There’s castles in each wind-piled cloud and Spain just o’er the hill;

And, for best of all romancers, there’s Sir John Maundeville!

Oh, Sir John Maundeville, Sir John Maundeville!

Æneas Sylvius, go up, and, Hakluyt, rest you still;

Cathay, Damascus, Lamary, and Persia shall fulfil

The magic of the legends of Sir John Maundeville!

III

COME, hydra of the Lernean slough! Promethean vulture, come!

The charms that we have learned for you shall strike your terrors dumb.