and refreshed his horse.

So, leaving the tower in the hands of the grateful lady, he went on his
way, coming ere long to the Enchanted Garden of the necromancer
Ormadine, where, embedded in the living rock, he saw a magic sword, the
like of which for beauty he had never seen, the belt being beset with
jaspers and sapphire stones, while the pommel was a globe of the purest
silver chased in gold with these verses:

My magic will remain most firmly bound
Till that a knight from the far north be found
To pull this sword from out its bed of stone.
Lo! when he comes wise Ormadine must fall.
Farewell, my magic power, my spell, my all.

Seeing this St. George put his hand to the hilt, thinking to essay
pulling it out by strength; but lo! he drew it out with as much ease as
though it had hung by a thread of untwisted silk. And immediately every
door in the enchanted garden flew open, and the magician Ormadine
appeared, his hair standing on end; and he, after kissing the hand of
the champion, led him to a cave where a young man wrapped in a sheet of
gold lay sleeping, lulled by the songs of four beautiful maidens.

"The Knight whom thou seest here!" said the necromancer in a hollow
voice, "is none other than thy brother-in-arms, the Christian Champion
St. David of Wales. He also attempted to draw my sword but failed. Him
hast thou delivered from my enchantments since they come to an end."

Now, as he spoke, came such a rattling of the skies, such a lumbering of
the earth as never was, and in the twinkling of an eye the Enchanted