Yet , I wi l l so, Though Doomi sday devour t he Age. Weepi ng, and beat i ng on hi s
breast , Gnashi ng hi s t eet h, he st i l l conf essed The mi ght of t he dread oat h t hat bound hi m: He woul d not yet
gi ve up t he quest . "Nay! whi l e I am, " quot h he, "t hough Hel l Engul ph me, t hough God mock me wel l , I f ol l ow
as I sware; I f ol l ow, Though i t be unat t ai nabl e. Nay, more! Because I may not wi n, Ist wort h mans work t o
ent er i n! The Inf i ni t e wi t h mi ght y passi on Hat h caught my spi ri t i n a gi n. Come! si nce I may not i mi t at e The
Beast , at l east I work and wai t . We shal l di scover soon or l at e Whi ch i s t he mast er - I or Fat e! " {85}
XXXIII SIP PALAhEDE t he Saracen Hat h passed unt o t he t i del ess sea, That t he keen whi sper of t he wi nd May
bri ng hi m t hat whi ch never men Knew - on t he quest , t he quest , ri des he! So l ong t o seek, so f ar t o f i nd! So
weary was t he kni ght , hi s l i mbs Were sl ack as new-sl ai n doves; hi s knees No l onger gri pped t he charger rude.
Li st l ess, he aches; hi s purpose swi ms Exhaust ed i n t he oi l y seas Of l axi t y and l assi t ude. The soul subsi des; i t s
seri ous mot i on St i l l t hrobs; by habi t , not by wi l l . And al l hi s l ust t o wi n t he quest Is but a passi ve-mi l d
devot i on. (Ay! soon t he bl ood shal l run ri ght chi l l - And i s not deat h t he Lord of Rest ?) There as he basks upon
t he cl i f f He yearns t oward t he Beast ; hi s eyes Are moi st wi t h l ove; hi s l i ps are f ai n {86}
To breat he f ond prayers; and (marry! ) i f Mans soul were measured by hi s si ghs He need not l i nger t o at t ai n.
Nay! whi l e t he Beast squat s t here, above Hi m, smi l i ng on hi m; as he vows Wonderf ul deeds and f rui t l ess
f l owers, He grows so maudl i n i n hi s l ove That even t he knaves of hi s own house Mock at hi m i n t hei r merry
hours. "Gods deat h! " raged Pal amede, not wrot h But i rri t at ed, "l augh ye so?Am I a j ape f or scul l i ons?" Hi s
curse came i n a f l aky f rot h. He sei zed a cl ub, wi t h bl ow on bl ow Breaki ng t he knaves unreverent sconce!
"Thou mock t he Quest i ng Beast I chase, The Quest i ng Beast I l ove?Ods wounds! " Then sudden f rom t he sl ave
t here brake A cachi nnat i on scant of grace, As i f a t hi rt y coupl e hounds Were i n hi s bel l y! Kni ght , awake! Ah!
wel l he woke! Hi s l ove an scorn Grappl e i n deat h-t hroe at hi s t hroat . "Lead me away" (quot h he), "my men!
Woe, woe i s me was ever born So bl i nd a bat , so gross a goat , As Pal amede t he Saracen! " {87}
XXXIV SIP PALAhEDE t he Saracen Hat h hi d hi m i n an hermi t s cel l Upon an i sl and i n t he f en Of t hat l one l and
where Drui ds dwel l . There came an eagl e f rom t he hei ght And bade hi m mount . From dal e t o del l They sank
and soared. Last t o t he l i ght Of t he great sun hi msel f t hey f l ew, Pi erci ng t he borders of t he ni ght , Passi ng t he
i rremeabl e bl ue. Far i nt o space beyond t he st ars At l ast t hey came. And t here he knew Al l t he bl i nd
reasonabl e bars Broken, and al l t he emot i ons st i l l ed, And al l t he st ai ns and al l t he scars Lef t hi m; sop l i ke a
chi l d he t hri l l ed Wi t h ut most knowl edge; al l hi s soul , Wi t h perf ect sense and si ght f ul f i l l ed, {88}
Touched t he ext reme, t he gi ant goal ! Yea! al l t hi ngs i n t hat hour t ranscended, Al l power i n hi s subl i me
cont rol , Al l f el t , al l t hought , al l comprehended - "How i s i t , t hen, t he quest " (he sai t h) "Is not - at l ast ! -
achi eved and ended?Why t ast e I not t he Bount eous Breat h, Recei ve t he Goodl y Gi f t of Grace?Now, ki nd
ki ng-eagl e (by Gods deat h! ), Rest ore me t o mi ne anci ent pl ace! I am advant aged not hi ng t hen! " Then
swooped he f rom t he Byss of Space, And set t he kni ght ami d t he f en. "God! " quot h Si r Pal amede, "t hat I Who
have won ni ne shoul d f ai l at t en! I set my al l upon t he di e: There i s no f urt her t ri ck t o t ry. Cal l t hri ce
accurs?d above men Si r Pal amede t he Saracen! " {89}
XXXV "YEA!" quot h t he kni ght , "I rede t he spel l . Thi s Beast i s t he Unknowabl e. I seek i n Heaven, I seek i n
Hel l ; Ever he mocks me. Yet , met hi nks, I have t he ri ddl e of t he Sphi nx. For were I keener t han t he l ynx I
shoul d not see wi t hi n my mi nd One t hought t hat i s not i n i t s ki nd In soot h That Beast t hat l urks behi nd: And
i n my quest hi s quest i ng seems The aut hent i c echo of my dreams, The proper t hesi s of my t hemes! I know
hi m?St i l l he answers: No! I know hi m not ?Maybe - and l o! He i s t he one sol e t hi ng I know! Nay! who knows
not i s di f f erent From hi m t hat knows. Then be cont ent ; Thou canst not al t er t he event ! {90}
Ah! what concl usi on subt l y draws From out t hi s chaos of mad l aws?An I, t he ef f ect , as I, t he cause?Nay, t he
brai n reel s beneat h i t s swel l Of pompous t hought s. Enough t o t el l That He i s known Unknowabl e! " Thus di d
t hat kni ght l y Saracen In Cant abri gs mi asmal f en Lect ure t o many l earned men. So cl amorous was t hei r
appl ause - "Hi s mi nd" (sai d t hey) "i s f ree of f l aws: The Vei l of God i s t hi n as gauze! " - That al most t hey had
dul l ed or drowned The l aught er (i n i t s bel l y bound) Of t hat dread Beast he had not f ound. Nat hl ess - al t hough
he woul d away - They f orced t he l ack-l uck kni ght t o st ay And l ect ure many a weary day. Veri l y, al most he
had caught The i nf ect i on of t hei r cost i ve t hought , And brought hi s l oyal quest t o naught . It was by ni ght t hat
Pal amede Ran f rom t hat mi l dewed, moul dy breed, Mot h-eat hen dul l ards run t o seed! {91} How weak Si r
Pal amedes grows! We hear no more of bout s and bl ows! Hi s weapons are hi s t en good t oes! He t hat was
Art hurs peer, good kni ght Proven i n many a f ought en f i ght , Fl ees l i ke a f el on i n t he ni ght ! Ay! t hi s t hy quest
i s past t he ken Of t hee and of al l mort al men, Si r Pal amede t he Saracen! {92}
XXXVI DFT, as Si r Pal amedes went Upon t he quest , he was aware Of some vast shadow subt l y bent Wi t h hi s
own shadow i n t he ai r. It had no shape, no voi ce had i t Wherewi t h t o daunt t he eye or ear; Yet al l t he horror
of t he pi t Cl ad i t wi t h al l t he arms of f ear. Moreover, t hough he sought t o scan Some f eat ure, t hough he
l i st ened l ong, No shape of God or f i end or man, No whi sper, groan, shri ek, scream, or song Gave hi m t o know
i t . Now i t chanced One day Si r Pal amedes rode Through a great wood whose l eaf age danced In t he t hi n
sunl i ght as i t f l owed From heaven. He hal t ed i n a gl ade, Bade hi s horse crop t he t ender grass; Put of f hi s
armour, sof t l y l ai d Hi msel f t o sl eep t i l l noon shoul d pass. {93}
He woke. Bef ore hi m st ands and gri ns A mot l ey hunchback. "Knave! " quot h he, "Hast seen t he Beast ?The
quest t hat wi ns The l of t i est pri ze of chi val ry?" Si r Kni ght , " he answers, "hast t hou seen Aught of t hat Beast ?
How knowest t hou, t hen, That i t i s ever or hat h been, Si r Pal amede t he Saracen?" Si r Pal amede was wel l
awake. "Nay! I del i berat e deep and l ong, Yet f i nd no answer f i t t o make To t hee. The weak beat s down t he
st rong; The f ool s cap shames t he hel m. But t hou! I know t hee f or t he shade t hat haunt s My way, set s shame
upon my brow, My purpose di ms, my courage daunt s. Then, si nce t he t hi nker must be dumb, At l east t he
kni ght may kni ght l y act : The wi sest monk i n Chri st endom May have hi s skul l broke by a f act . " Wi t h t hat , as a
snake st ri kes, hi s sword Leapt burni ng t o t he burni ng bl ue; And f el l , one swi f t , assured award, St abbi ng t hat
hunchback t hrough and t hrough. {94}
St rai ght he di ssol ved, a voi cel ess shade. "Or scot ched or sl ai n, " t he kni ght sai d t hen, "What odds?Keep bri ght
and sharp t hy bl ade, Si r Pal amede t he Saracen! " {95}
XXXVII SIP PALAhEDE i s si ck t o deat h! The st ari ng eyen, t he haggard f ace! God grant t o hi m t he Beaut eous
breat h! god send t he Goodl y Gi f t of Grace! There i s a whi t e cave by t he sea Wherei n t he kni ght i s hi d away.
Just ere t he ni ght f al l s, spi et h he The suns l ast shaf t f l i cker ast ray. Al l day i s dark. There, t here he mourns
Hi s wast ed years, hi s purpose f ai nt . A mi l l i on whi ps, a mi l l i on scorns Make t he kni ght f l i nch, and st ai n t he
sai nt . For now! what hat h he l ef t ?He f eeds On l i mpet s and wi l d root s. What odds?There i s no need a mort al
needs Who hat h l oosed mans hope t o grasp at Gods! How hi s head swi ms! At ni ght what st i rs Above t he f ai nt
wash of t he t i de, And rare sea-bi rds whose wi ngi ng whi rrs About t he cl i f f s?Now good bet i de! {96}
God save t hee, woef ul Pal amede! The quest i ng of t he Beast i s l oud Wi t hi n t hy ear. By Goddes reed, t hou has
won t he t i l t f rom al l t he crowd! Wi t hi n t hy proper bowel s i t sounds Mi ght y and musi cal at need, As i f a t hi rt y
coupl e hounds Quest ed wi t hi n t hee, Pal amede! Now, t hen, he grasps t he desperat e t rut h He hat h t oi l ed
t hese many years t o see, Hat h wast ed st rengt h, hat h wast ed yout h --0- He was t he Beast ; t he Beast was he!
He ri ses f rom t he cave of deat h, Runs t o t he sea wi t h shi ni ng f ace To know at l ast t he Bount eous Breat h, To
t ast e t he Goodl y Gi f t of Grace. Ah! Pal amede, t hou has mi st ook! Thou art t he but t of al l conf usi on! Not t o be
wri t t en i n my book Is t hi s most drast i c di si l l usi on! so weak and i l l was he, I doubt i f he mi ght hear t he royal
f east Of l aught er t hat came rol l i ng out Af ar f rom t hat el usi ve Beast . {97}
Yet , t hose whi t e l i ps were snapped, l i ke st eel Upon t he ankl es of a sl ave! That body broken on t he wheel Of
t i me suppressed t he groan i t gave! "Not t here, not here, my quest ! " he cri ed. "Not t hus! Not now! do how and
when Mat t er?I am, and I abi de, Si r Pal amede t he Saracen! " {98}
XXXVIII SIP PALAhEDE of great renown rode t hrough t he l and upon t he quest , Hi s sword l oose and hi s vi zor
down, Hi s buckl er braced, hi s l ance i n rest . Now, t hen, God save t hee, Pal amede! Who courset h yonder on
t he f i el d?Those si l ver arms, t hat sabl e st eed, The sun and rose upon hi s shi el d?The st range kni ght spurs t o
hi m. di sdai n Curl s t hat proud l i p as he upl i f t s Hi s vi zor. "Come, an end! In vai n, Si r Fox, t hy t housand t urns
and shi f t s! " Si r Pal amede was whi t e wi t h f ear. Lord Chri st ! t hose f eat ures were hi s own; Hi s own t hat voi ce so
i cy cl ear That cut s hi m, cut s hi m t o t he bone. "Fal se kni ght ! f al se kni ght ! " t he st ranger cri ed. "Thou bast ard
dog, Si r Pal amede?I am t he good kni ght f ai n t o ri de Upon t he Quest i ng Beast at need. {99}
Thi ef of my arms, my crest , my quest , My name, now meet est t hou t hy shame. See, wi t h t hi s whi p I l ash t hee
back, Back t o t he kennel whence t here came So f al se a hound. " "Good kni ght , i n soot h, " Answered Si r
Pal amede, "not I Presume t o asset t he i dl est t rut h; And here, by t hi s good ear and eye, I grant t hou art Si r
Pal amede. But - t ry t he f i rst and f i nal t est If t hou or I be he. Take heed! " He backed hi s horse, covered hi s
breast , Drove hi s spurs home, and rode upon That kni ght . Hi s l ance-head f ai rl y st ruck The barred st rengt h of
hi s mori on, And rol l ed t he st ranger i n t he muck. "Now, by Gods deat h! " quot h Pal amede, Hi s sword at work,
"I wi l l not l eave So much of t hee as God mi ght f eed Hi s sparrows wi t h. As I bel i eve The sweet Chri st s mercy
shal l avai l , so wi l l I not have aught f or t hee; Si nce every bone of t hee may rai l Agai nst me, cryi ng t reachery.
{100}
Thou hast l i ed. I am t he chosen kni ght To sl ay t he Quest i ng beast f or men; I am t he l oyal son of l i ght , Si r
Pal amede t he Saracen! Thou wast t he subt l est f i end t hat yet hat h crossed my pat h. t o say t hee nay I dare
not , but my sword i s wet Wi t h t hy knaves bl ood, and wi t h t hy cl ay f oul ed! Dost t hou t hi nk t o resurrect ?O
sweet Lord Chri st t hat savest men! From al l such f i ends do t hou prot ect Me, Pal amede t he Saracen! " {101}
XXXIX CPEEN and Greci an i s t he val l ey, Shepherd l ads and shepherd l asses Danci ng i n a ri ng Merri l y and
musi cal l y. How t hei r happi ness surpasses The mere t hri l l of spri ng! "Come" (t hey cry), "Si r Kni ght , put by Al l
t hat wei ght of shi ni ng armour! Heres a posy, heres a garl and, t heres a chai n of dai si es! Heres a charmer!
Theres a charmer! Prai se t he God t hat crazes men, t he God t hat rai ses Al l our l i ves t oe ecst asy! " Si r
Pal amedes was t oo wi se To mock t hei r gent l e wooi ng; He smi l es i nt o t hei r sparkl i ng eyes Whi l e t hey hi s
armour are undoi ng. "For who" (quot h he) "may say t hat t hi s Is not t he myst ery I mi ss?" Soon he i s gat hered i n
t he dance, And smot hered i n t he f l owers. {102}
A boys l augh and a mai dens gl ance Are sweet as paramours! St ay! i s t hee naught some want on wi ght May do
t o exci t e t he gl amoured kni ght ?Yea! t he song t akes a sea-wi l d swel l ; The dance moves i n a myst i c web;
St range l i ght s abound and t erri bl e; The l i f e t hat f l owed i s out at ebb. The l i ght s are gone; t he ni ght i s come;
The l ads and l asses si nk, awai t i ng Some cl i max - oh, how t ense and dumb The expect ant hush i nt oxi cat i ng!
Hush! t he heart s beat ! Across t he moor Some dreadf ul god ri des f ast , be sure! t he l i st eni ng Pal amede bi t es
t hrough hi s t hi n whi t e l i ps - what hoof s are t hose?Are t hey t he Quest ?How st i l l and bl ue The sky i s! Hush -
God knows - God knows! Then on a sudden i n t he mi dst of t hem i s a swart god, f rom hoof t o gi rdl e a goat ,
Upon hi s brow t he t wel ve-st ar di adem And t he Ki ngs Col l ar f ast ened on t hi s t hroat . Thri l l upon t hri l l courset h
t hrough Pal amede. Li f e, l i ve, pure l i f e i s bubbl i ng i n hi s bl ood. Al l yout h comes back, al l st rengt h, al l you
i ndeed Fl ami ng wi t hi n t hat t hrobbi ng spi ri t -f l ood! {103
Yet was hi s heart i mmeasurabl y sad, For t hat no quest i ng i n hi s ear he had. Nay! he saw al l . He saw t he Curse
That wrapped i n rui n t he Worl d pri maeval . He saw t he unborn Uni verse, And al l i t s gods coeval . He saw, and
was, al l t hi ngs at once In Hi m t hat i s; he was t he st ars, The moons, t he met eors, t he suns, Al l i n one net of
t ri une bars; Inext ri cabl y one, i nevi t abl y one, Immeasurabl e, i mmut abl e, i mmense Beyond al l t he wonder t hat
hi s soul had won By sense, i n spi t e of sense, and beyond sense. "Prai se God! " quot h Pal amede, "by t hi s I
at t ai n t he ut t ermost of bl i ss. . . . Gods wounds! but t hat I never sought . The Quest i ng Beast I sware t o at t ai n
And al l t hi s mi racl e i s naught . Of f on my t ravel s once agai n! I keep my yout h regai ned t o f oi l Ol d Ti me t hat
t ook me i n hi s t oi l . I keep my st rengt h regai ned t o chase The beast t hat mocks me now as t hen Dear Chri st ! I
pray Thee of Thy grace Take pi t y on t he f orl orn case Of Pal amede t he Saracen! " {104}
XL SIP PALAhEDE t he Saracen Hat h see t he Al l ; hi s mi nd i s set To pass beyond t hat great Amen. Far hat h he
wandered; st i l l t o f ret Hi s soul agai nst t hat Soul . He breaches The rhododendron f orest -net , Hi s body bl oody
wi t h i t s l eeches. St ernl y he t ravel l et h t he crest Of a great mount ai n, f ar t hat reaches Toward t he Ki ng-
snows; t he rai ns mol est The kni ght , whi t e wast es updri ven of wi nd In sheet s, i n t orrent s, f i end-possessed, Up
f rom t he st eami ng pl ai ns of Ind. They cut hi s f l esh, t hey chi l l hi s bones: Yet he f eel s naught ; hi s mi nd i s
pi nned To t hat one poi nt where al l t he t hrones Joi n t o one l i on-head of rock, Toweri ng above al l crest s and
cones {105}
That crouch l i ke j ackal s. St ress and shock Move Pal amede no more. Li ke f at e He moves wi t h si l ent speed.
They f l ock, The Gods, t o wat ch hi m. Now abat e Hi s pul ses; he t hreads t hrough t he val e, And t urns hi m t o t he
mi ght y gat e, The gl aci er. Oh, t he f l owers t hat scal e t hose sun-ki ssed hei ght s! The snows t hat crown The
quart s ravi nes! The cl ouds t hat vei l The awf ul sl opes! Dear God! l ook down And see t hi s pet t y man move on.
Rel ent l ess as Thi ne own renown, Carel ess of prai se or ori son, Si mpl y det ermi ned. Wi l t t hou l aunch (t hi s
kni ght s presumpt uous head upon) The devast at i ng aval ancehe?He knows t oo much, and cares t oo l i t t l e! Hi s
wound i s more t han Deat h can st aunch. He can avoi d, t hough by one t i t t l e, Thy surest shaf t ! And now t he
kni ght , Breast i ng t he crags, may l augh and whi t t l e Away t he demon-cl ub whose mi ght Threat ened hi m. Now
he l eaves t he spur; And eager, wi t h a boys del i ght , {106}
Treads t he i mpendi ng gl aci er. Now, now he st ri kes t he st eep bl ack i ce That l eads t o t he l ast neck. By Her
That bore t he l ord, by what devi ce May he pass t here?Yet st i l l he moves, Ardent and st eady, as i f t he pri ce
Of deat h were l ess t han l i f e approves, As i f on eagl es wi ngs he mount ed, Or as on angel s wi ngs - or l oves!
So, al l t he j ourney he di scount ed, Hol di ng t he goal . Supreme he st ood Upon t he summi t ; dreams uncount ed,
Worl ds of subl i me beat i t ude! He passed beyond. The Al l he hat h t ouched, And dropped t o vi l e desuet ude.
What l ay beyond?What st ar unsmut ched By bei ng?Hi s poor f i ngers f umbl e, And al l t he Naught t hei r ardour
cl ut ched, Li ke al l t he rest , begi ns t o crumbl e. Where i s t he Beast ?Hi s bl i ss exceeded Al l t hat bards si ng of or
pri est s mumbl e; No man, no God, hat h known what he di d. Onl y t hi s baul ked hi m - t hat he l acked Exact l y t he
one t hi ng he needed. {107}
"Faugh! " cri ed t he kni ght . "Thought , word, and act Conf i rm me. I have proved t he quest Impossi bl e. I break
t he pact . Back t o t he gi l ded hal l s, conf essed A recreant ! Achi eved or not , Thi s t ask hat h earned a f oi son -
rest . In Caerl on and Camel ot Let me embrace my f el l ow-men! To buss t he wenches, pass t he pot , Is now t he
envi abl e l ot Of Pal amede t he Saracen! " {108}
XLI SIP APTHUP si t s agai n at f east Wi t hi n t he hi gh and hol y hal l Of Camel ot . From West t o East The Tabl e
Round hat h burst t he t hral l Of Payni mri e. The goodl i est gree Si t s on t he gay kni ght s, one and al l ; Ti l l Art hur:
"Of your chi val ry, Kni ght s, l et us dri nk t he happi ness Of t he one kni ght we l ack" (quot h he); "For surel y i n
some sore di st ress May be Si r Pal amede. " Then t hey Rose as one man i n gl ad l i esse To honour t hat great
heal t h. "gods way Is not as mans" (quot h Lancel ot ). "Yet , may god send hi m back t hi s day, Hi s quest achi eve,
t o Camel ot ! " "Amen! " t hey cri ed, and rai sed t he bowl ; When - t he wi nd rose, a bl ast as hot {109}
As t he si moom, and f ort h di d rol l A sudden t hunder. St i l l t hey st ood. Then came a bugl e-bl ast . The soul Of
each kni ght st i rred. Wi t h vi gour rude, The bl ast t ore down t he t apest ry That hi d t he door. Al l ashen-hued The
kni ght s l ai d hand t o sword. But he (Si r Pal amedes) i n t he gap Was f ound - God knowet h - bi t t erl y Weepi ng.
Cri ed Art hur: "St range t he hap! My kni ght , my dearest kni ght , my f ri end! What gi f t had Fort une i n her l ap
Li ke t hee?Em, brace me! " "Rat her end Your garment s, i f you l ove me, si re! " (Quod he). "I am come unt o t he
end. Al l mi ne i nt ent and my desi re, My quest , mi ne oat h - al l , al l i s done. Burn t hem wi t h me i n f at al f i re! Fi r
I have f ai l ed. Al l ways, each one I st rove i n, mocked me. If I quai l ed Or shi rked, God knows. I have not won:
That and no more I know. I f ai l ed. " Ki ng Art hur f el l a-weepi ng. Then Merl i n uprose, hi s f ace unvei l ed; {110}
Thri ce cri ed he pi t eousl y t hen Upon our Lord. Then shook t hi s head Si r Pal amede t he Saracen, As knowi ng
not hi ng mi ght best ead, When l o! t here rose a monst er moan, A hugeous cry, a quest i ng dread, As i f (Gods
deat h! ) t here coursed al one The Beast , wi t hi n whose bel l y sounds That marvel l ous musi c monot one As i f a
t hi rt y coupl e hounds Quest ed wi t hi n hi m. Now, by Chri st And by Hi s pi t i f ul f i ve wounds! - Even as a l over t o
hi s t ryst , That Beast came quest i ng i n t he hal l , One f l ame of gol d and amet hyst , Bodi l y seen t hen of t hem
al l . t hen came he t o Si r Pal amede, Nest l i ng t o hi m, as sweet and smal l As a young babe cl i ngs at i t s need To
t he whi t e bosom of i t s mot her, As Chri st cl ung t o t he gi bbet -reed! Then every kni ght t urned t o hi s brot her,
Sobbi ng and si gni ng f or great gl adness; And, as t hey l ooked on one anot her, {111}
Surel y t here st ol e a subt l e madness Int o t hei r vei ns, more st rong t han deat h: For al l t he root s of si n and
sadness Were pl ucked. As a f l ower peri shet h, So al l si n di ed. And i n t hat pl ace Al l t hey di d know t he
Beaut eous Breat h And t ast e t he Goodl y Gi f t of Grace. Then f el l t he ni ght . Above t he bayi ng Of t he great
Beast , t hat was t he bass To al l t he harps of Heaven a-pl ayi ng, There came a sol emn voi ce (not one But was
upon hi s knees i n prayi ng And gl ori f yi ng God). The Son Of God Hi msel f - men t hought - spoke t hen. "Ari se!
brave sol di er, t hou hast won The quest not gi ven t o mort al men. Ari se! Si r Pal amede Adept , Chri st i an, and no
more Saracen! On wake or sl eepi ng, wi se, i nept , St i l l t hou di dst seek. Those f ool i sh ways On whi ch t hy f ol l y
st umbl ed, l eapt , Al l l ed t o t he one goal . Now prai se Thy Lord hat He hat brought t hee t hrough To wi n t he
quest ! " The good kni ght l ays {112}
Hi s hand upon t he Beast . Then bl ew Each angel on hi s t rumpet , t hen Al l Heaven resounded t hat i t knew Si r
Pal amede t he Saracen Was mast er! Through t he domes of deat h, Through al l t he mi ght y real ms of men And
spi ri t s breat hed t he Beaut eous Breat h: They t ast e t he Goodl y Gi f t of Grace. - Now t i s t he chroni cl er t hat
sai t h: Our Savi our grant i n l i t t l e space That al so I, even I, be bl est Thus, t hough so evi l i s my case - Let t hem
t hat read my ri me at t est The same sweet unct i on i n my pen - That wri t es i n pure bl ood of my breast ; For
t hat I f i gure unt o men The st ory of my proper quest As t hi ne, f i rst East ern i n t he West , Si r Pal amede t he
Saracen! {113}

THE HICH HISTDPY
DF CDDD
SIP PALAhEDES
THE SAPACEN KNICHT;
AND DF HIS FDLLDWINC
DF
THE UESTINC EAST
I
SIR PALAMEDE t he Saracen
Rode by t he marge of many a sea:
He had sl ai n a t housand evi l men
And set a t housand l adi es f ree.
Armed t o t he t eet h, t he gl i t t eri ng ki nght
Gal l oped al ong t he soundi ng shore,
Hi s si l ver arms one l ake of l i ght ,
Thei r cl ash one symphony of war.
How st i l l t he bl ue enamoured sea
Lay i n t he bl aze of Syri as noon!
The et ernal rol l et ernal l y
Beat out i t s monot oni c t une.
Si r Pal amede t he Saracen
A dreadf ul vi si on here espi ed,
A si ght abhorred of gods and men,
Bet ween t he l i mi t of t he t i de.
The dead mans t ongue was t orn away;
The dead mans t hroat was sl i t across;
There f l apped upon t he put ri d prey
A carri on, screami ng al bat ross. {3}
So hal t ed he hi s horse, and bent
To cat ch remembrance f rom t he eyes
That st ared t o God, whose ardour sent
Hi s radi ance f rom t he rut hl ess ski es.
Then l i ke a st at ue st i l l he sat e;
Nor qui vered nerve, nor muscl e st i rred;
Whi l e round t hem f l apped i nsat i at e
The f el l , abomi nabl e bi rd.
But t he col dest horror drave t he l i ght
From kni ght l y eyes. How pal e t hy bl oom,
Thy bl ood, O brow whereon t hat ni ght
Si t s l i ke a serpent on a t omb!
For Pal amede t hose eyes behel d
The i ron i mage of hi s own;
On t hose dead brows a f at e he spel l ed
To st ri ke a Gorgon i nt o st one.
He knew hi s f at her. St i l l he sat e,
Nor qui vered nerve, nor muscl e st i rred;
Whi l e round t hem f l apped i nsat i at e
The f el l , abomi nabl e bi rd.
The kni ght approves t he j ust i ce done,
And pays wi t h t hat hi s rowel s debt ;
Whi l e yet t he f orehead of t he son
St ands beaded wi t h an i cy sweat . {4}
Gods angel , st andi ng si ni st er,
Unf url s t hi s scrol l - a sabl e st ai n:
Who wi ns t he spur shal l pl y t he spur
Upon hi s proper heart and brai n.
He gave t he si gn of mal i son
On t rai t or kni ght s and perj ured men;
And ever by t he sea rode on
Si r Pal amede t he Saracen.

II
EHOLD! Arabi as burni ng shore
Ri ngs t o t he hoof s of many a st eed.
Lord of a l egi on ri des t o war
The i ndomi t abl e Pal amede.
The Payni m f l y; hi s t roops del i ght
In murder of many a myri ad men,
Fol l owi ng exul t ant i nt o f i ght
Si r Pal amede t he Saracen.
Now when a year and day are done
Si r Pal amedes i s aware
Of bl ue pavi l i ons i n t he sun,
And banneret s f l ut t eri ng i n t he ai r.
Forward he spurs; hi s armour gl eams;
Then on hi s haunches rears t he st eed;
Above t he l ordl y si l k t here st reams
The pennon of Si r Pal amede!
Af l ame, a bri degroom t o hi s spouse,
He ri des t o meet wi t h gal l i ard grace
Some sci on of hi s hol y house,
Or germane t o hi s royal race. {6}
But oh! t he eyes of shame! Beneat h
The t al l pavi l i ons sapphi re shade
There sport a band wi t h wand and wreat h,
Languorous boy and l aughi ng mai d.
And i n t he cent re i s a si ght
Of hat ef ul l ove and shamel ess shame:
A recreant Abyssi ani an kni ght
Sport s grossl y wi t h a want on dame.
How bl ack and swi ni sh i s t he knave!
Hi s hel l i sh grunt , hi s best i al gri n;
Her t ri l l i ng l augh, her gest ure suave,
The cool sweat swi mmi ng on her ski n!
She l ooks and l aughs upon t he kni ght ,
Then t urns t o buss t he bl ubber mout h,
Drai ni ng t he dregs of t hat bl ack bl i ght
Of wi ne t o ease t hei r doubl e drout h!
God! what a gl ance! Si r Pal amede
Is st ri cken by t he sword of f at e:
Hi s mot her i t i s i n very deed
That gl eef ul goes t he goat i sh gai t .
Hi s mot her i t hi s, t hat pure and pal e
Cri ed i n t he pangs t hat gave hi m bi rt h;
The hol y i mage he woul d vei l
From aught t he t i ni est t ai nt of eart h. {7}
She knows hi m, and bl ack f ear bedi m
Those eyes; she of f ers t o hi s gaze
The bl ue-vei ned breast s t hat suckl ed hi m
In chi l dhoods sweet and sol emn days.
Weepi ng she bares t he hol y womb!
Shri eks out t he mot hers l ast appeal :
And reads i rrevocabl e doom
In t hose dread eyes of i ce and st eel .
He wi nds hi s horn: hi s warri ors pour
In t housands on t he f encel ess f oe;
The sunset st ai ns t hei r hi deous war
Wi t h cri mson bars of af t er-gl ow.
He wi nds hi s horn; t he ni ght -st ars l eap
To l i ght ; upspri ng t he si st ers seven;
Whi l e answeri ng f l ames i l l ume t he deep,
The bl ue pavi l i ons bl aze t o heaven.
Si l ent and st ern t he nort hward way
They ri de; al one bef ore hi s men
St aggers t hrough bl ack t o rose and grey
Si r Pal amede t he Saracen. {8}




III
THERE i s a rock by Severn mout h
Whereon a mi ght y cast l e st ands,
Front i ng t he bl ue i mpassi ve Sout h
And l ooki ng over l ordl y l ands.
Oh! hi gh above t he envi ous sea
Thi s f ort ress domi nat es t he t i des;
There, i l l at heart , t he chi val ry
Of st rong Si r Pal amede abi des.
Now comes i rrupt i on f rom t he f ol d
That l i ve by murder: day by day
The good kni ght st ri kes hi s deadl y st roke;
The vul t ures cl aw t he at t ended prey.
But day by day t he heat hen hordes.
Gat her f rom dreadf ul l ands af ar,
A myri ad myri ad bows and swords,
As cl ouds t hat bl ot t he morni ng st ar.
Soon by an arrow f rom t he sea
The Lady of Pal amede i s sl ai n;
Hi s son, i n sal l y f i ght i ng f ree,
Is st ruck t hrough burgonet and brai n. {9}
But day by day t he f oes i ncrease,
Though day by day t hei r t housands f al l :
Laughs t he unshaken f ort al i ce;
The good kni ght s l augh no more at al l .
Gri mmer t han heat her hordes can scowl ,
The spect re hunger rages t here;
He passes l i ke a mi dni ght owl ,
Hoot i ng hi s heral dry, despai r.
The kni ght s and squi res of Pal amede
St al k pal e and l ean t hrough court and hal l ;
Though sharp and swi f t t he archers speed
Thei r yardl ong arrows f rom t he wal l .
Thei r numbers t hi n; t hei r st rengt h decays;
Thei r f at e i s wri t t en pl ai n t o read:
These are t he dread deci duous days
Of i ron-soul ed Si r Pal amede.
He hears t he horri d l augh t hat ri ngs
From camp t o camp at ni ght ; he hears
The cruel mout hs of murderous ki ngs
Laugh out one menace t hat he f ears.
No sooner shal l t he heroes di e
Than, ere t hei r f l esh begi n t o rot ,
The heat hen t urns hi s ravi ng eye
To Caerl on and Camel ot .
Ki ng Art hur i n i gnobl e sl ot h
Is sunk, and dal l i ance wi t h hi s dame,
Forget f ul of hi s kni ght l y oat h,
And carel ess of hi s ki ngl y name.
Bef ool ed and cuckol ded, t he ki ng
Is yet t he ki ng, t he ki ng most hi gh;
And on hi s l i f e t he hi nges swi ng
That cl ose t he door of chi val ry.
Sbl ood! shal l i t si nk, and ri se no more,
That bl aze of t i me, when men were men?
That i s t hy quest i on, warri or
Si r Pal amede t he Saracen! {11}

IV
Now, wi t h t wo score of men i n l i f e
And one f ai r babe, Si r Pal amede
Resol ves one l ast heroi c st ri f e,
At t empt s f orl orn a desperat e deed.
At dead of ni ght , a moonl ess ni ght ,
A ni ght of wi nt er st orm, t hey sai l
In danci ng dragons t o t he f i ght
Wi t h man and sea, wi t h ghoul and gal e.
Whom God shal l spare, ri de, ri de! (so spri ngs
The i ron order). Let hi m f l y
On honours st eed wi t h honours wi ngs
To warn t he ki ng, l est honour di e!
Then t o t he f ury of t he bl ast
Thei r f ury adds a dreadf ul st i ng:
The f at al di e i s surel y cast .
To save t he ki ng - t o save t he ki ng!
Hai l ! horror of t he mi dni ght surge!
The st orms of deat h, t he l ashi ng gust ,
The doubt f ul gl eam of swords t hat urge
Hot l aught er wi t h hi gh-l eapi ng l ust ! {12}
Though one by one t he heroes f al l ,
Thei r desperat e way t hey sl owl y wi n,
And kni ght l y cry and comrade-cal l
Ri se hi gh above t he savage di n.
Now, now t hey l and, a dwi ndl i ng crew;
Now, now f resh armi es hem t hem round.
They cl eave t hei r bl ood-bought avenue,
And cl ust er on t he upper ground.
Ah! but dawns dreadf ul f ront uprears!
The t al l t owers bl aze, t o i l l ume t he f i ght ;
Whi l e many a myri ad heat hen spears
March nort hward at t he earl i est l i ght .
Fal l s t hy l ast comrade at t hy f eet ,
O l ordl y-soul ed Si r Pal amede?
Teari ng t he savage f rom hi s seat ,
He l eaps upon a coal -bl ack st eed.
He gal l ops ragi ng t hrough t he press:
The af f ri ght ed heat hen f ear hi s eye.
There madness gl eams, t here mast erl ess
The whi rl i ng sword shri eks shri l l and hi gh.
The shri nk, he gal l ops. Cl osel y cl i ngs
The chi l d sl ung at hi s wai st ; and he
Heeds nought , but gal l ops wi de, and si ngs
Wi l d war-songs, chant s of gramarye! {13}
Si r Pal amded t he Saracen
Ri des l i ke a cent aur mad wi t h war;
He sabres many a mi l l i on men,
And t rampl es many a mi l l i on more!
Bef ore hi m l i es t he unt ravel l ed l and
Where never a human soul i s known,
A desert by a wi zard banned,
A soul l ess wi l derness of st one.
Nor grass, nor corn, del i ght t he val es;
Nor beast , nor bi rd, span space. Immense,
Bl ack rai n, grey mi st , whi t e wrat h of gal es,
Fi l l t he dread armoury of sense.
Nor shi nes t he sun; nor moon, nor st ar
Thei r subt l e l i ght at al l di spl ay;
Nor day, nor ni ght , di sput e t he scaur:
Al l s one i nt ol erabl e grey.
Bl ack l l yns, grey rocks, whi t e hi l l s of snow!
No f l ower, no col our: l i f e i s not .
Thi s i s no way f or men t o go
From Severn-mout h t o Camel ot .
Despai r, t he worl d upon hi s speed,
Dri ve (l i ke a l i on f rom hi s den
Whom hunger hunt s) t he man at need,
Si r Pal amede t he Saracen. {14}

V
SIR PALAMEDE t he Saracen
Hat h cast hi s sword and arms asi de.
To save t he worl d of goodl y men,
He set s hi s t eet h t o ri de - t o ri de!
Three days: t he bl ack horse drops and di es.
The t rappi ngs f urni sh t hem a f i re,
The beast a meal . Wi t h dreadf ul eyes
St are i nt o deat h t he chi l d, t he si re.
Si x days: t he gaunt and gal l ant kni ght
Sees hat ef ul vi si ons i n t he day.
Where are t he ant i ent speed and mi ght
Were wont t o ani mat e t hat cl ay?
Ni ne days; t hey st umbl e on; no more
Hi s st rengt h avai l s t o bear t he chi l d.
St i l l hangs t he mi st , and st i l l bef ore
Yawns t he i mmeasurabl e wi l d.
Twel ve days: t he end. Af ar he spi es
The mount ai ns st oopi ng t o t he pl ai n;
A l i t t l e spl ash of sunl i ght l i es
Beyond t he everl ast i ng rai n. {15}
Hi s st rengt h i s done; he cannot st i r.
The chi l d compl ai ns - how f eebl y now!
Hi s eyes are bl ank; he l ooks at her;
The col d sweat gat hers on hi s brow.
To save t he worl d - t hree days away!
Hi s l i f e i n kni ght hoods l i f e i s f url ed,
And kni ght hoods l i f e i n hi s - t o-day! -
Hi s darl i ng st aked agai nst t he worl d!
Wi l l he di e t here, hi s t ask undone?
Or dare he l i ve, at such a cost ?
He cri es agai nst t he i mpassi ve sun:
The worl d i s di m, i s al l but l ost .
When, wi t h t he bi t t erness of deat h
Cut t i ng hi s soul , hi s f i ngers cl ench
The pi t eous passage of her breat h.
The dews of horror ri se and drench
Si r Pal amede t he Saracen.
Then, ri si ng f rom t he hi deous meal ,
He pl unges t o t he l and of men
Wi t h nerves renewed and l i mbs of st eel .
Who i s t he naked man t hat ri des
Yon t amel ess st al l i on on t he pl ai n,
Hi s f ace l i ke Hel l s?What f ury gui des
The mani ac beast wi t hout a rei n?{16}
Who i s t he naked man t hat spurs
A charger i nt o Camel ot ,
Hi s f ace l i ke Chri st s?what gl ory st i rs
The ai r around hi m, do ye wot ?
Si r Art hur arms hi m, makes array
Of seven t i mes t en t housand men,
And bi ds t hem f ol l ow and obey
Si r Pal amede t he Saracen. {17}

VI
SIR PALAMEDE t he Saracen
The eart h f rom murder hat h rel eased,
Is hi dden f rom t he eyes of men.
Si r Art hur si t s agai n at f east .
The hol y order burns wi t h zeal :
It s f ame revi ves f rom west t o east .
Now, f ol l owi ng Fort unes whi rl i ng-wheel ,
There comes a dwarf t o Art hurs hal l ,
Al l cased i n damnascenŠ d st eel .
A scept re and a gol den bal l
He bears, and on hi s head a crown;
But on hi s shoul ders drapes a pal l
Of vel vet f l owi ng sabl y down
Above hi s vest of cramoi si e.
Now dot h t he ki ng of hi gh renown
Demand hi m of hi s di gni t y.
Whereat t he dwarf begi ns t o t el l
A quest of l of t i est chi val ry. {18}
Quod he: By Goddes hol y spel l ,
So hi gh a vent ure was not known,
Nor so di vi ne a mi racl e.
A cert ai n beast t here runs al one,
That ever i n hi s bel l y sounds
A hugeous cry, a monst er moan,
As i f a t hi rt y coupl e hounds
Quest ed wi t h hi m. Now God sai t h
(I swear i t by Hi s hol y wounds
And by Hi s l ament abl e deat h,
And by Hi s hol y Mot hers f ace! )
That he shal l know t he Beaut eous Breat h
And t ast e t he Goodl y Gi f t of Grace
Who shal l achi eve t hi s marvel quest .
Then Art hur st ert e up f rom hi s pl ace,
And st ert e up bol dl y al l t he rest ,
And sware t o seek t hi s goodl y t hi ng.
But now t he dwarf dot h beat hi s breast ,
And speak on t hi s wi se t o t he ki ng,
That he shoul d wort hy kni ght be f ound
Who wi t h hi s hands t he dwarf shoul d bri ng
By mi ght one span f rom of f t he ground.
Whereat t hey j eer, t he dwarf so smal l ,
The kni ght s so st rong: t he wal l s resound {19}
Wi t h l aught er rat t l i ng round t he hal l .
But Art hur f i rst essays t he deed,
And may not budge t he dwarf at al l .
Then Lancel ot sware by Goddes reed,
And pul l ed so st rong hi s muscel burst ,
Hi s nose and mout h brake out a-bl eed;
Nor moved he t hus t he dwarf . From f i rst
To l ast t he envi ous kni ght s essayed,
And al l t hei r mal i ce had t he worst ,
Ti l l st rong Si r Bors hi s prowess pl ayed -
And al l hi s mi ght avai l Š d nought , .
Now once Si r Bors had been bet rayed
To Payni m; hi m i n t rai t ri se caught ,
They bound t o f our st rong st al l i on st eers,
To t ear asunder, as t hey t hought ,
The pal adi n of Art hurs peers.
But he, a-bendi ng, breaks t he spi ne
Of t hree, and on t he f ourt h he rears
Hi s bul k, and ri des away. Di vi ne
t he wonder when t he gi ant f ai l s
To st i r t he f at uous dwarf , mal i gn
Who smi l es! But Boors on Art hur rai l s
That never a kni ght i s wort h but one.
By Goddes deat h (quod he), what ai l s {20}
Us marsh-l i ght s t o f orget t he sun?
There i s one man of mort al men
Wort hy t o wi n t hi s beni son,
Si r Pal amede t he Saracen.
Then went t he appl audi ng murmur round:
Si r Lancel ot gi rt hi m t here and t hen
To ri de t o t hat enchant ed ground
Where ami d t i mel ess snows t he den
Of Pal amedes mi ght be f ound. * {21}
*wEF NOTE: See Conjessons. Ths rejers to thct
porton oj Crowleys lje spent ct 8oleskne cs Alcstor,
the Sprt oj Soltude.

VII
EHOLD Si r Lancel ot of t he Lake
Breast i ng t he st ony screes: behol d
How breat h must f ai l and muscl e ache
Bef ore he reach t he i cy f ol d
That Pal amede t he Saracen
Wi t hi n i t s hermi t age may hol d.
At l ast he comet h t o a den
Perched hi gh upon t he savage scaur,
Remot e f rom every haunt of men,
From every haunt of l i f e af ar.
There dot h he f i nd Si t Pal amede
Si t t i ng as st eadf ast as a st ar.
Scarcel y he knew t he kni ght i ndeed,
For he was compassed i n a beard
Whi t e as t he st reams of snow t hat f eed
The l ake of Gods and men revered
That si t t et h upon Caucasus.
So mut t ered he a darkl i ng wei rd, {22}
And smot e hi s bosom murderous.
Hi s nai l s l i ke eagl es cl aws were grown;
Hi s eyes were wi l d and dul l ; but t hus
Si r Lancel ot spake: Thy deeds at one
By kni ght l y devoi r! He ret urned
That Whi l e t he l and was overgrown
Wi t h gi ant , f i end, and ogre burned
My sword; but now t he Payni m bars
Are broke, and men t o vi rt ue t urned:
Theref ore I si t upon t he scars
Ami d my beard, even as t he sun
Si t s i n t he company of t he st ars!
Then Lancel ot bade t hi s deed be done,
The achi evement of t he Quest i ng Beast .
Whi ch when he spoke t hat hol y one
Rose up, and gat hi m t o t he east
Wi t h Lancel ot ; when as t hey drew
Unt o t he pal ace and t he f east
He put hi s l i t t l est f i nger t o
The dwarf , who rose t o upper ai r,
Pi erci ng t he f ar et ernal bl ue
Beyond t he reach of song or prayer.
Then di d Si r Pal amede amend
Hi s nakedness, hi s horrent hai r, {23}
Hi s nai l s, and made hi s penance end,
Cl ot hi ng hi msel f i n st eel and gol d,
Armi ng hi msel f , hi s l i f e t o spend
IN vi gi l col d and wanderi ng bol d,
Di sdai ni ng song and dal l i ance sof t ,
Seeki ng one purpose t o behol d,
And hol di ng ever t hat al of t ,
Nor f eari ng God, nor heedi ng men.
So t hus hi s hermi t habi t dof f ed
Si r Pal amede t he Saracen. {24}

VIII
KNOW ye where Drui d dol mens ri se
In Wessex on t he wi dow pl ai n?
Thi t her Si r Pal amedes pl i es
The spur, and shakes t he rat t l i ng rei n.
He quest i ons al l men of t he Beast .
None answer. Is t he quest i n vai n?
Wi t h oaken crown t here comes a pri est
In sami t e robes, wi t h hazel wand,
And worshi ps at t he gi l ded East .
Ay! t hi t her ri de! The dawn beyond
Must run t he quarry of hi s quest .
He rode as he were wood or f ond,
Unt i l at ni ght behoves hi m rest .
- He saw t he gi l di ng f ar behi nd
Out on t he hi l l s t oward t he West !
Wi t h ai ml ess f ury hot and bl i nd
He f l ung hi m on a Vi ki ng shi p.
He sl ew t he rover, and i ncl i ned {25}
The seamen t o hi s st i ngi ng whi p.
Accursd of God, despi si ng men,
Thy reckl ess oars i n ocean di p,
Si r Pal amede t he Saracen! {26}

IX
SIR PALAMEDE t he Saracen
Sai l ed ever wi t h a f avouri ng wi nd
Unt o t he smoot h and swart hy men
That haunt t he evi l shore of Hi nd:
He queri ed eager of t he quest .
Ay! Ay! t hei r cunni ng sages gri nned:
It shi nes! It shi nes! Guess t hou t he rest !
For naught but t hi s our Ri shi s know.
Si r Pal amede hi s way addressed
Unt o t he woods: t hey bl aze and gl ow;
Hi s l ance st abs many a shi ni ng bl ade,
Hi s sword l ays many a f l ower l ow
That gl i t t eri ng gl addened i n t he gl ade.
He wrot e hi msel f a want on ass,
And t o t he sea hi s t races l ai d,
Where many a wavel et on t he gl ass
Hi s prowess knows. But deep and deep
Hi s f ut i l e f eet i n f ury pass, {27}
Unt i l one bi l l ow curl s t o l eap,
And f l i ngs hi m breat hl ess on t he shore
Hal f drowned. O f ool ! hi s Gods asl eep,
Hi s armour i n i l l usi ons war
It sel f i l l usi on, al l hi s mi ght
And courage vai n. Yet ardours pour
Through every art ery. The kni ght
Scal es t he Hi mal ayas f rozen si des,
Crowned wi t h i l l i mi t abl e l i ght ,
And t here i n const ant war abi des,
Smi t i ng t he spangl es of t he snow;
Smi t i ng unt i l t he vernal t i des
Of eart h l eap hi gh; t he st eady f l ow
Of sunl i ght spl i t s t he i cy wal l s:
They sl i de, t hey hurl t he kni ght bel ow.
Si r Pal amede t he mi ght y f al l s
Int o an hol l ow where t here dwel t
A bearded crew of monachal s
Asl eep i n vari ous vi si ons spel t
By myst i c symbol s unt o men.
But when a f orei gner t hey smel t
They dri ve hi m f rom t hei r hol y den,
And wi t h t hei r gl i t t eri ng eyebal l s pel t
Si r Pal amede t he Saracen. * {28}
*wEF NOTE: ln other words, when Crowley went
secrchny jor cn ecstern mcster n
cnd cbout the lndcn subcontnent, the loccl
tecchers just stcred ct hm untl he went cwcy.

X
Now f i ndet h he, as al l al one
He moves about t he burni ng East ,
The mi ght y t rai l of some unknown,
But surel y some maj est i c beast .
So f ol l owet h he t he f orest ways,
Rememberi ng hi s kni ght l y oat h,
And t hrough t he hot and dri ppi ng days
Pl oughs t hrough t he t angl ed undergrowt h.
Si r Pal amede t he Saracen
Came on a f orest pool at l engt h,
Remot e f rom any mart of men,
Where t here di sport ed i n hi s st rengt h
The l one and l ordl y el ephant .
Si r Pal amede hi s f orehead beat .
O amorous! O mi l i t ant !
O l ord of t hi s arboreal seat !
Thus worshi pped he, and st al ki ng st ol e
Int o t he presence: he emerged.
The scent awakes t he uneasy soul
Of t hat Maj est i c One: upsurged {29}
The monst er f rom t he oozy bed,
And bounded t hrough t he crashi ng gl ades.
- but now a st ari ng savage head
Lurks at hi m t hrough t he f orest shades.
Thi s was a naked Indi an,
Who l ed wi t hi n t he ci t y gat e
The f ool ed and di sappoi nt ed man,
Al ready broken by hi s f at e.
Here were t he brazen t owers, and here
t he scupl t ured rocks, t he marbl e shri ne
Where t o a t al l bl ack st one t hey rear
The al t ars due t o t he di vi ne.
The God t hey deem i n sensual j oy
Absorbed, and si l ken dal l i ance:
To pl ease hi s l ei sure hours a boy
Compel s an el ephant t o dance.
So maj est y t o ri di cul e
Is t urned. To ot her cl i mes and men
Makes of f t hat st rong, persi st ent f ool
Si r Pal amede t he Saracen. {30}

XI
SIR PALAMEDE t he Saracen
Hat h hi ed hi m t o an hol y man,
Si t h he al one of mort al men
Can hel p hi m, i f a mort al can.
(So t el l hi m al l t he Scyt hi an f ol k. )
Wheref ore he makes a caravan,
And f i nds hi m. When hi s prayers i nvoke
The hol y knowl edge, sai t h t he sage:
Thi s Beast i s he of whom t here spoke
The prophet s of t he Gol den Age:
Mark! al l t hat mi nd i s, he i s not .
Si r Pal amede i n bi t t er rage
St ert e up: Is t hi s t he f ool , Od wot ,
To see t he l i ke of whom I came
From cast el l at ed Camel ot ?
The sage wi t h eyes of burni ng f l ame
Cri ed: Is i t not a mi racl e?
Ay! f or wi t h f ol l y t ravel l et h shame, {31}
And t heret o at t he end i s Hel l
Bel i eve! And why bel i eve?Because
It i s a t hi ng i mpossi bl e.
Si r Pal amede hi s pul ses pause.
It i s not possi bl e (quod he)
That Pal amede i s wrot h, and draws
Hi s sword, decapi t at i ng t hee.
By pari t y of argument
Thi s deed of bl ood must surel y be.
Wi t h t hat he suddenl y besprent
Al l Scyt hi a wi t h t he sages bl ood,
And l aught i ng i n hi s woe he went
Unt o a f urt her f i el d and f l ood,
Aye gui ded by t hat wi zards head,
That l i ke a wi ndy moon di d scud
Bef ore hi m, wi nki ng eyes of red
And snappi ng j aws of whi t e: but t hen
What cared f or l i vi ng or f or dead
Si r Pal amede t he Saracen?{32}

XII
SIR PALAMEDE t he Saracen
Fol l ows t he Head t o gl oomy hal l s
Of st eri l e hat e, wi t h i cy wal l s.
A woman cl ucki ng l i ke a hen
Answers hi s l ordl y bugl e-cal l s.
She rees hi m i n ungai nl y rede
Of ghost s and vi rgi ns, doves and wombs,
Of roods and propheci es and t ombs -
Ol d pagan f abl es run t o seed!
Si r Pal amede wi t h f ury f umes.
So dot h t he Head t hat j abbers f ast
Agai nst t hat womans t angl ed t al e.
(Gods pat i ence at t he end must f ai l ! )
Out sweeps t he sword - t he bl ade hat h passed
Through al l her scraggy f art hi ngal e.
Thi s chat t er l ends t o Thought a zest
(Quod he), but I am al l f or Act .
Si t here, unt i l your Tal k hat h cracked
The addl ed egg i n Nat ures nest !
Wi t h t hat he f l ed t he di smal t ract . {33}
He was so si ck and i l l at ease
And hot agai nst hi s f el l ow men,
He t hought t o end hi s purpose t hen -
Nay! l et hi m seek new l ands and seas,
Si r Pal amede t he Saracen!
{34}

XIII
SIR PALAMEDE i s come anon
Int o a bl ue del i ci ous bay.
A mount ai n t owers t hereupon,
Wherei n some f i end of ages gone
Is whel med by God, yet f rom hi s breast
Spi t s up t he f l ame, and ashes grey.
Hereby Si r Pal amede hi s quest
Pursues wi t hout en l et or rest .
Seei ng t he evi l mount ai n be,
Rememberi ng al l hi s evi l years,
He knows t he Quest i ng Beast runs f ree -
Aut hor of Evi l , t hen, i s he!
Whereat i mmedi at e resounds
The noi se he hat h sought so l ong: appears
There quest a t hi rt y coupl e hounds
Wi t hi n i t s bel l y as i t bounds.
Li f t i ng hi s eyes, he sees at l ast
The beast he seeks: t i s l i ke an hart .
Ever i t courset h f ar and f ast .
Si r Pal amede i s sore aghast , {35}
But pl ucki ng up hi s wi l l , dot h l aunch
A mi ght poi son-di ppŠ d dart :
It f aret h ever sure and st aunch,
And smi t et h hi m upon t he haunch.
Then as Si r Pal amede overhaul s
The st ri cken quarry, sl ack i t droops,
St aggers, and f i nal down i t f al l s.
Tri umph! Gape wi de, ye gol den wal l s!
Li f t up your everl ast i ng doors,
O gat es of Camel ot ! See, he swoops
Down on t he prey! The l i f e-bl ood pours:
The poi son works: t he breat h i mpl ores
It s l i vel ong debt f rom heart and brai n.
Al as! poor st ag, t hy day i s done!
The gal l ant l ungs gasp l oud i n vai n:
Thy l i f e i s spi l t upon t he pl ai n.
Si r Pal amede i s st ri cken numb
As one who, gazi ng on t he sun,
Sees bl ackness gat her. Bl ank and dumb,
The good kni ght sees a t hi n breat h come
Out of hi s proper mout h, and dart
Over t he pl ai n: he seet h i t
Sure by some bl ack magi ci an art
Shape ever cl oser l i ke an hart : {36}
Whi l e such a quest i ng t here resounds
As God had l oosed t he very Pi t ,
Or as a t hi rt y coupl e hounds
Are i n i t s bel l y as i t bounds!
Ful l si ck at heart , I ween, was t hen
The l oyal kni ght , t he weak of wi t ,
The but t of l ewd and puny men,
Si r Pal amede t he Saracen. {37}

XIV
NORTHWARD t he good kni ght gal l ops f ast ,
Resol ved t o seek hi s f oe at home,
When rose t hat Vi si on of t he past ,
The royal bat t l ement s of Rome,
A rui ned ci t y, and a dome.
There i n t he broken Forum sat
A red-robed robber i n a Hat .
Whi t her away, Si r Kni ght , so f ey?
Pri est , f or t he dove on Ararat
I coul d not , nor I wi l l not , st ay!
I know t hy quest . Seek on i n vai n
A gol den hart wi t h si l ver horns!
Li f e spri nget h out of di vers pai ns.
What crown t he Ki ng of Ki ngs adorns?
A crown of gems?A crown of t horns!
The Quest i ng Beast i s l i ke a ki ng
In f ace, and hat h a pi geons wi ng
And cl aw; i t s body i s one f l eece
Of bl oody whi t e, a l ambs i n spri ng.
Enough. Si r Kni ght , I gi ve t hee peace. {38}
The Kni ght spurs on, and soon espi es
A monst er coursi ng on t he pl ai n.
he hears t he horri d quest i ng ri se
And t hunder i n hi s weary brai n.
Thi s t i me, t o sl ay i t or be sl ai n!
Too easy t ask! The charger gai ns
St ri de af t er st ri de wi t h l i t t l e pai ns
Upon t he l umberi ng, f l appi ng t hi ng.
He st abs t he l amb, and spl i t s t he brai ns
Of t hat maj est i c-seemi ng ki ng.
He cl i ps t he wi ng and pares t he cl aw -
What t urns t o l aught er al l hi s j oy,
To wonderi ng ri bal dry hi s awe?
The beast s a mere mechani c t oy,
Fi t t o amuse an i dl e boy! {39}

XV
SIR PALAMEDE t he Saracen
Hat h come t o an umbrageous l and
Where nymphs abi de, and Pagan men.
The Gods are ni gh, say t hey, at hand.
How warm a t hrob f rom Venus st i rs
The pul ses of her worshi ppers!
Nor shal l t he Tuscan God be f ound
Rel uct ant f rom t he al t ar-st one:
Hi s perf ume shal l del i ght t he ground,
Hi s presence t o hi s hol d be known
In darkl i ng grove and gl i mmeri ng shri ne -
O pl y t he ki ss and pour t he wi ne!
Si r Pal amede i s f ai rl y come
Int o a pl ace of gl owi ng bowers,
Where al l t he Voi ce of Ti me i s dumb:
Bef ore an al t ar crowned wi t h f l owers
He seet h a sat yr f ondl y dot e
And l angui sh on a swan-sof t goat .
Then he i n mi d-caress desi res
The ear of st rong Si r Pal amede. {40}
We burn, qout h he, no f ut i l e f i res,
Nor pl ay upon an i dl e reed,
Nor penance vai n, nor f at uous prayers -
The Gods are ours, and we are t hei rs.
Si r Pal amedes pl ucks t he pi pe
The sat yr t ends, and bl ows a t ri l l
So sof t and warm, so red and ri pe,
That echo answers f rom t he hi l l
In eager and vol upt uous st rai n,
Whi l e grows upon t he soundi ng pl ai n
A gal l op, and a quest i ng t urned
To one prof ound mel odi ous bay.
Si r Pal amede wi t h pl easure burned,
And bowed hi m t o t he i dol grey
That on t he al t ar sneered and l eered
Wi t h l oose red l i ps behi nd hi s beard.
Si r Pal amedes and t he Beast
Are woven i n a web of gol d
Unt i l t he gi l di ng of t he East
Burns on t he want on-smi l i ng wol d:
And st i l l Si r Pal amede bel i eved
Hi s hol y quest t o be achi eved!
But now t he dawn f rom gl owi ng gat es
Fl oods al l t he l and: wi t h snarl i ng l i p
The Beast st ands of f and cachi nnat es.
That st i ngs t he good kni ght l i ke a whi p, {41}
As suddenl y Hel l s own di sgust
Eat s up t he j oy he had of l ust .
The brut al gl ee hi s f ol l y t ook
For hol y j oy breaks down hi s brai n.
Of f bol t s t he Beast : t he eart h i s shook
As out a quest i ng roars agai n,
As i f a t hi rt y coupl e hounds
Are i n i t s bel l y as i t bounds!
The peasant s gat her t o deri de
The kni ght : creat i on j oi ns i n mi rt h.
Ashamed and scorned on every si de,
There gal l ops, hat ef ul t o t he eart h,
The l aughi ng-st ock of beast s and men,
Si r Pal amede t he Saracen. {42}


XVI
WHERE shaf t s of moonl i ght spl ash t he val e,
Besi de a st ream t here si t s and st rai ns
Si r Pal amede, wi t h passi on pal e,
And haggard f rom hi s broken brai ns.
Yet eagerl y he wat ches st i l l
A mossy mound where dai nt y grai ns
Of gi l ded corn t hei r beaut y spi l l
To t empt t he quarry t o t he range
Of Pal amede hi s archer ski l l .
Al l mi ght he si t s, wi t h ardour st range
And hope new-f l edged. A gambl er born
Aye t hi ngs t he l uck one day must change,
Though sense and ski l l he l aughs t o scorn.
so now t here rush a t housand rat s
In sabl e si l ence on t he corn.
They sport t hei r square or shovel hat s,
A squeaki ng, t oot h-bare brot herhood,
Innumerabl e as summer gnat s {43}
Buzzi ng some st reaml et t hrough a wood.
Si r Pal amede grows mi ght y wrot h,
And mut t ers mal edi ct i ons rude,
Seei ng hi s quarry f ar and l ot h
And t hi eves despoi l i ng al l t he bai t .
Now, carel ess of t he kni ght l y oat h,
The sun pours down hi s east ern gat e.
The chase i s over: see ye t hen,
Coursi ng af ar, af oam at f at e
Si r Pal amede t he Saracen! {44}



XVII
SIR PALAMEDE hat h t ol d t he t al e
Of t hi s mi sf ort une t o a sage,
How al l hi s vent ures nought avai l ,
And al l hi s hopes di ssol ve i n rage.
Now by t hi ne hol y beard, quot h he,
And by t hy venerabl e age
I charge t hee t hi s my ri ddl e ree.
Then sai d t hat gent l e eremi t e:
Thi s t ask i s easy unt o me!
Know t hen t he Quest i ng Beast ari ght !
One i s t he Beast , t he Quest i ng one:
And one wi t h one i s t wo, Si r Kni ght !
Yet t hese are one i n t wo, and none
di sj oi ns t hei r subst ance (mark me wel l ! ),
Conf ounds t hei r persons. Ri ght l y run
Thei r at t ri but es: i mmeasurabl e,
Incomprehensi bundabl e,
Unspeakabl e, i naudi bl e, {45}
Int angi bl e, i ngust abl e,
Insensi t i ve t o human smel l ,
Invari abl e, i mpl acabl e,
Invi nci bl e, i nsci abl e,
Irrat i onapsychi cabl e,
Inequi l egi j urabl e,
Immamemi momummabl e.
Such i s i t s nat ure: wi t hout part s,
Pl aces, or persons, pl umes, or pel l ,
Havi ng nor l ungs nor l i ght s nor heart s,
But t wo i n one and one i n t wo.
Be he accursŠ d t hat di spart s
Them now, or seemet h so t o do!
Hi m wi l l I pi l e t he curses on;
Hi m wi l l I hand, or saw hi m t hrough,
Or burn wi t h f i re, who doubt s upon
Thi s doct ri ne, hot ot ot on spel l s
The hol y word ot ot ot on.
The poor Si r Pal amedes quel l s
Hi s ri si ng spl een; he doubt s hi s ears.
How may I cat ch t he Beast ?he yel l s.
The smi l i ng sage rebukes hi s f ears:
Ti s easi er t han al l , Si r Kni ght !
By si mpl e f ai t h t he Beast appears. {46}
By si mpl e f ai t h, not heat hen mi ght ,
Cat ch hi m, and t hus achi eve t he quest !
Then quot h t hat mel anchol y wi ght :
I wi l l bel i eve! The hermi t bl essed
Hi s convert : on t he hori zon
Appears t he Beast . To t hee t he rest !
He cri es, t o urge t he good kni ght on.
But no! Si r Pal amedes gri ps
The hermi t by t he woebegone
Bear of hi m; t hen away he ri ps,
Wood as a mani ac, t o t he West ,
Where down t he sun i n spl endour sl i ps,
And where t he quarry of t he quest
Cant ers. They run l i ke hi ppogri f f s!
Li ke men pursued, or swi ne possessed,
Over t he di zzy Cret an cl i f f s
t hey smash. And l o! i t comes t o pass
He sees i n no di m hi erogl yphs,
In knowl edge easy t o amass,
Thi s hermi t (whi l e he drew hi s breat h)
Once dead i s l i ke a mangy ass.
Brui sed, broken, but not bound t o deat h,
He cal l s some passi ng f i shermen
To bear hi m. Present l y he sai t h: {47}
Bear me t o some remot est den
To Heal me of my i l l s i mmense;
For now hat h nei t her mi ght nor sense
Si r Pal amede t he Saracen. {48}

XVIII
SIR PALAMEDESf or a space
Del i berat es on hi s rust i c bed.
I l ack t he quarrys awf ul pace
(Quod he); my l i mbs are sl ack as l ead.
So, as he get s hi s st rengt h, he seeks
The cast l es where t he pennons red
Of dawn i l l ume t hei r dreadf ul peaks.
There dragons st ret ch t hei r horri d coi l s
Adown t he wi ndi ng cl ef t s and creeks:
From hi deous mout hs t hei r venom boi l s.
But Pal amede t hei r f ury scapes,
Thei r mal i ce by hi s val our f oi l s,
Cl i mbi ng al of t by bays and capes
Of rock and i ce, encount ers of t
The l oat hl y spri t es, t he mi st y shapes
Of monst er brut es t hat l urk al of t .
O! wel l he works: hi s yout h ret urns
Hi s heart revi ves: despai r i s dof f ed {49}
And eager hope i n bri l l i ance burns
Wi t hi n t he ci rcl e of hi s brows
As f ast he f l i es, t he snow he spurns.
Ah! what a yout h and st rengt h he vows
To t he achi evement of t he quest !
And now t he horri d hei ght al l ows
Hi s mast ery: day by day f rom crest
To crest he hast ens: f ast er f l y
Hi s f eet : hi s body knows not rest ,
Unt i l wi t h magi c speed t hey pl y
Li ke oars t he snowy waves, surpass
In one days march t he gal axy
Of Europes st arry mount ai n mass.
Now, quot h he, l et me f i nd t he quest !
The Beast st ert e up. Si r Kni ght , Al as!
Day af t er day t hey race, nor rest
Ti l l seven days were f ai rl y done.
Then dot h t he Quest i ng Marvel crest
The ri dge: t he kni ght i s wel l out run.
Now, addi ng l aught er t o i t s di n,
Li ke some l ewd comet at t he sun,
Around t he pant i ng pal adi n
It runs wi t h al l i t s spl endi d speed.
Yet , knowi ng t hat he may not wi n, {50}
He st rai ns and st ri ves i n very deed,
So t hat at l ast a boul der t ri ps
The hero, t hat he burst s a-bl eed,
And sangui ne f rom hi s bearded l i ps
The t orrent of hi s bei ng breaks.
The Beast i s gone: t he hero sl i ps
Down t o t he val l ey: he f orsakes
The f ond i dea (every bone
In al l hi s body burns and aches)
By speed t o at t ai n t he dear Unknown,
By f orce t o achi eve t he great Beyond.
Yet f rom t hat brai n may spri ng f ul l -grown
Anot her f ol l y j ust as f ond. {51}

XIX
THE kni ght hat h f ound a naked gi rl
Among t he dunes of Bret on sand.
She spi nnet h i n a myst i c whi rl ,
And hat h a bagpi pe i n her hand,
Wheref rom she drawet h di smal groans
The whi l e her maddeni ng saraband
She pl i es, and wi t h di scordant t ones
Desi res a cert ai n devi l -grace.
She gat hers wreckage-wood, and bones
Of seamen, j et sam of t he pl ace,
And bui l ds t herewi t h a f i re, wherei n
She dances, boundi ng i nt o space
Li ke an i nf l at ed asss ski n.
She raves, and reel s, and yel l s, and whi rl s
So t hat t he t ears of t oi l begi n
To dew her breast s wi t h ardent pearl s.
Nor dot h she mi t i gat e her dance,
The bagpi pe ever l ouder ski rl s, {52}
Unt i l t he shapes of deat h advance
And gat her round her, shri eki ng l oud
And wai l i ng oer t he wi de expanse
Of sand, t he gi bberi ng, mewi ng crowd.
Li ke cat s, and apes, t hey gat her cl ose,
Ti l l , l i ke t he horror of a cl oud
Wrappi ng t he f l ami ng sun wi t h rose,
They hi de her f rom t he heros si ght .
Then dot h he must t hereat morose,
When i n one wi l d cascade of l i ght
The pageant breaks, and t hunder roars:
Down f l aps t he l oat hl y wi ng of ni ght .
He sees t he l onel y Bret on shores
Lapped i n t he l evi n: t hen hi s eyes
See how she shri eki ng soars and soars
Int o t he st arl ess, st ormy ski es.
Wel l ! wel l ! t hi s l esson wi l l he l earn,
How musi cs mel l owi ng art i f i ce
May bi d t he breast of nat ure burn
And cal l t he gods f rom st ar and shri ne.
So now hi s soundi ng courses t urn
To f i nd an i nst rument di vi ne
Whereon he may pursue hi s quest .
How gl i t t er green hi s gl eef ul eyne {53}
When, where t he mi ce and l i ce i nf est
A f i l t hy hovel , l i es a wench
Beari ng a baby at her breast ,
Drunk and debauched, one sol i d st ench,
But carryi ng a si l ver l ut e.
Boardet h her, nor dot h baul k nor bl ench,
And l ong abi det h brut e by brut e
Ami d t he unsavoury denzens,
Unt i l hi s mel odi es uproot
The oaks, l ure l i ons f rom t hei r dens,
Turn ri vers back, and st i l l t he spl een
Of serpent s and of Saracens.
Thus t hen equi pped, he qui t s t he quean,
And i n a ci t y f ai r and wi de
Cal l s up wi t h musi c wi l d and keen
The Quest i ng Marvel t o hi s si de.
Then do t he sport f ul ci t y f ol k
About hi s l onel y st ance abi de:
Maki ng t hei r hol i day, t hey j oke
The mel anchol y ass: t hey t hrow
Thei r cl at t eri ng coppers i n hi s poke.
So day and ni ght t hey come and go,
But never comes t he Quest i ng Beast ,
Nor dot h t hat l aughi ng peopl e know {54}
How agonys unl eaveni ng yeast
St i rs Pal amede. Anon t hey t i re,
And f ol l ow an Egypt i an pri est
Who boast s hi m mast er of t he f i re
To draw down l i ght ni ng, and i nvoke
The gods upon a sandal pyre,
And bri ng up devi l s i n t he smoke.
Si r Pal amede i s al l al one,
Wrapped i n hi s mi sery l i ke a cl oak,
Despai ri ng now t o charm t he Unknown.
So arms and horse he t akes agai n.
Si r Pal amede hat h overt hrown
The j est ers. Now t he count ry men,
St upi dl y st ari ng, see at noon
Si r Pal amede t he Saracen
A-ri di ng l i ke an harvest moon
In si l ver arms, wi t h gl i t t eri ng l ance,
Wi t h pl umŠ d hel m, and wi ngŠ d shoon,
At hwart t he admi ri ng l and of France. {55}

XX
SIR PALAMEDE hat reasoned out
Beyond t he shadow of a doubt
That t hi s hi s Quest i ng Beast i s one;
For were i t Beast s, he must suppose
An earl i er Beast t o f at her t hose.
So al l t he t racks of herds t hat run
Int o t he f orest he di scards,
And onl y t urns hi s dark regards
On si ngl e pri nt s, on marks uni que.
Si r Pal amede dot h now at t ai n
Unt o a wi de and grassy pl ai n,
Whereon he spi es t he t hi ng t o seek.
Thereat he put t et h spur t o horse
And runnet h hi m a random course,
The Beast a-quest i ng aye bef ore.
But prai se t o good Si r Pal amede!
Hat h got t en hi m a f ai ry st eed
Al i ke f or venery and f or war,
So t hat i n l i t t l e drawi ng near
The quarry, l i f t et h up hi s spear
To run hi m of hi s mal i ce t hrough. {56}
Wi t h t hat t he Beast hopes no escape,
Di ssol vet h al l hi s l ordl y shape,
Spl i t t et h hi m sudden i nt o t wo.
Si r Pal amede i n f ury runs
Unt o t he nearer beast , t hat shuns
The shock, and spl i t s, and spl i t s agai n,
Unt i l t he baf f l ed warri or sees
A myri ad myri ad swarms of t hese
A-quest i ng over al l t he pl ai n.
The good kni ght rei ns hi s charger i n.
Now, by t he f ai t h of Pal adi n!
The subt l e quest at l ast I hen.
Ri des of f t he Camel ot t o pl i ght
The f ai t h of many a nobl e kni ght ,
Si r Pal amede t he Saracen. {57}

XXI
Now dot h Si r Pal amede advance
The l ord of many a sword and l ance.
i n merri e Engl ands summer sun
Thei r shi el ds and arms a-gl i t t eri ng gl ance
And l augh upon t he mossy mead.
Now wi nds t he horn of Pal amede,
As f ar upon t he hori zon
He spi es t he Quest i ng Beast a-f eed.
Wi t h l oyal craf t and honest gui l e
They spread t hei r ranks f or many a mi l e.
f or when t he Beast hat heard t he horn
he pract i set h hi s anci ent wi l e,
And many a myri ad beast s i nvade
The st i l l ness of t hat armŠ d gl ade.
Now every kni ght t o rest hat h borne
Hi s l ance, and gi ven t he accol ade,
And run upon a beast : but t hey Sl i p f rom t he f at al poi nt away
And course about , conf usi ng al l
That gal l ant concourse al l t he day, {58}
Leadi ng t hem ever t o a val e
Wi t h hugeous cry and monst er wai l .
t hen suddenl y t hei r voi ces f al l ,
And i n t he parks resoundi ng pal e
Onl y t he cl amour of t he chase
i s heard: oh! t o t he cent re race
The unsuspi ci ous kni ght s: but he
The Quest i ng Beast hi s f ormer f ace
Of uni t y resumes: t he course
Of warri ors shocks wi t h man and horse.
In mut ual madness swi f t t o see
They shat t er wi t h unbri dl ed f orce
One on anot her: down t hey go
Swi f t i n st upendous overt hrow.
Out sword! out l ance! Curi ass and hel m
Spl i nt er beneat h t he kni ght l y bl ow.
They st orm, t hey charge, t hey hack and hew,
They rush and wheel t he press at hrough.
The wei ght , t he murder, over whel m
One, t wo, and al l . Nor si l ence knew
Hi s empi re t i l l Si r Pal amede
(The l ast ) upon hi s f ai ry st eed
St ruck down hi s brot her; t hen at once
Fel l si l ence on t he bl oody mead, {59}
Unt i l t he quest i ng rose agai n.
For t here, on t hat ensangui ne pl ai n
St andet h a-l aughi ng at t he dunce
The si ngl e Beast t hey had not sl ai n.
There, wi t h hi s f ri ends and f ol l owers dead,
Hi s brot her smi t t en t hrough t he head,
Hi msel f sore wounded i n t he t hi gh,
Weepet h upon t he deed of dread,
Al one among hi s murdered men,
The champi on f ool , as f ool s were t hen,
Ut t erl y broken, l i ke t o di e,
Si r Pal amede t he Saracen. {60}

XXII
SIR PALAMEDE hi s wi t s dot h ral l y,
Nursi ng hi s wound besi de a l ake
Wi t hi n an admi rabl e val l ey,
Whose wal l s t hei r t hi rst on heaven sl ake,
And i n t he moonl i ght myst i cal
Thei r count l ess spears of si l ver shake.
Thus reasons he: In each and al l
Fyt t es of t hi s quest t he quarrys t rack
Is wondrous geomet ri cal .
In spi re and whorl t wi st s out and back
The hart wi t h f ai r symmet ri c l i ne.
And l o! t he grai n of wi t I l ack -
Thi s Beast i s Mast er of Desi gn.
So st udyi ng each t wi st ed pri nt
In t hi s mi ri f i c mi nd of mi ne,
My heart may happen on a hi nt .
Thus as t he seeker af t er gol d
Eagerl y chases grai n or gl i nt , {61}
The kni ght at l ast wi ns t o behol d
The f ul l concept i on. Breat hl ess-bl ue
The f ai r l akes mi rror cryst al -col d
Wherei n he gazes, keen t o vi ew
The vast Desi gn t herei n, t o chase
The Beast t o hi s l ast avenue.
Then - O t hou gosl i ng scant of grace!
The dream breaks, and Si r Pal amede
Wakes t o t he gl ass of hi s f ool s f ace!
Ah, sdeat h! (quod he), by t hought and deed
Thi s brut e f or ever mocket h me.
The l ance i s made a broken reed,
The brai n i s but a barren t ree -
For al l t he beaut i f ul Desi gn
Is but mi ne own geomet ry!
Wi t h t hat hi s wrat h brake out l i ke wi ne.
He pl unged hi s body i n, and shat t ered
The whol e del usi on asi ni ne.
Al l t he f al se wat er-nymphs t hat f l at t ered
He ki l l ed wi t h hi s resoundi ng curse -
O f ool of God! as i f i t mat t ered!
So, not hi ng bet t er, rat her worse,
Out of t he bl ue bl i ss of t he pool
Came dri ppi ng t hat i nvet erat e f ool ! {62}

XXIII
NOW st i l l he hol det h argument :
So grand a Beast must house hi m wel l ;
hence, now beseemet h me f requent
Cat hedral , pal ace, ci t adel .
So, ri di ng f ast among t he f l owers
Far of f , a Got hi c spi re he spi es,
That l i ke a gl adi at or t owers
It s spear-sharp spl endour t o t he ski es.
The peopl e cl ust er round, accl ai m:
Si r Kni ght , good kni ght , t hy quest i s won.
Here dwel l s t he Beast i n ori ent f l ame,
Spri ng-sweet , and swi f t er t han t he sun!
Si r Pal amede t he Saracen
Spurs t o t he shri ne, af i re t o wi n
The end; and al l t he urgent men
Throng wi t h hi m el oquent l y i n.
Si r Pal amede hi s vi zor drops;
He l ays hi s l oyal l ance i n rest ;
He dri ves t he rowel s home - he st ops!
Faugh! but a bl ack-mout hed money-chest ! {63}
He t urns - t he f ri endl y f ol k are gone,
gone wi t h hi s sumpt er-mul es and t rai n
Beyond t he i nf i ni t e hori zon
Of al l he hopes t o see agai n!
Hi s brai n bef ool ed, hi s pocket pi cked -
How t he Beast cachi nnat ed t hen,
Far f rom t hat dol ef ul derel i ct
Si r Pal amede t he Saracen! {64}

XXIV
DNE t hi ng at l east (quot h Pal amede),
Beyond di sput e my soul can see:
Thi s Quest i ng Beast t hat mocks my need
Dwel l et h i n deep obscuri t y.
So del vet h he a darksome hol e
Wi t hi n t he bowel s of Et na dense,
Cl osi ng t he harbour of hi s soul
To al l t he pi rat e-shi ps of sense.
And now t he quest i ng of t he Beast
Rol l s i n hi s very sel f , and hi gh
Leaps hi s whi l e heart i n f i ery f east
On t he expect ed ecst asy.
But echoi ng f rom t he cent ral roar
Reverberat es many a mournf ul moan,
And shapes more myst i c t han bef ore
Baf f l e i t s f orml ess monot one!
Ah! mocks hi m many a myri ad vi si on,
Warri ng wi t hi n hi m mast erl ess,
Turni ng devot i on t o deri si on,
Beat i t ude t o beast l i ness. {65}
They swarm, t hey grow, t hey mul t i pl y;
The St rong kni ght s brai n goes al l a-swi m,
Paced by t hat maddeni ng mi nst rel sy,
Those dog-l i ke demons hunt i ng hi m.
The l ast bar breaks; t he st eel wi l l snaps;
The bl ack hordes ri ot i n hi s brai n;
A t housand t hreat eni ng t hunder-cl aps
Smi t e hi m - i nsane - i nsane - i nsane!
Hi s muscl es roar wi t h sensel ess rage;
The pal e kni ght st aggers, deat hl y si ck;
Reel s t o t he l i ght t hat sorry sage,
Si r Pal amede t he Lunat i ck. {66}

XXV
A SAVAGE sea wi t hout a sai l ,
Grey gul phs and green a-gl i t t eri ng,
Rare snow t hat f l oat s - a vest al vei l
Upon t he f orehead of t he spri ng.
Here i n a pl ungi ng gal l eon
Si r Pal amede, a l i st l ess drone,
Dri f t s desperat el y on - and on -
And on - wi t h heart and eyes of st one.
The deep-scarred brai n of hi m i s heal ed
Wi t h wi nd and sea and st ar and sun,
The assoi l i ng grace t hat God reveal ed
For gree and bount eous beni son.
Ah! st i l l he t rust s t he recreant brai n,
Thrown i n a t housand t ourney-j ust s;
St i l l he raves on i n reason-st rai n
Wi t h sensel ess ought s and f at uous must s.
Al l t he del usi ons (arguet h
The ass), al l uproars, surel y ri se
From t hat curst Me whose name i s Deat h,
Whereas t he Quest i ng beast bel i es {67}
The Me wi t h Thou; t hen swi f t t he quest
To sl ay t he Me shoul d hook t he Thou.
Wi t h t hat he crossed hi m, brow and breast ,
And f l ung hi s body f rom t he prow.
An end?Al as! on si l ver sand
Open hi s eyes; t he surf -ri ngs roar.
What snort s t here, swi mmi ng f rom t he l and?
The Beast t hat brought hi m t o t he shore!
OBeast ! quot h purpl e Pal amede,
A monst er st range as Thou am I.
I coul d not l i ve bef ore, i ndeed;
And not I cannot even di e!
Who chose me, of t he Tabl e Round
By mi racl e accl ai med t he chi ef ?
Here, wat erl ogged and muscl e-bound,
Marooned upon a coral reef ! {68}

XXVI
SIR PALAMEDE t he Saracen
Hat h got t en hi m a swi f t canoe,
Paddl ed by st al wart Sout h Sea men.
They cl eave t he oi l y breast s of bl ue,
St rai ni ng t oward t he west eri ng di sk
Of t he t al l sun; t hey bat t l e t hrough
Those weary days; t he wi nd i s bri sk;
The st ars are cl ear; t he moon i s hi gh.
Now, even as a whi t e basi l i sk
That sl ayet h al l men wi t h hi s eye,
St ands up bef ore t hem t aperi ng
The cone of speechl ess sanct i t y.
Up, up i t s sl opes t he pi l gri ms swi ng,
Chant i ng t hei r pagan gramarye
Unt o t he dread vol cano-ki ng.
Now, t hen, by Goddes reed! quod he,
Behol d t he secret of my quest
In t hi s f ar-f amed st abi l i t y! {69}
For al l t hese Payni m kni ght s may rest
In t he bl ack bl i ss t hey st ruggl e t o.
But f rom t he eart hs f ul l -f l owered breast
Brake t he bl i nd roar of eart hquake t hrough,
Teari ng t he bel l y of i t s mot her,
Engul phi ng al l t hat heat hen crew,
That cri ed and cursed on one anot her.
Aghast he st andet h, Pal amede!
For t wi nned wi t h Eart hquake l aughs her brot her
The Quest i ng Beast . As Goddes reed
Sweat s bl ood f or si n, so now t he heart
Of t he good kni ght begi ns t o bl eed.
Of al l t he rui nous shaf t s t hat dart
Wi t hi n hi s l i ver, t hi s hat h pl i ed
The most i nt ol erabl e smart .
By Goddes wounds! t he good kni ght cri ed,
What i s t hi s quest , grown dai l y daf t er,
Where not hi ng - not hi ng - may abi de?
West ward! They f l y, but rol l i ng af t er
Echoes t he Beast s unsat i sf i ed
And i next i ngui shabl e l aught er! {70}

XXVII
SIR PALAMEDE goes achi ng on
(Pox of despai rs dread i nt erdi ct ! )
Aye t o t he west ern hori zon,
St i l l medi t at i ng, sharp and st ri ct ,
Upon t he changes of t he eart h,
It s t owers and t empl es derel i ct ,
The ready rui n of i t s mi rt h,
The f l owers, t he f rui t s, t he l eaves t hat f al l ,
The j oy of l i f e, i t s growi ng gi rt h -
And not hi ng as t he end of al l .
Yea, even as t he Yang-t ze rol l ed
It s rapi ds past hi m, so t he wal l
Of t hi ngs brake down; hi s eyes behol d
The mi ght y Beast serenel y couched
Upon i t s breast of burni shed gol d.
Ah! by Chri st s bl ood! (hi s soul avouched),
Not hi ng but change (but change! ) abi des.
Deat h l urks, a l eopard curl ed and crouched, {71}
In al l t he seasons and t he t i des.
But ah! t he more i t changed and changed -
(The good kni ght l aughed t o spl i t hi s si des! )
What ?Is t he soul of t hi ngs deranged?
The more i t changed, and ri ppl ed t hrough
It s changes, and st i l l changed, and changed,
The l i ker t o i t sel f i t grew.
Bear me, he cri ed, t o purge my bi l e
To t he ol d l and of Hormakhu,
That I may si t and curse awhi l e
At al l t hese f ol l i es f ond t hat pen
My quest about - on, on t o Ni l e!
Tread t enderl y, my merry men!
For not hi ng i s so voi d and vi l e
As Pal amede t he Saracen. {72}

XXVIII
SIR PALAMEDE t he Saracen
Hat h cl ad hi m i n a sabl e robe;
Hat h curses, wri t by hol y men
From al l t he gardens of t he gl obe.
He st andet h at an al t ar-st one;
The bl ood dri ps f rom t he sl ai n babes t hroat ;
Hi s chant rol l s i n a magi ck moan;
Hi s head bows t o t he crownŠ d goat .
Hi s wand makes curves and spi res i n ai r;
The smoke of i ncense curl s and qui vers;
Hi s eyes f i x i n a gl ass-col d st are:
The l and of Egypt rocks and shi vers!
Lo! by t hy Gods, O God, I vow
To burn t he aut hent i c bones and bl ood
Of curst Osi ri s even now
To t he dark Ni l es upsurgi ng f l ood!
I cast t hee down, oh crowned and t hroned!
To bl ack Amennt i s voi d prof ane.
Unt i l mi ne anger be at oned
Thou shal t not ever ri se agai n. {73}
Wi t h f i rm red l i ps and square bl ack beard,
Osi ri s i n hi s st rengt h appeared.
He made t he si gn t hat savet h men
On Pal amede t he Saracen.
Hat h hushed hi s conj urat i on gri m:
The curse comes back t o sl eep wi t h hi m.
Hat h f al l en hi msel f t o t hat prof ane
Whence none mi ght ever ri se agai n.
Dread t ort ure racks hi m; al l hi s bones
Get voi ce t o ut t er f ort h hi s groans.
The very poi son of hi s bl ood
Joi ns i n t hat crys soul -shaki ng f l ood.
For many a chi l i ad count ed wel l
Hi s soul st ayed i n i t s proper Hel l .
Then, when Si r Pal amedes came
Back t o hi msel f , t he shri ne was dark.
Col d was t he i ncense, dead t he f l ame;
The sl ai n babe l ay t here bl ack and st ark.
What of t he Beast ?What of t he quest ?
More bl i nd t he quest , t he Beast more di m.
Even now i t s l aught er i s suppressed,
Whi l e hi s own demons mock at hi m! {74}
O t hou most desperat e dupe t hat Hel l s
Mal i ce can make of mort al men!
Meddl e no more wi t h magi ck spel l s,
Si r Pal amede t he Saracen! {75}

XXIX
HA! but t he good kni ght , st ri di ng f ort h
From Set s abomi nabl e shri ne,
Pursues t he quest wi t h bi t t er wrat h,
So t hat hi s words f l ow out l i ke wi ne.
And l o! t he soul t hat hearet h t hem
Is st rai ght way heal ed of suf f eri ng.
Hi s f ame runs t hrough t he l and of Khem:
They f l ock, t he peasant and t he ki ng.
There he works many a mi racl e:
The bl i nd see, and t he cri ppl es wal k;
Lepers grow cl ean; si ck f ol k grow wel l ;
The deaf men hear, t he dumb men t al k.
He cast s out devi l s wi t h a word;
Ci rcl et h hi s wand, and dead men ri se.
No such a wonder hat h been heard
Si nce Chri st our Gods sweet sacri f i ce.
Now, by t he gl ad bl ood of our Lord!
Quot h Pal amede, my heart i s l i ght .
I am t he chosen harpsi chord
Whereon God pl ayet h; t he perf ect kni ght , {76}
The sai nt of Mary - t here he st ayed,
For out of Memnons si ngi ng st one
So f i erce a quest i ng barked and brayed,
It t urned hi s l aught er t o a groan.
Hi s vow f orgot , hi s t ask undone,
Hi s soul whi pped i n Gods bi t t er school !
(He moaned a mi ght y mal i son! )
The perf ect kni ght ?The perf ect f ool !
Now, by Gods wounds! quot h he, my st rengt h
Is burnt out t o a pest of pai ns.
Let me f l i ng of f my curse at l engt h
In ol d Chal deas st arry pl ai ns!
Thou bl essŠ d Jesus, f oul l y nai l ed
Unt o t he cruel Cal vary t ree,
Look on my soul s poor f ort assai l ed
By al l t he host s of devi l ry!
Is t here no medi ci ne but deat h
That shal l avai l me i n my pl ace,
That I may know t he Beaut eous Breat h
And t ast e t he Goodl y Gi f t of Grace?
Keep Thou yet f i rm t hi s t rembl i ng l eaf
My soul , dear God Who di ed f or men;
Yea! f or t hat si nner-soul t he chi ef ,
Si r Pal amede t he Saracen! {77}

XXX
STARRED i s t he bl ackness of t he sky;
Wi de i s t he sweep of t he col d pl ai n
Where good Si r Pal amede dot h l i e,
Keen on t he Beast -sl ot once agai n.
Al l day he rode; al l ni ght he l ay
Wi t h eyes wi de open t o t he st ars,
Seeki ng i n many a secret way
The key t o unl ock hi s pri son bars.
Beneat h hi m, hark! t he marvel sounds!
The Beast t hat quest et h horri bl y.
As i f a t hi rt y coupl e hounds
Are i n hi s bel l y quest et h he.
Beneat h hi m?Hearet h he ari ght ?
He l eaps t osf eet - a wonder shews:
St eep di ps a st ai rway f rom t he l i ght
To what obscuri t y God knows.
St i l l never a t remor shakes hi s soul
(God prai se t hee, kni ght of adamant ! );
He pl ungers t o t hat gruesome goal
Fi rm as an ol d bul l -el ephant ! {78}
The broad st ai r wi nds; he f ol l ows i t ;
Dark i s t he way; t he ai r i s bl i nd;
Bl ack, bl ack t he bl ackness of t he pi t ,
The l i ght l ong bl ot t ed out behi nd!
Hi s sword sweeps out ; hi s keen gl ance peers
For some shape gl i mmeri ng t hrough t he gl oom:
Naught , naught i n al l t hat voi d appears;
More st i l l , more si l ent t han t he t omb!
Ye now t he good kni ght i s aware
Of some bl ack f orce, of some dread t hrone,
Wai t i ng beneat h t hat awf ul st ai r,
Beneat h t hat pi t of sl i ppery st one.
Yea! t hough he sees not anyt hi ng,
Nor hears, hi s subt l e sense i s ware
That , l ackeyed by t he devi l -ki ng,
The Beast - t he Quest i ng Beast - i s t here!
So t hough hi s heart beat s cl ose wi t h f ear,
Though horror gri ps hi s t hroat , he goes,
Goes on t o meet i t , spear t o spear,
As good kni ght shoul d, t o f ace hi s f oes.
Nay! but t he end i s come. Bl ack eart h
Bel ches t hat peerl ess Pal adi n
Up f rom her gul phs - unt i mel y bi rt h!
- Her horror coul d not hol d hi m i n! {79}
Whi t e as a corpse, t he hero hai l s
The dawn, t hat ni ght of f ear st i l l shaki ng
Hi s body. Al l deat hs doubt assai l s
Hi m. Was i t sl eep or was i t waki ng?
By God, I care not , I! (quod he).
Or wake or sl eep, or l i ve or dead,
I wi l l pursue t hi s myst ery.
So hel p me Grace of Godl i head!
Ay! wi t h t hy wast ed l i mbs pursue
That subt l e Beast home t o hi s den!
Who know but t hou mayst wi n at hrough,
Si r Pal amede t he Saracen?{80}

XXXI
FROM Gods sweet ai r Si r Pal amede
Hat h come unt o a demon bog,
A ci t y where but rat s may breed
In sewer-st ench and f et i d f og.
Wi t hi n i t s heart pal e phant oms crawl .
Breat hl ess wi t h f ool i sh hast e t hey j og
And j ost l e, al l f or naught ! They scrawl
Vai n t hi ngs al l ni ght t hat t hey di sown
Ere day. They cal l and bawl and squal l
Hoarse cri es; t hey moan, t hey groan. A st one
Hat h bet t er sense! And t hese among
A cabbage-headed god t hey own,
Wi t h wanderi ng eye and j abberi ng t ongue.
He, rot t i ng i n t hat gri my sewer
And charnel -house of deat h and dung,
Shri eks: How t he ai r i s sweet and pure!
Gi ve me t he ent rai l s of a f rog
And I wi l l t each t hee! Lo! t he l ure {81}
Of l i ght ! How l ucent i s t he f og!
How nobl e i s my cabbage-head!
How sweet l y f ragrant i s t he bog!
Gods wounds! (Si r Pal amedes sai d),
What have I done t o earn t hi s port i on?
Must I, t he cl ean kni ght born and bred,
Sup wi t h t hi s f i l t hy t oad-abort i on?
Nat hl ess he st ayed wi t h hi m awhi l e,
Lest by di sdai n hi s ment i on t orsi on
Sl i p back, or mi ss t he serene smi l e
Shoul d crown hi s quest ; f or (as onesai t h)
The unknown may l urk wi t hi n t he vi l e.
So he who sought t he Beaut eous Breat h,
Desi red t he Goodl y Gi f t of Grace,
Went equal i nt o l i f e and deat h.
But oh! t he f oul ness of hi s f ace!
Not here was anyt hi ng of wort h;
He t urned hi s back upon t he pl ace,
Sought t he bl ue sky and t he green eart h,
Ay! and t he l ust ral sea t o cl eanse
That f i l t h t hat st ank about hi s gi rt h, {82}
The sores and scabs, t he wart s and wens,
The namel ess vermi n he had gat hered
In t hose i nsuf f erabl e dens,
The f oul di seases he had f at hered.
So now t he quest sl i ps f rom hi s brai n:
Fi rst (Chri st ! ) l et me be cl ean agai n! {83}

XXXII
HA! cri es t he kni ght , may pat i ent t oi l
Of brai n di ssol ve t hi s cruel coi l !
In Af ri c t hey t hat chase t he ost ri ch
Cl ot he t hem wi t h f eat hers, subt l y f oi l
It s vi gi l ance, come cl ose, t hen dart
It s deat h upon i t . Brave my heart !
Do t hus! And so t he kni ght di sgui ses
Hi msel f , on hands and knees dot h st art
Hi s hunt , goes quest i ng up and down.
So i n t he f i el ds t he peasant cl own
Fl i es, shri eki ng, f rom t he dreadf ul f i gure.
But when he came t o any t own
They caged hi m f or a l unat i c.
Quod he: Woul d God I had t he t ri ck!
The beast escaped f rom my devi ces;
I wi l l t he same. The bars are t hi ck,
But I am st rong. He wrenched i n vai n;
Then - what i s t hi s?What wi l d, sharp st rai n
Smi t es on t he ai r?The pri son smashes.
Hark! t i s t he Quest i ng Beast agai n! {84}
Then as he rushes f ort h t he not e
Roars f rom t hat Beast s mal i gnant t hroat
Wi t h l aught er, l aught er, l aught er, l aught er!
The wi t s of Pal amedes f l oat
In ecst asy of shame and rage.
O Thou! excl ai ms t he baf f l ed sage;
How shoul d I mat ch Thee?Yet , I wi l l so,
Though Doomi sday devour t he Age.
Weepi ng, and beat i ng on hi s breast ,
Gnashi ng hi s t eet h, he st i l l conf essed
The mi ght of t he dread oat h t hat bound hi m:
He woul d not yet gi ve up t he quest .
Nay! whi l e I am, quot h he, t hough Hel l
Engul ph me, t hough God mock me wel l ,
I f ol l ow as I sware; I f ol l ow,
Though i t be unat t ai nabl e.
Nay, more! Because I may not wi n,
Ist wort h mans work t o ent er i n!
The Inf i ni t e wi t h mi ght y passi on
Hat h caught my spi ri t i n a gi n.
Come! si nce I may not i mi t at e
The Beast , at l east I work and wai t .
We shal l di scover soon or l at e
Whi ch i s t he mast er - I or Fat e! {85}

XXXIII
SIR PALAMEDE t he Saracen
Hat h passed unt o t he t i del ess sea,
That t he keen whi sper of t he wi nd
May bri ng hi m t hat whi ch never men
Knew - on t he quest , t he quest , ri des he!
So l ong t o seek, so f ar t o f i nd!
So weary was t he kni ght , hi s l i mbs
Were sl ack as new-sl ai n doves; hi s knees
No l onger gri pped t he charger rude.
Li st l ess, he aches; hi s purpose swi ms
Exhaust ed i n t he oi l y seas
Of l axi t y and l assi t ude.
The soul subsi des; i t s seri ous mot i on
St i l l t hrobs; by habi t , not by wi l l .
And al l hi s l ust t o wi n t he quest
Is but a passi ve-mi l d devot i on.
(Ay! soon t he bl ood shal l run ri ght chi l l
- And i s not deat h t he Lord of Rest ?)
There as he basks upon t he cl i f f
He yearns t oward t he Beast ; hi s eyes
Are moi st wi t h l ove; hi s l i ps are f ai n {86}
To breat he f ond prayers; and (marry! ) i f
Mans soul were measured by hi s si ghs
He need not l i nger t o at t ai n.
Nay! whi l e t he Beast squat s t here, above
Hi m, smi l i ng on hi m; as he vows
Wonderf ul deeds and f rui t l ess f l owers,
He grows so maudl i n i n hi s l ove
That even t he knaves of hi s own house
Mock at hi m i n t hei r merry hours.
Gods deat h! raged Pal amede, not wrot h
But i rri t at ed, l augh ye so?
Am I a j ape f or scul l i ons?
Hi s curse came i n a f l aky f rot h.
He sei zed a cl ub, wi t h bl ow on bl ow
Breaki ng t he knaves unreverent sconce!
Thou mock t he Quest i ng Beast I chase,
The Quest i ng Beast I l ove?Ods wounds!
Then sudden f rom t he sl ave t here brake
A cachi nnat i on scant of grace,
As i f a t hi rt y coupl e hounds
Were i n hi s bel l y! Kni ght , awake!
Ah! wel l he woke! Hi s l ove an scorn
Grappl e i n deat h-t hroe at hi s t hroat .
Lead me away (quot h he), my men!
Woe, woe i s me was ever born
So bl i nd a bat , so gross a goat ,
As Pal amede t he Saracen! {87}

XXXIV
SIR PALAMEDE t he Saracen
Hat h hi d hi m i n an hermi t s cel l
Upon an i sl and i n t he f en
Of t hat l one l and where Drui ds dwel l .
There came an eagl e f rom t he hei ght
And bade hi m mount . From dal e t o del l
They sank and soared. Last t o t he l i ght
Of t he great sun hi msel f t hey f l ew,
Pi erci ng t he borders of t he ni ght ,
Passi ng t he i rremeabl e bl ue.
Far i nt o space beyond t he st ars
At l ast t hey came. And t here he knew
Al l t he bl i nd reasonabl e bars
Broken, and al l t he emot i ons st i l l ed,
And al l t he st ai ns and al l t he scars
Lef t hi m; sop l i ke a chi l d he t hri l l ed
Wi t h ut most knowl edge; al l hi s soul ,
Wi t h perf ect sense and si ght f ul f i l l ed, {88}
Touched t he ext reme, t he gi ant goal !
Yea! al l t hi ngs i n t hat hour t ranscended,
Al l power i n hi s subl i me cont rol ,
Al l f el t , al l t hought , al l comprehended -
How i s i t , t hen, t he quest (he sai t h)
Is not - at l ast ! - achi eved and ended?
Why t ast e I not t he Bount eous Breat h,
Recei ve t he Goodl y Gi f t of Grace?
Now, ki nd ki ng-eagl e (by Gods deat h! ),
Rest ore me t o mi ne anci ent pl ace!
I am advant aged not hi ng t hen!
Then swooped he f rom t he Byss of Space,
And set t he kni ght ami d t he f en.
God! quot h Si r Pal amede, t hat I
Who have won ni ne shoul d f ai l at t en!
I set my al l upon t he di e:
There i s no f urt her t ri ck t o t ry.
Cal l t hri ce accursŠ d above men
Si r Pal amede t he Saracen! {89}

XXXV
YEA! quot h t he kni ght , I rede t he spel l .
Thi s Beast i s t he Unknowabl e.
I seek i n Heaven, I seek i n Hel l ;
Ever he mocks me. Yet , met hi nks,
I have t he ri ddl e of t he Sphi nx.
For were I keener t han t he l ynx
I shoul d not see wi t hi n my mi nd
One t hought t hat i s not i n i t s ki nd
In soot h That Beast t hat l urks behi nd:
And i n my quest hi s quest i ng seems
The aut hent i c echo of my dreams,
The proper t hesi s of my t hemes!
I know hi m?St i l l he answers: No!
I know hi m not ?Maybe - and l o!
He i s t he one sol e t hi ng I know!
Nay! who knows not i s di f f erent
From hi m t hat knows. Then be cont ent ;
Thou canst not al t er t he event ! {90}
Ah! what concl usi on subt l y draws
From out t hi s chaos of mad l aws?
An I, t he ef f ect , as I, t he cause?
Nay, t he brai n reel s beneat h i t s swel l
Of pompous t hought s. Enough t o t el l
That He i s known Unknowabl e!
Thus di d t hat kni ght l y Saracen
In Cant abri gs mi asmal f en
Lect ure t o many l earned men.
So cl amorous was t hei r appl ause -
Hi s mi nd (sai d t hey) i s f ree of f l aws:
The Vei l of God i s t hi n as gauze! -
That al most t hey had dul l ed or drowned
The l aught er (i n i t s bel l y bound)
Of t hat dread Beast he had not f ound.
Nat hl ess - al t hough he woul d away -
They f orced t he l ack-l uck kni ght t o st ay
And l ect ure many a weary day.
Veri l y, al most he had caught
The i nf ect i on of t hei r cost i ve t hought ,
And brought hi s l oyal quest t o naught .
It was by ni ght t hat Pal amede
Ran f rom t hat mi l dewed, moul dy breed,
Mot h-eat hen dul l ards run t o seed! {91}
How weak Si r Pal amedes grows!
We hear no more of bout s and bl ows!
Hi s weapons are hi s t en good t oes!
He t hat was Art hurs peer, good kni ght
Proven i n many a f ought en f i ght ,
Fl ees l i ke a f el on i n t he ni ght !
Ay! t hi s t hy quest i s past t he ken
Of t hee and of al l mort al men,
Si r Pal amede t he Saracen! {92}

XXXVI
DFT, as Si r Pal amedes went
Upon t he quest , he was aware
Of some vast shadow subt l y bent
Wi t h hi s own shadow i n t he ai r.
It had no shape, no voi ce had i t
Wherewi t h t o daunt t he eye or ear;
Yet al l t he horror of t he pi t
Cl ad i t wi t h al l t he arms of f ear.
Moreover, t hough he sought t o scan
Some f eat ure, t hough he l i st ened l ong,
No shape of God or f i end or man,
No whi sper, groan, shri ek, scream, or song
Gave hi m t o know i t . Now i t chanced
One day Si r Pal amedes rode
Through a great wood whose l eaf age danced
In t he t hi n sunl i ght as i t f l owed
From heaven. He hal t ed i n a gl ade,
Bade hi s horse crop t he t ender grass;
Put of f hi s armour, sof t l y l ai d
Hi msel f t o sl eep t i l l noon shoul d pass. {93}
He woke. Bef ore hi m st ands and gri ns
A mot l ey hunchback. Knave! quot h he,
Hast seen t he Beast ?The quest t hat wi ns
The l of t i est pri ze of chi val ry?
Si r Kni ght , he answers, hast t hou seen
Aught of t hat Beast ?How knowest t hou, t hen,
That i t i s ever or hat h been,
Si r Pal amede t he Saracen?
Si r Pal amede was wel l awake.
Nay! I del i berat e deep and l ong,
Yet f i nd no answer f i t t o make
To t hee. The weak beat s down t he st rong;
The f ool s cap shames t he hel m. But t hou!
I know t hee f or t he shade t hat haunt s
My way, set s shame upon my brow,
My purpose di ms, my courage daunt s.
Then, si nce t he t hi nker must be dumb,
At l east t he kni ght may kni ght l y act :
The wi sest monk i n Chri st endom
May have hi s skul l broke by a f act .
Wi t h t hat , as a snake st ri kes, hi s sword
Leapt burni ng t o t he burni ng bl ue;
And f el l , one swi f t , assured award,
St abbi ng t hat hunchback t hrough and t hrough. {94}
St rai ght he di ssol ved, a voi cel ess shade.
Or scot ched or sl ai n, t he kni ght sai d t hen,
What odds?Keep bri ght and sharp t hy bl ade,
Si r Pal amede t he Saracen! {95}

XXXVII
SIR PALAMEDE i s si ck t o deat h!
The st ari ng eyen, t he haggard f ace!
God grant t o hi m t he Beaut eous breat h!
god send t he Goodl y Gi f t of Grace!
There i s a whi t e cave by t he sea
Wherei n t he kni ght i s hi d away.
Just ere t he ni ght f al l s, spi et h he
The suns l ast shaf t f l i cker ast ray.
Al l day i s dark. There, t here he mourns
Hi s wast ed years, hi s purpose f ai nt .
A mi l l i on whi ps, a mi l l i on scorns
Make t he kni ght f l i nch, and st ai n t he sai nt .
For now! what hat h he l ef t ?He f eeds
On l i mpet s and wi l d root s. What odds?
There i s no need a mort al needs
Who hat h l oosed mans hope t o grasp at Gods!
How hi s head swi ms! At ni ght what st i rs
Above t he f ai nt wash of t he t i de,
And rare sea-bi rds whose wi ngi ng whi rrs
About t he cl i f f s?Now good bet i de! {96}
God save t hee, woef ul Pal amede!
The quest i ng of t he Beast i s l oud
Wi t hi n t hy ear. By Goddes reed,
t hou has won t he t i l t f rom al l t he crowd!
Wi t hi n t hy proper bowel s i t sounds
Mi ght y and musi cal at need,
As i f a t hi rt y coupl e hounds
Quest ed wi t hi n t hee, Pal amede!
Now, t hen, he grasps t he desperat e t rut h
He hat h t oi l ed t hese many years t o see,
Hat h wast ed st rengt h, hat h wast ed yout h -0-
He was t he Beast ; t he Beast was he!
He ri ses f rom t he cave of deat h,
Runs t o t he sea wi t h shi ni ng f ace
To know at l ast t he Bount eous Breat h,
To t ast e t he Goodl y Gi f t of Grace.
Ah! Pal amede, t hou has mi st ook!
Thou art t he but t of al l conf usi on!
Not t o be wri t t en i n my book
Is t hi s most drast i c di si l l usi on!
So weak and i l l was he, I doubt
i f he mi ght hear t he royal f east
Of l aught er t hat came rol l i ng out
Af ar f rom t hat el usi ve Beast . {97}
Yet , t hose whi t e l i ps were snapped, l i ke st eel
Upon t he ankl es of a sl ave!
That body broken on t he wheel
Of t i me suppressed t he groan i t gave!
Not t here, not here, my quest ! he cri ed.
Not t hus! Not now! do how and when
Mat t er?I am, and I abi de,
Si r Pal amede t he Saracen! {98}

XXXVIII
SIR PALAMEDE of great renown
rode t hrough t he l and upon t he quest ,
Hi s sword l oose and hi s vi zor down,
Hi s buckl er braced, hi s l ance i n rest .
Now, t hen, God save t hee, Pal amede!
Who courset h yonder on t he f i el d?
Those si l ver arms, t hat sabl e st eed,
The sun and rose upon hi s shi el d?
The st range kni ght spurs t o hi m. di sdai n
Curl s t hat proud l i p as he upl i f t s
Hi s vi zor. Come, an end! In vai n,
Si r Fox, t hy t housand t urns and shi f t s!
Si r Pal amede was whi t e wi t h f ear.
Lord Chri st ! t hose f eat ures were hi s own;
Hi s own t hat voi ce so i cy cl ear
That cut s hi m, cut s hi m t o t he bone.
Fal se kni ght ! f al se kni ght ! t he st ranger cri ed.
Thou bast ard dog, Si r Pal amede?
I am t he good kni ght f ai n t o ri de
Upon t he Quest i ng Beast at need. {99}
Thi ef of my arms, my crest , my quest ,
My name, now meet est t hou t hy shame.
See, wi t h t hi s whi p I l ash t hee back,
Back t o t he kennel whence t here came
So f al se a hound. Good kni ght , i n soot h,
Answered Si r Pal amede, not I
Presume t o asset t he i dl est t rut h;
And here, by t hi s good ear and eye,
I grant t hou art Si r Pal amede.
But - t ry t he f i rst and f i nal t est
If t hou or I be he. Take heed!
He backed hi s horse, covered hi s breast ,
Drove hi s spurs home, and rode upon
That kni ght . Hi s l ance-head f ai rl y st ruck
The barred st rengt h of hi s mori on,
And rol l ed t he st ranger i n t he muck.
Now, by Gods deat h! quot h Pal amede,
Hi s sword at work, I wi l l not l eave
So much of t hee as God mi ght f eed
Hi s sparrows wi t h. As I bel i eve
The sweet Chri st s mercy shal l avai l ,
so wi l l I not have aught f or t hee;
Si nce every bone of t hee may rai l
Agai nst me, cryi ng t reachery. {100}
Thou hast l i ed. I am t he chosen kni ght
To sl ay t he Quest i ng beast f or men;
I am t he l oyal son of l i ght ,
Si r Pal amede t he Saracen!
Thou wast t he subt l est f i end t hat yet
hat h crossed my pat h. t o say t hee nay
I dare not , but my sword i s wet
Wi t h t hy knaves bl ood, and wi t h t hy cl ay
Foul ed! Dost t hou t hi nk t o resurrect ?
O sweet Lord Chri st t hat savest men!
From al l such f i ends do t hou prot ect
Me, Pal amede t he Saracen! {101}

XXXIX
CREEN and Greci an i s t he val l ey,
Shepherd l ads and shepherd l asses
Danci ng i n a ri ng
Merri l y and musi cal l y.
How t hei r happi ness surpasses
The mere t hri l l of spri ng!
Come (t hey cry), Si r Kni ght , put by
Al l t hat wei ght of shi ni ng armour!
Heres a posy, heres a garl and, t heres a chai n of dai si es!
Heres a charmer! Theres a charmer!
Prai se t he God t hat crazes men, t he God t hat rai ses
Al l our l i ves t oe ecst asy!
Si r Pal amedes was t oo wi se
To mock t hei r gent l e wooi ng;
He smi l es i nt o t hei r sparkl i ng eyes
Whi l e t hey hi s armour are undoi ng.
For who (quot h he) may say t hat t hi s
Is not t he myst ery I mi ss?
Soon he i s gat hered i n t he dance,
And smot hered i n t he f l owers. {102}
A boys l augh and a mai dens gl ance
Are sweet as paramours!
St ay! i s t hee naught some want on wi ght
May do t o exci t e t he gl amoured kni ght ?
Yea! t he song t akes a sea-wi l d swel l ;
The dance moves i n a myst i c web;
St range l i ght s abound and t erri bl e;
The l i f e t hat f l owed i s out at ebb.
The l i ght s are gone; t he ni ght i s come;
The l ads and l asses si nk, awai t i ng
Some cl i max - oh, how t ense and dumb
The expect ant hush i nt oxi cat i ng!
Hush! t he heart s beat ! Across t he moor
Some dreadf ul god ri des f ast , be sure!
The l i st eni ng Pal amede bi t es t hrough
hi s t hi n whi t e l i ps - what hoof s are t hose?
Are t hey t he Quest ?How st i l l and bl ue
The sky i s! Hush - God knows - God knows!
Then on a sudden i n t he mi dst of t hem
i s a swart god, f rom hoof t o gi rdl e a goat ,
Upon hi s brow t he t wel ve-st ar di adem
And t he Ki ngs Col l ar f ast ened on t hi s t hroat .
Thri l l upon t hri l l courset h t hrough Pal amede.
Li f e, l i ve, pure l i f e i s bubbl i ng i n hi s bl ood.
Al l yout h comes back, al l st rengt h, al l you i ndeed
Fl ami ng wi t hi n t hat t hrobbi ng spi ri t -f l ood! {103
Yet was hi s heart i mmeasurabl y sad,
For t hat no quest i ng i n hi s ear he had.
Nay! he saw al l . He saw t he Curse
That wrapped i n rui n t he Worl d pri maeval .
He saw t he unborn Uni verse,
And al l i t s gods coeval .
He saw, and was, al l t hi ngs at once
In Hi m t hat i s; he was t he st ars,
The moons, t he met eors, t he suns,
Al l i n one net of t ri une bars;
Inext ri cabl y one, i nevi t abl y one,
Immeasurabl e, i mmut abl e, i mmense
Beyond al l t he wonder t hat hi s soul had won
By sense, i n spi t e of sense, and beyond sense.
Prai se God! quot h Pal amede, by t hi s
I at t ai n t he ut t ermost of bl i ss. . . .
Gods wounds! but t hat I never sought .
The Quest i ng Beast I sware t o at t ai n
And al l t hi s mi racl e i s naught .
Of f on my t ravel s once agai n!
I keep my yout h regai ned t o f oi l
Ol d Ti me t hat t ook me i n hi s t oi l .
I keep my st rengt h regai ned t o chase
The beast t hat mocks me now as t hen
Dear Chri st ! I pray Thee of Thy grace
Take pi t y on t he f orl orn case
Of Pal amede t he Saracen! {104}

XL
SIR PALAMEDE t he Saracen
Hat h see t he Al l ; hi s mi nd i s set
To pass beyond t hat great Amen.
Far hat h he wandered; st i l l t o f ret
Hi s soul agai nst t hat Soul . He breaches
The rhododendron f orest -net ,
Hi s body bl oody wi t h i t s l eeches.
St ernl y he t ravel l et h t he crest
Of a great mount ai n, f ar t hat reaches
Toward t he Ki ng-snows; t he rai ns mol est
The kni ght , whi t e wast es updri ven of wi nd
In sheet s, i n t orrent s, f i end-possessed,
Up f rom t he st eami ng pl ai ns of Ind.
They cut hi s f l esh, t hey chi l l hi s bones:
Yet he f eel s naught ; hi s mi nd i s pi nned
To t hat one poi nt where al l t he t hrones
Joi n t o one l i on-head of rock,
Toweri ng above al l crest s and cones {105}
That crouch l i ke j ackal s. St ress and shock
Move Pal amede no more. Li ke f at e
He moves wi t h si l ent speed. They f l ock,
The Gods, t o wat ch hi m. Now abat e
Hi s pul ses; he t hreads t hrough t he val e,
And t urns hi m t o t he mi ght y gat e,
The gl aci er. Oh, t he f l owers t hat scal e
t hose sun-ki ssed hei ght s! The snows t hat crown
The quart s ravi nes! The cl ouds t hat vei l
The awf ul sl opes! Dear God! l ook down
And see t hi s pet t y man move on.
Rel ent l ess as Thi ne own renown,
Carel ess of prai se or ori son,
Si mpl y det ermi ned. Wi l t t hou l aunch
(t hi s kni ght s presumpt uous head upon)
The devast at i ng aval ancehe?
He knows t oo much, and cares t oo l i t t l e!
Hi s wound i s more t han Deat h can st aunch.
He can avoi d, t hough by one t i t t l e,
Thy surest shaf t ! And now t he kni ght ,
Breast i ng t he crags, may l augh and whi t t l e
Away t he demon-cl ub whose mi ght
Threat ened hi m. Now he l eaves t he spur;
And eager, wi t h a boys del i ght , {106}
Treads t he i mpendi ng gl aci er.
Now, now he st ri kes t he st eep bl ack i ce
That l eads t o t he l ast neck. By Her
That bore t he l ord, by what devi ce
May he pass t here?Yet st i l l he moves,
Ardent and st eady, as i f t he pri ce
Of deat h were l ess t han l i f e approves,
As i f on eagl es wi ngs he mount ed,
Or as on angel s wi ngs - or l oves!
So, al l t he j ourney he di scount ed,
Hol di ng t he goal . Supreme he st ood
Upon t he summi t ; dreams uncount ed,
Worl ds of subl i me beat i t ude!
He passed beyond. The Al l he hat h t ouched,
And dropped t o vi l e desuet ude.
What l ay beyond?What st ar unsmut ched
By bei ng?Hi s poor f i ngers f umbl e,
And al l t he Naught t hei r ardour cl ut ched,
Li ke al l t he rest , begi ns t o crumbl e.
Where i s t he Beast ?Hi s bl i ss exceeded
Al l t hat bards si ng of or pri est s mumbl e;
No man, no God, hat h known what he di d.
Onl y t hi s baul ked hi m - t hat he l acked
Exact l y t he one t hi ng he needed. {107}
Faugh! cri ed t he kni ght . Thought , word, and act
Conf i rm me. I have proved t he quest
Impossi bl e. I break t he pact .
Back t o t he gi l ded hal l s, conf essed
A recreant ! Achi eved or not ,
Thi s t ask hat h earned a f oi son - rest .
In Caerl on and Camel ot
Let me embrace my f el l ow-men!
To buss t he wenches, pass t he pot ,
Is now t he envi abl e l ot
Of Pal amede t he Saracen! {108}

XLI
SIR ARTHUR si t s agai n at f east
Wi t hi n t he hi gh and hol y hal l
Of Camel ot . From West t o East
The Tabl e Round hat h burst t he t hral l
Of Payni mri e. The goodl i est gree
Si t s on t he gay kni ght s, one and al l ;
Ti l l Art hur: Of your chi val ry,
Kni ght s, l et us dri nk t he happi ness
Of t he one kni ght we l ack (quot h he);
For surel y i n some sore di st ress
May be Si r Pal amede. Then t hey
Rose as one man i n gl ad l i esse
To honour t hat great heal t h. gods way
Is not as mans (quot h Lancel ot ).
Yet , may god send hi m back t hi s day,
Hi s quest achi eve, t o Camel ot !
Amen! t hey cri ed, and rai sed t he bowl ;
When - t he wi nd rose, a bl ast as hot {109}
As t he si moom, and f ort h di d rol l
A sudden t hunder. St i l l t hey st ood.
Then came a bugl e-bl ast . The soul
Of each kni ght st i rred. Wi t h vi gour rude,
The bl ast t ore down t he t apest ry
That hi d t he door. Al l ashen-hued
The kni ght s l ai d hand t o sword. But he
(Si r Pal amedes) i n t he gap
Was f ound - God knowet h - bi t t erl y
Weepi ng. Cri ed Art hur: St range t he hap!
My kni ght , my dearest kni ght , my f ri end!
What gi f t had Fort une i n her l ap
Li ke t hee?Em, brace me! Rat her end
Your garment s, i f you l ove me, si re!
(Quod he). I am come unt o t he end.
Al l mi ne i nt ent and my desi re,
My quest , mi ne oat h - al l , al l i s done.
Burn t hem wi t h me i n f at al f i re!
Fi r I have f ai l ed. Al l ways, each one
I st rove i n, mocked me. If I quai l ed
Or shi rked, God knows. I have not won:
That and no more I know. I f ai l ed.
Ki ng Art hur f el l a-weepi ng. Then
Merl i n uprose, hi s f ace unvei l ed; {110}
Thri ce cri ed he pi t eousl y t hen
Upon our Lord. Then shook t hi s head
Si r Pal amede t he Saracen,
As knowi ng not hi ng mi ght best ead,
When l o! t here rose a monst er moan,
A hugeous cry, a quest i ng dread,
As i f (Gods deat h! ) t here coursed al one
The Beast , wi t hi n whose bel l y sounds
That marvel l ous musi c monot one
As i f a t hi rt y coupl e hounds
Quest ed wi t hi n hi m. Now, by Chri st
And by Hi s pi t i f ul f i ve wounds! -
Even as a l over t o hi s t ryst ,
That Beast came quest i ng i n t he hal l ,
One f l ame of gol d and amet hyst ,
Bodi l y seen t hen of t hem al l .
t hen came he t o Si r Pal amede,
Nest l i ng t o hi m, as sweet and smal l
As a young babe cl i ngs at i t s need
To t he whi t e bosom of i t s mot her,
As Chri st cl ung t o t he gi bbet -reed!
Then every kni ght t urned t o hi s brot her,
Sobbi ng and si gni ng f or great gl adness;
And, as t hey l ooked on one anot her, {111}
Surel y t here st ol e a subt l e madness
Int o t hei r vei ns, more st rong t han deat h:
For al l t he root s of si n and sadness
Were pl ucked. As a f l ower peri shet h,
So al l si n di ed. And i n t hat pl ace
Al l t hey di d know t he Beaut eous Breat h
And t ast e t he Goodl y Gi f t of Grace.
Then f el l t he ni ght . Above t he bayi ng
Of t he great Beast , t hat was t he bass
To al l t he harps of Heaven a-pl ayi ng,
There came a sol emn voi ce (not one
But was upon hi s knees i n prayi ng
And gl ori f yi ng God). The Son
Of God Hi msel f - men t hought - spoke t hen.
Ari se! brave sol di er, t hou hast won
The quest not gi ven t o mort al men.
Ari se! Si r Pal amede Adept ,
Chri st i an, and no more Saracen!
On wake or sl eepi ng, wi se, i nept ,
St i l l t hou di dst seek. Those f ool i sh ways
On whi ch t hy f ol l y st umbl ed, l eapt ,
Al l l ed t o t he one goal . Now prai se
Thy Lord hat He hat brought t hee t hrough
To wi n t he quest ! The good kni ght l ays {112}
Hi s hand upon t he Beast . Then bl ew
Each angel on hi s t rumpet , t hen
Al l Heaven resounded t hat i t knew
Si r Pal amede t he Saracen
Was mast er! Through t he domes of deat h,
Through al l t he mi ght y real ms of men
And spi ri t s breat hed t he Beaut eous Breat h:
They t ast e t he Goodl y Gi f t of Grace.
- Now t i s t he chroni cl er t hat sai t h:
Our Savi our grant i n l i t t l e space
That al so I, even I, be bl est
Thus, t hough so evi l i s my case -
Let t hem t hat read my ri me at t est
The same sweet unct i on i n my pen -
That wri t es i n pure bl ood of my breast ;
For t hat I f i gure unt o men
The st ory of my proper quest
As t hi ne, f i rst East ern i n t he West ,
Si r Pal amede t he Saracen! {113}