SIR PALAMEDES, THE SARACEN KNIGHT
But oh! the eyes of shame! Beneath
The tall pavilion’s sapphire shade
There sport a band with wand and wreath,
Languorous boy and laughing maid.
And in the centre is a sight
Of hateful love and shameless shame:
A recreant Abyssinian knight
Sports grossly with a wanton dame.
How black and swinish is the knave!
His hellish grunt, his bestial grin;
Her trilling laugh, her gesture suave,
The cool sweat swimming on her skin !
She looks and laughs upon the knight,
Then turns to buss the blubber mouth,
Draining the dregs of that black blight
Of wine to ease their double drouth!
God! what a glance! Sir Palamede
Is stricken by the sword of fate :
His mother it is in very deed
That gleeful goes the goatish gait.
His mother it his, that pure and pale
Cried in the pangs that gave him birth;
The holy image he would veil
From aught the tiniest taint of earth.