Sir Palamedes

She knows him, and black fears bedim Those eyes ; she offers to his gaze The blue-veined breasts that suckled him In childhood’s sweet and solemn days. Weeping she bares the holy womb! Shrieks out the mother’s last appeal : And reads irrevocable doom In those dread eyes of ice and steel. He winds his horn: his warriors pour In thousands on the fenceless foe; The sunset stains their hideous war With crimson bars of after-glow. He winds his horn : the night-stars leap To light ; upspring the sisters seven ; While answering flames illume the deep, The blue pavilions blaze to heaven. Silent and stern the northward way They ride; alone before his men Staggers through black to rose and grey Sir Palamede the Saracen.