Sir Palamedes

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.