Sir Palamedes

28 Until one billow curls to leap, And flings him breathless on the shore Half drowned. O fool! his God’s asleep, His armour in illusion’s war Itself illusion, all his might And courage vain. Yet ardours pour Through every artery. The knight Scales the Himalaya’s frozen sides, Crowned with illimitable light, And there in constant war abides, Smiting the spangles of the snow ; Smiting until the vernal tides Of earth leap high ; the steady flow Of sunlight splits the icy walls : They slide, they hurl the knight below. Sir Palamede the mighty falls Into an hollow where there dwelt A bearded crew of monachals Asleep in various visions spelt By mystic symbols unto men. But when a foreigner they smelt They drive him from their holy den, And with their glittering eyeballs pelt Sir Palamede the Saracen.