78
XXX
STARRED is the blackness of the sky;
Wide is the sweep of the cold plain
Where good Sir Palamede doth lie,
Keen on the Beast-slot once again.
All day he rode; all night he lay
With eyes wide open to the stars,
Seeking in many a secret way
The key to unlock his prison bars.
Beneath him, hark! the marvel sounds!
The Beast that questeth horribly.
As if a thirty couple hounds
Are in his belly questeth he.
Beneath him? Heareth he aright?
He leaps to’s feet—a wonder shews:
Steep dips a stairway from the light
To what obscurity God knows.
Still never a tremor shakes his soul
(God praise thee, knight of adamant }) ;
He plunges to that gruesome goal
Firm as an old bull-elephant!