The Equinox (Volume I, Number III)

XXXVIII Srr PaLaMeEDE of great renown Rode through the land upon the quest, His sword loose and his vizor down, His buckler braced, his lance in rest. Now, then, God save thee, Palamede! Who courseth yonder on the field? Those silver arms, that sable steed, The sun and rose upon his shield? The strange knight spurs to him. Disdain Curls the proud lip as he uplifts His vizor. ‘Come, an end! In vain, Sir Fox, thy thousand turns and shifts!” Sir Palamede was white with fear. Lord Christ! those features were his own; His own that voice so icy clear That cuts him, cuts him to the bone. “False knight! false knight!” the stranger cried. “ Thou bastard dog, Sir Palamede? Iam the good knight fain to ride Upon the Questing Beast at need. 99