Sir Palamedes

74 With firm red lips and square black beard, Osiris in his strength appeared. He made the sign that saveth men On Palamede the Saracen. ’Hath hushed his conjuration grim: The curse comes back to sleep with him. Hath fallen himself to that profane Whence none might ever rise again. Dread torture racks him; all his bones Get voice to utter forth his groans. The very poison of his blood Joins in that cry’s soul-shaking flood. For many a chiliad counted well His soul stayed in its proper Hell. Then, when Sir Palamedes came Back to himself, the shrine was dark. Cold was the incense, dead the flame; The slain babe lay there black and stark. What of the Beast? What of the quest? More blind the quest, the Beast more dim. Even now its laughter is suppressed, While his own demons mock at him!