The Tale of Balen

Dedication     To My Mother     Love that holds life and death in fee,     Deep as the clear unsounded sea     And sweet as life or death can be,     Lays here my hope, my heart, and me     Before you, silent, in a song.     Since the old wild tale, made new, found grace,     When half sung through, before your face,     It needs must live a springtide space,     While April suns grow strong.     March 24, 1896.     The Tale of Balen I     In hawthorn-time the heart grows light,     The world is sweet in sound and sight,     Glad thoughts and birds take flower and flight,     The heather kindles toward the light,     The whin is frankincense and flame.     And be it for strife or be it for love     The falcon quickens as the dove     When earth is touched from heaven above     With joy that knows no name.     And glad in spirit and sad in soul     With dream and doubt of days that roll     As waves that race and find no goal     Rode on by bush and brake and bole     A northern child of earth and sea.     The pride of life before him lay     Radiant: the heavens of night and day     Shone less than shone before his way     His ways and days to be.     And all his life of blood and breath     Sang out within him: time and death     Were even as words a dreamer saith     When sleep within him slackeneth,     And light and life and spring were one.     The steed between his knees that sprang,     The moors and woods that shone and sang,     The hours where through the spring's breath rang,     Seemed ageless as the sun.     But alway through the bounteous bloom     That earth gives thanks if heaven illume     His soul forefelt a shadow of doom,     His heart foreknew a gloomier gloom     Than closes all men's equal ways,     Albeit the spirit of life's light spring     With pride of heart upheld him, king     And lord of hours like snakes that sting     And nights that darken days.     And as the strong spring round him grew     Stronger, and all blithe winds that blew     Blither, and flowers that flowered anew     More glad of sun and air and dew,     The shadow lightened on his soul     And brightened into death and died     Like winter, as the bloom waxed wide     From woodside on to riverside     And southward goal to goal.     Along the wandering ways of Tyne,     By beech and birch and thorn that shine     And laugh when life's requickening wine     Makes night and noon and dawn divine     And stirs in all the veins of spring,     And past the brightening banks of Tees,     He rode as one that breathes and sees     A sun more blithe, a merrier breeze,     A life that hails him king.     And down the softening south that knows     No more how glad the heather glows,     Nor how, when winter's clarion blows     Across the bright Northumbrian snows,     Sea-mists from east and westward meet,     Past Avon senseless yet of song     And Thames that bore but swans in throng     He rode elate in heart and strong     In trust of days as sweet.     So came he through to Camelot,     Glad, though for shame his heart waxed hot,     For hope within it withered not     To see the shaft it dreamed of shot     Fair toward the glimmering goal of fame,     And all King Arthur's knightliest there     Approved him knightly, swift to dare     And keen to bid their records bear     Sir Balen's northern name.     Sir Balen of Northumberland     Gat grace before the king to stand     High as his heart was, and his hand     Wrought honour toward the strange north strand     That sent him south so goodly a knight.     And envy, sick with sense of sin,     Began as poisonous herbs begin     To work in base men's blood, akin     To men's of nobler might.     And even so fell it that his doom,     For all his bright life's kindling bloom     And light that took no thought for gloom,     Fell as a breath from the opening tomb     Full on him ere he wist or thought.     For once a churl of royal seed,     King Arthur's kinsman, faint in deed     And loud in word that knew not heed,     Spake shame where shame was nought.     "What doth one here in Camelot     Whose birth was northward? Wot we not     As all his brethren borderers wot     How blind of heart, how keen and hot,     The wild north lives and hates the south?     Men of the narrowing march that knows     Nought save the strength of storms and snows,     What would these carles where knighthood blows     A trump of kinglike mouth?"     Swift from his place leapt Balen, smote     The liar across his face, and wrote     His wrath in blood upon the bloat     Brute cheek that challenged shame for note     How vile a king-born knave might be.     Forth sprang their swords, and Balen slew     The knave ere well one witness knew     Of all that round them stood or drew     What sight was there to see.     Then spake the great king's wrathful will     A doom for six dark months to fill     Wherein close prison held him, still     And steadfast-souled for good or ill.     But when those weary days lay dead     His lordliest knights and barons spake     Before the king for Balen's sake     Good speech and wise, of force to break     The bonds that bowed his head. II     In linden-time the heart is high     For pride of summer passing by     With lordly laughter in her eye;     A heavy splendour in the sky     Uplifts and bows it down again.     The spring had waned from wood and wold     Since Balen left his prison hold     And lowlier-hearted than of old     Beheld it wax and wane.     Though humble heart and poor array     Kept not from spirit and sense away     Their noble nature, nor could slay     The pride they bade but pause and stay     Till time should bring its trust to flower,     Yet even for noble shame's sake, born     Of hope that smiled on hate and scorn,     He held him still as earth ere morn     Ring forth her rapturous hour.     But even as earth when dawn takes flight     And beats her wings of dewy light     Full in the faltering face of night,     His soul awoke to claim by right     The life and death of deed and doom,     When once before the king there came     A maiden clad with grief and shame     And anguish burning her like flame     That feeds on flowers in bloom.     Beneath a royal mantle, fair     With goodly work of lustrous vair,     Girt fast against her side she bare     A sword whose weight bade all men there     Quail to behold her face again.     Save of a passing perfect knight     Not great alone in force and fight     It might not be for any might     Drawn forth, and end her pain.     So said she: then King Arthur spake:     "Albeit indeed I dare not take     Such praise on me, for knighthood's sake     And love of ladies will I make     Assay if better none may be."     By girdle and by sheath he caught     The sheathed and girded sword, and wrought     With strength whose force availed him nought     To save and set her free.     Again she spake: "No need to set     The might that man has matched not yet     Against it: he whose hand shall get     Grace to release the bonds that fret     My bosom and my girdlestead     With little strain of strength or strife     Shall bring me as from death to life     And win to sister or to wife     Fame that outlives men dead."     Then bade the king his knights assay     This mystery that before him lay     And mocked his might of manhood. "Nay,"     Quoth she, "the man that takes away     This burden laid on me must be     A knight of record clean and fair     As sunlight and the flowerful air,     By sire and mother born to bear     A name to shame not me."     Then forth strode Launcelot, and laid     The mighty-moulded hand that made     Strong knights reel back like birds affrayed     By storm that smote them as they strayed     Against the hilt that yielded not.     Then Tristram, bright and sad and kind     As one that bore in noble mind     Love that made light as darkness blind,     Fared even as Launcelot.     Then Lamoracke, with hardier cheer,     As one that held all hope and fear     Wherethrough the spirit of man may steer     In life and death less dark or dear,     Laid hand thereon, and fared as they.     With half a smile his hand he drew     Back from the spell-bound thing, and threw     With half a glance his heart anew     Toward no such blameless may.     Between Iseult and Guenevere     Sat one of name as high to hear,     But darklier doomed than they whose cheer     Foreshowed not yet the deadlier year     That bids the queenliest head bow down,     The queen Morgause of Orkney: they     With scarce a flash of the eye could say     The very word of dawn, when day     Gives earth and heaven their crown.     But bright and dark as night or noon     And lowering as a storm-flushed moon     When clouds and thwarting winds distune     The music of the midnight, soon     To die from darkening star to star     And leave a silence in the skies     That yearns till dawn find voice and rise,     Shone strange as fate Morgause, with eyes     That dwelt on days afar.     A glance that shot on Lamoracke     As from a storm-cloud bright and black.     Fire swift and blind as death's own track     Turned fleet as flame on Arthur back     From him whose hand forsook the hilt:     And one in blood and one in sin     Their hearts caught fire of pain within     And knew no goal for them to win     But death that guerdons guilt.     Then Gawain, sweet of soul and gay     As April ere he dreams of May,     Strove, and prevailed not: then Sir Kay,     The snake-souled envier, vile as they     That fawn and foam and lurk and lie,     Sire of the bastard band whose brood     Was alway found at servile feud     With honour, faint and false and lewd,     Scarce grasped and put it by.     Then wept for woe the damsel bound     With iron and with anguish round,     That none to help her grief was found     Or loose the inextricably inwound     Grim curse that girt her life with grief     And made a burden of her breath,     Harsh as the bitterness of death.     Then spake the king as one that saith     Words bitterer even than brief.     "Methought the wide round world could bring     Before the face of queen or king     No knights more fit for fame to sing     Than fill this full Round Table's ring     With honour higher than pride of place:     But now my heart is wrung to know,     Damsel, that none whom fame can show     Finds grace to heal or help thy woe:     God gives them not the grace."     Then from the lowliest place thereby,     With heart-enkindled cheek and eye     Most like the star and kindling sky     That say the sundawn's hour is high     When rapture trembles through the sea,     Strode Balen in his poor array     Forth, and took heart of grace to pray     The damsel suffer even him to assay     His power to set her free.     Nay, how should he avail, she said,     Averse with scorn-averted head,     Where these availed not? none had sped     Of all these mightier men that led     The lists wherein he might not ride,     And how should less men speed? But he,     With lordlier pride of courtesy,     Put forth his hand and set her free     From pain and humbled pride.     But on the sword he gazed elate     With hope set higher than fear or fate,     Or doubt of darkling days in wait;     And when her thankful praise waxed great     And craved of him the sword again,     He would not give it. "Nay, for mine     It is till force may make it thine."     A smile that shone as death may shine     Spake toward him bale and bane.     Strange lightning flickered from her eyes.     "Gentle and good in knightliest guise     And meet for quest of strange emprise     Thou hast here approved thee: yet not wise     To keep the sword from me, I wis.     For with it thou shalt surely slay     Of all that look upon the day     The man best loved of thee, and lay     Thine own life down for his."     "What chance God sends, that chance I take,"     He said. Then soft and still she spake;     "I would but for thine only sake     Have back the sword of thee, and break     The links of doom that bind thee round.     But seeing thou wilt not have it so,     My heart for thine is wrung with woe."     "God's will," quoth he, "it is, we know,     Wherewith our lives are bound."     "Repent it must thou soon," she said,     "Who wouldst not hear the rede I read     For thine and not for my sake, sped     In vain as waters heavenward shed     From springs that falter and depart     Earthward. God bids not thee believe     Truth, and the web thy life must weave     For even this sword to close and cleave     Hangs heavy round my heart."     So passed she mourning forth. But he,     With heart of springing hope set free     As birds that breast and brave the sea,     Bade horse and arms and armour be     Made straightway ready toward the fray.     Nor even might Arthur's royal prayer     Withhold him, but with frank and fair     Thanksgiving and leave-taking there     He turned him thence away. III     As the east wind, when the morning's breast     Gleams like a bird's that leaves the nest,     A fledgeling halcyon's bound on quest,     Drives wave on wave on wave to west     Till all the sea be life and light,     So time's mute breath, that brings to bloom     All flowers that strew the dead spring's tomb,     Drives day on day on day to doom     Till all man's day be night.     Brief as the breaking of a wave     That hurls on man his thunderous grave     Ere fear find breath to cry or crave     Life that no chance may spare or save,     The light of joy and glory shone     Even as in dreams where death seems dead     Round Balen's hope-exalted head,     Shone, passed, and lightened as it fled     The shadow of doom thereon.     For as he bound him thence to fare,     Before the stately presence there     A lady like a windflower fair,     Girt on with raiment strange and rare     That rippled whispering round her, came.     Her clear cold eyes, all glassy grey,     Seemed lit not with the light of day     But touched with gleams that waned away     Of quelled and fading flame.     Before the king she bowed and spake:     "King, for thine old faith's plighted sake     To me the lady of the lake,     I come in trust of thee to take     The guerdon of the gift I gave,     Thy sword Excalibur." And he     Made answer: "Be it whate'er it be,     If mine to give, I give it thee,     Nor need is thine to crave."     As when a gleam of wicked light     Turns half a low-lying water bright     That moans beneath the shivering night     With sense of evil sound and sight     And whispering witchcraft's bated breath,     Her wan face quickened as she said:     "This knight that won the sword--his head     I crave or hers that brought it. Dead,     Let these be one in death."     "Not with mine honour this may be;     Ask all save this thou wilt," quoth he,     "And have thy full desire." But she     Made answer: "Nought will I of thee,     Nought if not this." Then Balen turned,     And saw the sorceress hard beside     By whose fell craft his mother died:     Three years he had sought her, and here espied     His heart against her yearned.     "Ill be thou met," he said, "whose ire     Would slake with blood thy soul's desire:     By thee my mother died in fire;     Die thou by me a death less dire."     Sharp flashed his sword forth, fleet as flame,     And shore away her sorcerous head.     "Alas for shame," the high king said,     "That one found once my friend lies dead;     Alas for all our shame!     "Thou shouldst have here forborne her; yea,     Were all the wrongs that bid men slay     Thine, heaped too high for wrath to weigh,     Not here before my face today     Was thine the right to wreak thy wrong."     Still stood he then as one that found     His rose of hope by storm discrowned,     And all the joy that girt him round     Brief as a broken song.     Yet ere he passed he turned and spake:     "King, only for thy nobler sake     Than aught of power man's power may take     Or pride of place that pride may break     I bid the lordlier man in thee,     That lives within the king, give ear.     This justice done before thee here     On one that hell's own heart holds dear,     Needs might not this but be.     "Albeit, for all that pride would prove,     My heart be wrung to lose thy love,     It yet repents me not hereof:     So many an eagle and many a dove,     So many a knight, so many a may,     This water-snake of poisonous tongue     To death by words and wiles hath stung,     That her their slayer, from hell's lake sprung,     I did not ill to slay."     "Yea," said the king, "too high of heart     To stand before a king thou art;     Yet irks it me to bid thee part     And take thy penance for thy part,     That God may put upon thy pride."     Then Balen took the severed head     And toward his hostry turned and sped     As one that knew not quick from dead     Nor good from evil tide.     He bade his squire before him stand     And take that sanguine spoil in hand     And bear it far by shore and strand     Till all in glad Northumberland     That loved him, seeing it, all might know     His deadliest foe was dead, and hear     How free from prison as from fear     He dwelt in trust of the answering year     To bring him weal for woe.     "And tell them, now I take my way     To meet in battle, if I may,     King Ryons of North Wales, and slay     That king of kernes whose fiery sway     Doth all the marches dire despite     That serve King Arthur: so shall he     Again be gracious lord to me,     And I that leave thee meet with thee     Once more in Arthur's sight."     So spake he ere they parted, nor     Took shame or fear to counsellor,     As one whom none laid ambush for;     And wist not how Sir Launceor,     The wild king's son of Ireland, hot     And high in wrath to know that one     Stood higher in fame before the sun,     Even Balen, since the sword was won,     Drew nigh from Camelot.     For thence, in heat of hate and pride,     As one that man might bid not bide,     He craved the high king's grace to ride     On quest of Balen far and wide     And wreak the wrong his wrath had wrought.     "Yea," Arthur said, "for such despite     Was done me never in my sight     As this thine hand shall now requite     If trust avail us aught."     But ere he passed, in eager mood     To feed his hate with bitter food,     Before the king's face Merlin stood     And heard his tale of ill and good,     Of Balen, and the sword achieved,     And whence it smote as heaven's red ire     That direful dame of doom as dire;     And how the king's wrath turned to fire     The grief wherewith he grieved.     And darkening as he gave it ear,     The still face of the sacred seer     Waxed wan with wrath and not with fear,     And ever changed its cloudier cheer     Till all his face was very night.     "This damosel that brought the sword,"     He said, "before the king my lord,     And all these knights about his board,     Hath done them all despite.     "The falsest damosel she is     That works men ill on earth, I wis,     And all her mind is toward but this,     To kill as with a lying kiss     Truth, and the life of noble trust.     A brother hath she,--see but now     The flame of shame that brands her brow! -     A true man, pure as faith's own vow,     Whose honour knows not rust.     "This good knight found within her bower     A felon and her paramour,     And slew him in his shameful hour,     As right gave might and righteous power     To hands that wreaked so foul a wrong.     Then, for the hate her heart put on,     She sought by ways where death had gone     The lady Lyle of Avalon,     Whose crafts are strange and strong.     "The sorceress, one with her in thought,     Gave her that sword of magic, wrought     By charms whereof sweet heaven sees nought,     That hither girt on her she brought     To be by doom her brother's bane.     And grief it is to think how he     That won it, being of heart so free     And perfect found in chivalry,     Shall by that sword lie slain.     Great pity it is and strange despite     That one whose eyes are stars to light     Honour, and shine as heaven's own height,     Should perish, being the goodliest knight     That even the all-glorious north has borne.     Nor shall my lord the king behold     A lordlier friend of mightier mould     Than Balen, though his tale be told     Ere noon fulfil his morn." IV     As morning hears before it run     The music of the mounting sun,     And laughs to watch his trophies won     From darkness, and her hosts undone,     And all the night become a breath,     Nor dreams that fear should hear and flee     The summer menace of the sea,     So hears our hope what life may be,     And knows it not for death.     Each day that slays its hours and dies     Weeps, laughs, and lightens on our eyes,     And sees and hears not: smiles and sighs     As flowers ephemeral fall and rise     About its birth, about its way,     And pass as love and sorrow pass,     As shadows flashing down a glass,     As dew-flowers blowing in flowerless grass,     As hope from yesterday.     The blossom of the sunny dew     That now the stronger sun strikes through     Fades off the blade whereon it blew     No fleetlier than the flowers that grew     On hope's green stem in life's fierce light.     Nor might the glory soon to sit     Awhile on Balen's crest alit     Outshine the shadow of doom on it     Or stay death's wings from flight.     Dawn on a golden moorland side     By holt and heath saw Balen ride     And Launceor after, pricked with pride     And stung with spurring envy: wide     And far he had ridden athwart strange lands     And sought amiss the man he found     And cried on, till the stormy sound     Rang as a rallying trumpet round     That fires men's hearts and hands.     Abide he bade him: nor was need     To bid when Balen wheeled his steed     Fiercely, less fain by word than deed     To bid his envier evil speed,     And cried, "What wilt thou with me?" Loud     Rang Launceor's vehement answer: "Knight,     To avenge on thee the dire despite     Thou hast done us all in Arthur's sight     I stand toward Arthur vowed."     "Ay?" Balen said: "albeit I see     I needs must deal in strife with thee,     Light is the wyte thou layest on me;     For her I slew and sinned not, she     Was dire in all men's eyes as death,     Or none were lother found than I     By me to bid a woman die:     As lief were loyal men to lie,     Or scorn what honour saith."     As the arched wave's weight against the reef     Hurls, and is hurled back like a leaf     Storm-shrivelled, and its rage of grief     Speaks all the loud broad sea in brief,     And quells the hearkening hearts of men,     Or as the crash of overfalls     Down under blue smooth water brawls     Like jarring steel on ruining walls,     So rang their meeting then.     As wave on wave shocks, and confounds     The bounding bulk whereon it bounds     And breaks and shattering seaward sounds     As crying of the old sea's wolves and hounds     That moan and ravin and rage and wail,     So steed on steed encountering sheer     Shocked, and the strength of Launceor's spear     Shivered on Balen's shield, and fear     Bade hope within him quail.     But Balen's spear through Launceor's shield     Clove as a ploughshare cleaves the field     And pierced the hauberk triple-steeled,     That horse with horseman stricken reeled,     And as a storm-breached rock falls, fell.     And Balen turned his horse again     And wist not yet his foe lay slain,     And saw him dead that sought his bane     And wrought and fared not well.     Suddenly, while he gazed and stood,     And mused in many-minded mood     If life or death were evil or good,     Forth of a covert of a wood     That skirted half the moorland lea     Fast rode a maiden flower-like white     Full toward that fair wild place of fight,     Anhungered of the woful sight     God gave her there to see.     And seeing the man there fallen and dead,     She cried against the sun that shed     Light on the living world, and said,     "O Balen, slayer whose hand is red,     Two bodies and one heart thou hast slain,     Two hearts within one body: aye,     Two souls thou hast lost; by thee they die,     Cast out of sight of earth and sky     And all that made them fain."     And from the dead his sword she caught,     And fell in trance that wist of nought,     Swooning: but softly Balen sought     To win from her the sword she thought     To die on, dying by Launceor's side.     Again her wakening wail outbroke     As wildly, sword in hand, she woke     And struck one swift and bitter stroke     That healed her, and she died.     And sorrowing for their strange love's sake     Rode Balen forth by lawn and lake,     By moor and moss and briar and brake,     And in his heart their sorrow spake     Whose lips were dumb as death, and said     Mute words of presage blind and vain     As rain-stars blurred and marred by rain     To wanderers on a moonless main     Where night and day seem dead.     Then toward a sunbright wildwood side     He looked and saw beneath it ride     A knight whose arms afar espied     By note of name and proof of pride     Bare witness of his brother born,     His brother Balan, hard at hand,     Twin flower of bright Northumberland,     Twin sea-bird of their loud sea-strand,     Twin song-bird of their morn.     Ah then from Balen passed away     All dread of night, all doubt of day,     All care what life or death might say,     All thought of all worse months than May:     Only the might of joy in love     Brake forth within him as a fire,     And deep delight in deep desire     Of far-flown days whose full-souled quire     Rang round from the air above.     From choral earth and quiring air     Rang memories winged like songs that bear     Sweet gifts for spirit and sense to share:     For no man's life knows love more fair     And fruitful of memorial things     Than this the deep dear love that breaks     With sense of life on life, and makes     The sundawn sunnier as it wakes     Where morning round it rings.     "O brother, O my brother!" cried     Each upon each, and cast aside     Their helms unbraced that might not hide     From sight of memory single-eyed     The likeness graven of face and face,     And kissed and wept upon each other     For joy and pity of either brother,     And love engrafted by sire and mother,     God's natural gift of grace.     And each with each took counsel meet     For comfort, making sorrow sweet,     And grief a goodly thing to greet:     And word from word leapt light and fleet     Till all the venturous tale was told,     And how in Balen's hope it lay     To meet the wild Welsh king and slay,     And win from Arthur back for pay     The grace he gave of old.     "And thither will not thou with me     And win as great a grace for thee?"     "That will I well," quoth Balan: "we     Will cleave together, bound and free,     As brethren should, being twain and one."     But ere they parted thence there came     A creature withered as with flame,     A dwarf mismade in nature's shame,     Between them and the sun.     And riding fleet as fire may glide     He found the dead lie side by side,     And wailed and rent his hair and cried,     "Who hath done this deed?" And Balen eyed     The strange thing loathfully, and said,     "The knight I slew, who found him fain     And keen to slay me: seeing him slain,     The maid I sought to save in vain,     Self-stricken, here lies dead.     "Sore grief was mine to see her die,     And for her true faith's sake shall I     Love, and with love of heart more high,     All women better till I die."     "Alas," the dwarf said, "ill for thee     In evil hour this deed was done:     For now the quest shall be begun     Against thee, from the dawning sun     Even to the sunset sea.     "From shore to mountain, dawn to night,     The kinsfolk of this great dead knight     Will chase thee to thy death." A light     Of swift blithe scorn flashed answer bright     As fire from Balen's eye. "For that,     Small fear shall fret my heart," quoth he:     "But that my lord the king should be     For this dead man's sake wroth with me,     Weep might it well thereat."     Then murmuring passed the dwarf away,     And toward the knights in fair array     Came riding eastward up the way     From where the flower-soft lowlands lay     A king whose name the sweet south-west     Held high in honour, and the land     That bowed beneath his gentle hand     Wore on its wild bright northern strand     Tintagel for a crest.     And Balen hailed with homage due     King Mark of Cornwall, when he knew     The pennon that before him flew:     And for those lovers dead and true     The king made moan to hear their doom;     And for their sorrow's sake he sware     To seek in all the marches there     The church that man might find most fair     And build therein their tomb. V     As thought from thought takes wing and flies,     As month on month with sunlit eyes     Tramples and triumphs in its rise,     As wave smites wave to death and dies,     So chance on hurtling chance like steel     Strikes, flashes, and is quenched, ere fear     Can whisper hope, or hope can hear,     If sorrow or joy be far or near     For time to hurt or heal.     Swift as a shadow and strange as light     That cleaves in twain the shadow of night     Before the wide-winged word takes flight     That thunder speaks to depth and height     And quells the quiet hour with sound,     There came before King Mark and stood     Between the moorside and the wood     The man whose word God's will made good,     Nor guile was in it found.     And Merlin said to Balen: "Lo,     Thou hast wrought thyself a grievous woe     To let this lady die, and know     Thou mightst have stayed her deadly blow."     And Balen answered him and said,     "Nay, by my truth to faith, not I,     So fiercely fain she was to die;     Ere well her sword had flashed on high,     Self-slain she lay there dead."     Again and sadly Merlin spake:     "My heart is wrung for this deed's sake,     To know thee therefore doomed to take     Upon thine hand a curse, and make     Three kingdoms pine through twelve years' change,     In want and woe: for thou shalt smite     The man most noble and truest knight     That looks upon the live world's light     A dolorous stroke and strange.     "And not till years shall round their goal     May this man's wound thou hast given be whole."     And Balen, stricken through the soul     By dark-winged words of doom and dole,     Made answer: "If I wist it were     No lie but sooth thou sayest of me,     Then even to make a liar of thee     Would I too slay myself, and see     How death bids dead men fare."     And Merlin took his leave and passed     And was not: and the shadow as fast     Went with him that his word had cast,     Too fleet for thought thereof to last:     And there those brethren bade King Mark     Farewell: but fain would Mark have known     The strong knight's name who had overthrown     The pride of Launceor, when it shone     Bright as it now lay dark.     And Balan for his brother spake,     Saying: "Sir, albeit him list not break     The seal of secret time, nor shake     Night off him ere his morning wake,     By these two swords he is girt withal     May men that praise him, knights and lords,     Call him the knight that bears two swords,     And all the praise his fame accords     Make answer when they call."     So parted they toward eventide;     And tender twilight, heavy-eyed,     Saw deep down glimmering woodlands ride     Balen and Balan side by side,     Till where the leaves grew dense and dim     Again they spied from far draw near     The presence of the sacred seer,     But so disguised and strange of cheer     That seeing they knew not him.     "Now whither ride ye," Merlin said,     "Through shadows that the sun strikes red,     Ere night be born or day be dead?"     But they, for doubt half touched with dread,     Would say not where their goal might lie.     "And thou," said Balen, "what art thou,     To walk with shrouded eye and brow?"     He said: "Me lists not show thee now     By name what man am I."     "Ill seen is this of thee," said they,     "That thou art true in word and way     Nor fain to fear the face of day,     Who wilt not as a true man say     The name it shames not him to bear."     He answered: "Be it or be it not so,     Yet why ye ride this way I know,     To meet King Ryons as a foe,     And how your hope shall fare.     "Well, if ye hearken toward my rede,     Ill, if ye hear not, shall ye speed."     "Ah, now," they cried, "thou art ours at need     What Merlin saith we are fain to heed."     "Great worship shall ye win," said he,     "And look that ye do knightly now,     For great shall be your need, I trow."     And Balen smiled: "By knighthood's vow,     The best we may will we."     Then Merlin bade them turn and take     Rest, for their good steeds' weary sake,     Between the highway and the brake,     Till starry midnight bade them wake:     Then "Rise," he said, "the king is nigh,     Who hath stolen from all his host away     With threescore horse in armed array,     The goodliest knights that bear his sway     And hold his kingdom high.     "And twenty ride of them before     To bear his errand, ere the door     Turn of the night, sealed fast no more,     And sundawn bid the stars wax hoar;     For by the starshine of to-night     He seeks a leman where she waits     His coming, dark and swift as fate's,     And hearkens toward the unopening gates     That yield not him to sight.     Then through the glimmering gloom around     A shadowy sense of light and sound     Made, ere the proof thereof were found,     The brave blithe hearts within them bound,     And "Where," quoth Balen, "rides the king?"     But softer spake the seer: "Abide,     Till hither toward your spears he ride,     Where all the narrowing woodland side     Grows dense with boughs that cling."     There in that straitening way they met     The wild Welsh host against them set,     And smote their strong king down, ere yet     His hurrying horde of spears might get     Fierce vantage of them. Then the fight     Grew great and joyous as it grew,     For left and right those brethren slew,     Till all the lawn waxed red with dew     More deep than dews of night.     And ere the full fierce tale was read     Full forty lay before them dead,     And fast the hurtling remnant fled     And wist not whither fear had led:     And toward the king they went again,     And would have slain him: but he bowed     Before them, crying in fear aloud     For grace they gave him, seeing the proud     Wild king brought lowest of men.     And ere the wildwood leaves were stirred     With song or wing of wakening bird,     In Camelot was Merlin's word     With joy in joyous wonder heard     That told of Arthur's bitterest foe     Diskingdomed and discomfited.     "By whom?" the high king smiled and said.     He answered: "Ere the dawn wax red,     To-morrow bids you know.     "Two knights whose heart and hope are one     And fain to win your grace have done     This work whereby if grace be won     Their hearts shall hail the enkindling sun     With joy more keen and deep than day."     And ere the sundawn drank the dew     Those brethren with their prisoner drew     To the outer guard they gave him to     And passed again away.     And Arthur came as toward his guest     To greet his foe, and bade him rest     As one returned from nobler quest     And welcome from the stormbright west,     But by what chance he fain would hear.     "The chance was hard and strange, sir king,"     Quoth Ryons, bowed in thanksgiving.     "Who won you?" Arthur said: "the thing     Is worth a warrior's ear."     The wild king flushed with pride and shame,     Answering: "I know not either name     Of those that there against us came     And withered all our strength like flame:     The knight that bears two swords is one,     And one his brother: not on earth     May men meet men of knightlier worth     Nor mightier born of mortal birth     That hail the sovereign sun."     And Arthur said: "I know them not     But much am I for this, God wet,     Beholden to them: Launcelot     Nor Tristram, when the war waxed hot     Along the marches east and west,     Wrought ever nobler work than this."     "Ah," Merlin said, "sore pity it is     And strange mischance of doom, I wis,     That death should mar their quest.     "Balen, the perfect knight that won     The sword whose name is malison,     And made his deed his doom, is one:     Nor hath his brother Balan done     Less royal service: not on earth     Lives there a nobler knight, more strong     Of soul to win men's praise in song,     Albeit the light abide not long     That lightened round his birth.     "Yea, and of all sad things I know     The heaviest and the highest in woe     Is this, the doom whose date brings low     Too soon in timeless overthrow     A head so high, a hope so sure.     The greatest moan for any knight     That ever won fair fame in fight     Shall be for Balen, seeing his might     Must now not long endure."     "Alas," King Arthur said, "he hath shown     Such love to me-ward that the moan     Made of him should be mine alone     Above all other, knowing it known     I have ill deserved it of him." "Nay,"     Said Merlin, "he shall do for you     Much more, when time shall be anew,     Than time hath given him chance to do     Or hope may think to say.     "But now must be your powers purveyed     To meet, ere noon of morn be made     To-morrow, all the host arrayed     Of this wild foe's wild brother, laid     Around against you: see to it well,     For now I part from you." And soon,     When sundawn slew the withering moon,     Two hosts were met to win the boon     Whose tale is death's to tell.     A lordly tale of knights and lords     For death to tell by count of swords     When war's wild harp in all its chords     Rang royal triumph, and the hordes     Of hurtling foemen rocked and reeled     As waves wind-thwarted on the sea,     Was told of all that there might be,     Till scarce might battle hear or see     The fortune of the field.     And many a knight won fame that day     When even the serpent soul of Kay     Was kindled toward the fiery play     As might a lion's be for prey,     And won him fame that might not die     With passing of his rancorous breath     But clung about his life and death     As fire that speaks in cloud, and saith     What strong men hear and fly.     And glorious works were Arthur's there,     That lit the battle-darkened air:     But when they saw before them fare     Like stars of storm the knight that bare     Two swords about him girt for fray,     Balen, and Balan with him, then     Strong wonder smote the souls of men     If heaven's own host or hell's deep den     Had sent them forth to slay.     So keen they rode across the fight,     So sharp they smote to left and right,     And made of hurtling darkness light     With lightning of their swords, till flight     And fear before them flew like flame,     That Arthur's self had never known,     He said, since first his blast was blown,     Such lords of war as these alone     That whence he knew not came.     But while the fire of war waxed hot     The wild king hearkened, hearing not,     Through storm of spears and arrow-shot,     For succour toward him from King Lot     And all his host of sea-born men,     Strong as the strong storm-baffling bird     Whose cry round Orkney's headlands heard     Is as the sea's own sovereign word     That mocks our mortal ken.     For Merlin's craft of prophecy,     Who wist that one of twain must die,     Put might in him to say thereby     Which head should lose its crown, and lie     Stricken, though loth he were to know     That either life should wane and fail;     Yet most might Arthur's love avail,     And still with subtly tempered tale     His wile held fast the foe.     With woven words of magic might     Wherein the subtle shadow and light     Changed hope and fear till fear took flight,     He stayed King Lot's fierce lust of fight     Till all the wild Welsh war was driven     As foam before the wind that wakes     With the all-awakening sun, and breaks     Strong ships that rue the mirth it makes     When grace to slay is given.     And ever hotter lit and higher,     As fire that meets encountering fire,     Waxed in King Lot his keen desire     To bid revenge within him tire     On Arthur's ravaged fame and life:     Across the waves of war between     Floated and flashed, unseen and seen,     The lustrous likeness of the queen     Whom shame had sealed his wife.     But when the woful word was brought     That while he tarried, doubting nought,     The hope was lost whose goal he sought     And all the fight he yearned for fought,     His heart was rent for grief and shame,     And half his hope was set on flight     Till word was given him of a knight     Who said: "They are weary and worn with fight,     And we more fresh than flame."     And bright and dark as night and day     Ere either find the unopening way     Clear, and forego the unaltering sway,     The sad king's face shone, frowning: "Yea,     I would that every knight of mine     Would do his part as I shall do,"     He said, "till death or life anew     Shall judge between us as is due     With wiser doom than thine."     Then thundered all the awakening field     With crash of hosts that clashed and reeled,     Banner to banner, shield to shield,     And spear to splintering spear-shaft, steeled     As heart against high heart of man,     As hope against high hope of knight     To pluck the crest and crown of fight     From war's clenched hand by storm's wild light,     For blessing given or ban.     All hearts of hearkening men that heard     The ban twin-born with blessing, stirred     Like springtide waters, knew the word     Whereby the steeds of storm are spurred     With ravenous rapture to destroy,     And laughed for love of battle, pierced     With passion of tempestuous thirst     And hungering hope to assuage it first     With draughts of stormy joy.     But sheer ahead of the iron tide     That rocked and roared from side to side     Rode as the lightning's lord might ride     King Lot, whose heart was set to abide     All peril of the raging hour,     And all his host of warriors born     Where lands by warring seas are worn     Was only by his hands upborne     Who gave them pride and power.     But as the sea's hand smites the shore     And shatters all the strengths that bore     The ravage earth may bear no more,     So smote the hand of Pellinore     Charging, a knight of Arthur's chief,     And clove his strong steed's neck in twain,     And smote him sheer through brow and brain,     Falling: and there King Lot lay slain,     And knew not wrath or grief.     And all the host of Orkney fled,     And many a mother's son lay dead:     But when they raised the stricken head     Whence pride and power and shame were fled     And rage and anguish now cast out,     And bore it toward a kingly tomb,     The wife whose love had wrought his doom     Came thither, fair as morning's bloom     And dark as twilight's doubt.     And there her four strong sons and his,     Gawain and Gareth, Gaherys     And Agravain, whose sword's sharp kiss     With sound of hell's own serpent's hiss     Should one day turn her life to death,     Stood mourning with her: but by these     Seeing Mordred as a seer that sees,     Anguish of terror bent her knees     And caught her shuddering breath.     The splendour of her sovereign eyes     Flashed darkness deeper than the skies     Feel or fear when the sunset dies     On his that felt as midnight rise     Their doom upon them, there undone     By faith in fear ere thought could yield     A shadowy sense of days revealed,     The ravin of the final field,     The terror of their son.     For Arthur's, as they caught the light     That sought and durst not seek his sight,     Darkened, and all his spirit's might     Withered within him even as night     Withers when sunrise thrills the sea.     But Mordred's lightened as with fire     That smote his mother and his sire     With darkling doom and deep desire     That bade its darkness be.     And heavier on their hearts the weight     Sank of the fear that brings forth fate,     The bitter doubt whose womb is great     With all the grief and love and hate     That turn to fire men's days on earth.     And glorious was the funeral made,     And dark the deepening dread that swayed     Their darkening souls whose light grew shade     With sense of death in birth. VI     In autumn, when the wind and sea     Rejoice to live and laugh to be,     And scarce the blast that curbs the tree     And bids before it quail and flee     The fiery foliage, where its brand     Is radiant as the seal of spring,     Sounds less delight, and waves a wing     Less lustrous, life's loud thanksgiving     Puts life in sea and land.     High hope in Balen's heart alight     Laughed, as from all that clamorous fight     He passed and sought not Arthur's sight,     Who fain had found his kingliest knight     And made amend for Balen's wrong.     But Merlin gave his soul to see     Fate, rising as a shoreward sea,     And all the sorrow that should be     Ere hope or fear thought long.     "O where are they whose hands upbore     My battle," Arthur said, "before     The wild Welsh host's wide rage and roar?     Balen and Balan, Pellinore,     Where are they?" Merlin answered him:     "Balen shall be not long away     From sight of you, but night nor day     Shall bring his brother back to say     If life burn bright or dim."     "Now, by my faith," said Arthur then,     "Two marvellous knights are they, whose ken     Toward battle makes the twain as ten,     And Balen most of all born men     Passeth of prowess all I know     Or ever found or sought to see:     Would God he would abide with me,     To face the times foretold of thee     And all the latter woe."     For there had Merlin shown the king     The doom that songs unborn should sing,     The gifts that time should rise and bring     Of blithe and bitter days to spring     As weeds and flowers against the sun.     And on the king for fear's sake fell     Sickness, and sorrow deep as hell,     Nor even might sleep bid fear farewell     If grace to sleep were won.     Down in a meadow green and still     He bade the folk that wrought his will     Pitch his pavilion, where the chill     Soft night would let not rest fulfil     His heart wherein dark fears lay deep.     And sharp against his hearing cast     Came a sound as of horsehoofs fast     Passing, that ere their sound were past     Aroused him as from sleep.     And forth he looked along the grass     And saw before his portal pass     A knight that wailed aloud, "Alas     That life should find this dolorous pass     And find no shield from doom and dole!"     And hearing all his moan, "Abide,     Fair sir," the king arose and cried,     "And say what sorrow bids you ride     So sorrowful of soul."     "My hurt may no man heal, God wot,     And help of man may speed me not,"     The sad knight said, "nor change my lot."     And toward the castle of Melyot     Whose towers arose a league away     He passed forth sorrowing: and anon,     Ere well the woful sight were gone,     Came Balen down the meads that shone,     Strong, bright, and brave as day.     And seeing the king there stand, the knight     Drew rein before his face to alight     In reverence made for love's sake bright     With joy that set his face alight     As theirs who see, alive, above,     The sovereign of their souls, whose name     To them is even as love's own flame     To enkindle hope that heeds not fame     And knows no lord but love.     And Arthur smiled on him, and said,     "Right welcome be thou: by my head,     I would not wish me better sped.     For even but now there came and fled     Before me like a cloud that flies     A knight that made most heavy cheer,     I know not wherefore; nor may fear     Or pity give my heart to hear     Or lighten on mine eyes.     "But even for fear's and pity's sake     Fain were I thou shouldst overtake     And fetch again this knight that spake     No word of answering grace to make     Reply to mine that hailed him: thou,     By force or by goodwill, shalt bring     His face before me." "Yea, my king,"     Quoth Balen, "and a greater thing     Were less than is my vow.     "I would the task required and heard     Were heavier than your sovereign word     Hath laid on me:" and thence he spurred     Elate at heart as youth, and stirred     With hope as blithe as fires a boy:     And many a mile he rode, and found     Far in a forest's glimmering bound     The man he sought afar around     And seeing took fire for joy.     And with him went a maiden, fair     As flowers aflush with April air.     And Balen bade him turn him there     To tell the king what woes they were     That bowed him down so sore: and he     Made woeful answer: "This should do     Great scathe to me, with nought for you     Of help that hope might hearken to     For boot that may not be."     And Balen answered: "I were loth     To fight as one perforce made wroth     With one that owes by knighthood's oath     One love, one service, and one troth     With me to him whose gracious hand     Holds fast the helm of knighthood here     Whereby man's hope and heart may steer:     I pray you let not sorrow or fear     Against his bidding stand."     The strange knight gazed on him, and spake:     "Will you, for Arthur's royal sake,     Be warrant for me that I take     No scathe from strife that man may make?     Then will I go with you." And he     Made joyous answer: "Yea, for I     Will be your warrant or will die."     And thence they rode with hearts as high     As men's that search the sea.     And as by noon's large light the twain     Before the tented hall drew rein,     Suddenly fell the strange knight, slain     By one that came and went again     And none might see him; but his spear     Clove through the body, swift as fire,     The man whose doom, forefelt as dire,     Had darkened all his life's desire,     As one that death held dear.     And dying he turned his face and said,     "Lo now thy warrant that my head     Should fall not, following forth where led     A knight whose pledge hath left me dead.     This darkling manslayer hath to name     Garlon: take thou my goodlier steed,     Seeing thine is less of strength and speed,     And ride, if thou be knight indeed,     Even thither whence we came.     "And as the maiden's fair behest     Shall bid you follow on my quest,     Follow: and when God's will sees best,     Revenge my death, and let me rest     As one that lived and died a knight,     Unstained of shame alive or dead."     And Balen, wrung with sorrow, said,     "That shall I do: my hand and head     I pledge to do you right."     And thence with sorrowing heart and cheer     He rode, in grief that cast out fear     Lest death in darkness yet were near,     And bore the truncheon of the spear     Wherewith the woful knight lay slain     To her with whom he rode, and she     Still bare it with her, fain to see     What righteous doom of God's might be     The darkling manslayer's bane.     And down a dim deep woodland way     They rode between the boughs asway     With flickering winds whose flash and play     Made sunlight sunnier where the day     Laughed, leapt, and fluttered like a bird     Caught in a light loose leafy net     That earth for amorous heaven had set     To hold and see the sundawn yet     And hear what morning heard.     There in the sweet soft shifting light     Across their passage rode a knight     Flushed hot from hunting as from fight,     And seeing the sorrow-stricken sight     Made question of them why they rode     As mourners sick at heart and sad,     When all alive about them bade     Sweet earth for heaven's sweet sake be glad     As heaven for earth's love glowed.     "Me lists not tell you," Balen said.     The strange knight's face grew keen and red     "Now, might my hand but keep my head,     Even here should one of twain lie dead     Were he no better armed than I."     And Balen spake with smiling speed,     Where scorn and courtesy kept heed     Of either: "That should little need:     Not here shall either die."     And all the cause he told him through     As one that feared not though he knew     All: and the strange knight spake anew,     Saying: "I will part no more from you     While life shall last me." So they went     Where he might arm himself to ride,     And rode across wild ways and wide     To where against a churchyard side     A hermit's harbour leant.     And there against them riding came     Fleet as the lightning's laugh and flame     The invisible evil, even the same     They sought and might not curse by name     As hell's foul child on earth set free,     And smote the strange knight through, and fled,     And left the mourners by the dead.     "Alas, again," Sir Balen said,     "This wrong he hath done to me."     And there they laid their dead to sleep     Royally, lying where wild winds keep     Keen watch and wail more soft and deep     Than where men's choirs bid music weep     And song like incense heave and swell.     And forth again they rode, and found     Before them, dire in sight and sound,     A castle girt about and bound     With sorrow like a spell.     Above it seemed the sun at noon     Sad as a wintry withering moon     That shudders while the waste wind's tune     Craves ever none may guess what boon,     But all may know the boon for dire.     And evening on its darkness fell     More dark than very death's farewell,     And night about it hung like hell,     Whose fume the dawn made fire.     And Balen lighted down and passed     Within the gateway, whence no blast     Rang as the sheer portcullis, cast     Suddenly down, fell, and made fast     The gate behind him, whence he spied     A sudden rage of men without     And ravin of a murderous rout     That girt the maiden hard about     With death on either side.     And seeing that shame and peril, fear     Bade wrath and grief awake and hear     What shame should say in fame's wide ear     If she, by sorrow sealed more dear     Than joy might make her, so should die:     And up the tower's curled stair he sprang     As one that flies death's deadliest fang,     And leapt right out amid their gang     As fire from heaven on high.     And they thereunder seeing the knight     Unhurt among their press alight     And bare his sword for chance of fight     Stood from him, loth to strive or smite,     And bade him hear their woful word,     That not the maiden's death they sought;     But there through years too dire for thought     Had lain their lady stricken, and nought     Might heal her: and he heard.     For there a maiden clean and whole     In virgin body and virgin soul,     Whose name was writ on royal roll,     That would but stain a silver bowl     With offering of her stainless blood,     Therewith might heal her: so they stayed     For hope's sad sake each blameless maid     There journeying in that dolorous shade     Whose bloom was bright in bud.     No hurt nor harm to her it were     If she should yield a sister there     Some tribute of her blood, and fare     Forth with this joy at heart to bear,     That all unhurt and unafraid     This grace she had here by God's grace wrought.     And kindling all with kindly thought     And love that saw save love's self nought,     Shone, smiled, and spake the maid.     "Good knight of mine, good will have I     To help this healing though I die."     "Nay," Balen said, "but love may try     What help in living love may lie.     I will not lose the life of her     While my life lasteth." So she gave     The tribute love was fain to crave,     But might not heal though fain to save,     Were God's grace helpfuller.     Another maid in later Mays     Won with her life that woful praise,     And died. But they, when surging day's     Deep tide fulfilled the dawn's wide ways,     Rode forth, and found by day or night     No chance to cross their wayfaring     Till when they saw the fourth day spring     A knight's hall gave them harbouring     Rich as a king's house might.     And while they sat at meat and spake     Words bright and kind as grace might make     Sweet for true knighthood's kindly sake,     They heard a cry beside them break     The still-souled joy of blameless rest.     "What noise is this?" quoth Balen. "Nay,"     His knightly host made answer, "may     Our grief not grieve you though I say     How here I dwell unblest.     "Not many a day has lived and died     Since at a tournay late I tried     My strength to smite and turn and ride     Against a knight of kinglike pride,     King Pellam's brother: twice I smote     The splendour of his strength to dust:     And he, fulfilled of hate's fierce lust,     Swore vengeance, pledged for hell to trust,     And keen as hell's wide throat.     "Invisible as the spirit of night     That heaven and earth in depth and height     May see not by the mild moon's light     Nor even when stars would grant them sight,     He walks and slays as plague's blind breath     Slays: and my son, whose anguish here     Makes moan perforce that mars our cheer,     He wounded, even ere love might fear     That hate were strong as death.     "Nor may my son be whole till he     Whose stroke through him hath stricken me     Shall give again his blood to be     Our healing: yet may no man see     This felon, clothed with darkness round     And keen as lightning's life." Thereon     Spake Balen, and his presence shone     Even as the sun's when stars are gone     That hear dawn's trumpet sound.     "That knight I know: two knights of mine,     Two comrades, sealed by faith's bright sign,     Whose eyes as ours that live should shine,     And drink the golden sunlight's wine     With joy's thanksgiving that they live,     He hath slain in even the same blind wise:     Were all wide wealth beneath the skies     Mine, might I meet him, eyes on eyes,     All would I laugh to give."     His host made answer, and his gaze     Grew bright with trust as dawn's moist maze     With fire: "Within these twenty days,     King Pellam, lord of Lystenayse,     Holds feast through all this country cried,     And there before the knightly king     May no knight come except he bring     For witness of his wayfaring     His paramour or bride.     "And there that day, so soon to shine,     This knight, your felon foe and mine,     Shall show, full-flushed with bloodred wine,     The fierce false face whereon we pine     To wreak the wrong he hath wrought us, bare     As shame should see and brand it." "Then,"     Said Balen, "shall he give again     His blood to heal your son, and men     Shall see death blind him there."     "Forth will we fare to-morrow," said     His host: and forth, as sunrise led,     They rode; and fifteen days were fled     Ere toward their goal their steeds had sped.     And there alighting might they find     For Balen's host no place to rest,     Who came without a gentler guest     Beside him: and that household's hest     Bade leave his sword behind.     "Nay," Balen said, "that do I not:     My country's custom stands, God wot,     That none whose lot is knighthood's lot,     To ride where chance as fire is hot     With hope or promise given of fight,     Shall fail to keep, for knighthood's part,     His weapon with him as his heart;     And as I came will I depart,     Or hold herein my right."     Then gat he leave to wear his sword     Beside the strange king's festal board     Where feasted many a knight and lord     In seemliness of fair accord:     And Balen asked of one beside,     "Is there not in this court, if fame     Keep faith, a knight that hath to name     Garlon?" and saying that word of shame,     He scanned that place of pride.     "Yonder he goeth against the light,     He with the face as swart as night,"     Quoth the other: "but he rides to fight     Hid round by charms from all men's sight,     And many a noble knight he hath slain,     Being wrapt in darkness deep as hell     And silence dark as shame." "Ah, well,"     Said Balen, "is that he? the spell     May be the sorcerer's bane."     Then Balen gazed upon him long,     And thought, "If here I wreak my wrong,     Alive I may not scape, so strong     The felon's friends about him throng;     And if I leave him here alive,     This chance perchance may life not give     Again: much evil, if he live,     He needs must do, should fear forgive     When wrongs bid strike and strive."     And Garlon, seeing how Balen's eye     Dwelt on him as his heart waxed high     With joy in wrath to see him nigh,     Rose wolf-like with a wolfish cry     And crossed and smote him on the face,     Saying, "Knight, what wouldst thou with me? Eat,     For shame, and gaze not: eat thy meat     Do that thou art come for: stands thy seat     Next ours of royal race?"     "Well hast thou said: thy rede rings true;     That which I came for will I do,"     Quoth Balen: forth his fleet sword flew,     And clove the head of Garlon through     Clean to the shoulders. Then he cried     Loud to his lady, "Give me here     The truncheon of the shameful spear     Wherewith he slew your knight, when fear     Bade hate in darkness ride."     And gladly, bright with grief made glad,     She gave the truncheon as he bade,     For still she bare it with her, sad     And strong in hopeless hope she had,     Through all dark days of thwarting fear,     To see if doom should fall aright     And as God's fire-fraught thunder smite     That head, clothed round with hell-faced night,     Bare now before her here.     And Balen smote therewith the dead     Dark felon's body through, and said     Aloud, "With even this truncheon, red     With baser blood than brave men bled     Whom in thy shameful hand it slew,     Thou hast slain a nobler knight, and now     It clings and cleaves thy body: thou     Shall cleave again no brave man's brow,     Though hell would aid anew."     And toward his host he turned and spake;     "Now for your son's long-suffering sake     Blood ye may fetch enough, and take     Wherewith to heal his hurt, and make     Death warm as life." Then rose a cry     Loud as the wind's when stormy spring     Makes all the woodland rage and ring:     "Thou hast slain my brother," said the king,     "And here with him shalt die."     "Ay?" Balen laughed him answer. "Well,     Do it then thyself." And the answer fell     Fierce as a blast of hate from hell,     "No man of mine that with me dwell     Shall strike at thee but I their lord     For love of this my brother slain."     And Pellam caught and grasped amain     A grim great weapon, fierce and fain     To feed his hungering sword.     And eagerly he smote, and sped     Not well: for Balen's blade, yet red     With lifeblood of the murderous dead,     Between the swordstroke and his head     Shone, and the strength of the eager stroke     Shore it in sunder: then the knight,     Naked and weaponless for fight,     Ran seeking him a sword to smite     As hope within him woke.     And so their flight for deathward fast     From chamber forth to chamber passed     Where lay no weapon, till the last     Whose doors made way for Balen cast     Upon him as a sudden spell     Wonder that even as lightning leapt     Across his heart and eyes, and swept     As storm across his soul that kept     Wild watch, and watched not well.     For there the deed he did, being near     Death's danger, breathless as the deer     Driven hard to bay, but void of fear,     Brought sorrow down for many a year     On many a man in many a land.     All glorious shone that chamber, bright     As burns at sunrise heaven's own height:     With cloth of gold the bed was dight,     That flamed on either hand.     And one he saw within it lie:     A table of all clear gold thereby     Stood stately, fair as morning's eye,     With four strong silver pillars, high     And firm as faith and hope may be:     And on it shone the gift he sought,     A spear most marvellously wrought,     That when his eye and handgrip caught     Small fear at heart had he.     Right on King Pellam then, as fire     Turns when the thwarting winds wax higher,     He turned, and smote him down. So dire     The stroke was, when his heart's desire     Struck, and had all its fill of hate,     That as the king fell swooning down     Fell the walls, rent from base to crown,     Prone as prone seas that break and drown     Ships fraught with doom for freight.     And there for three days' silent space     Balen and Pellam face to face     Lay dead or deathlike, and the place     Was death's blind kingdom, till the grace     That God had given the sacred seer     For counsel or for comfort led     His Merlin thither, and he said,     Standing between the quick and dead,     "Rise up, and rest not here."     And Balen rose and set his eyes     Against the seer's as one that tries     His heart against the sea's and sky's     And fears not if he lives or dies,     Saying, "I would have my damosel,     Ere I fare forth, to fare with me."     And sadly Merlin answered, "See     Where now she lies; death knows if she     Shall now fare ill or well.     "And in this world we meet no more,     Balen." And Balen, sorrowing sore,     Though fearless yet the heart he bore     Beat toward the life that lay before,     Rode forth through many a wild waste land     Where men cried out against him, mad     With grievous faith in fear that bade     Their wrath make moan for doubt they had     Lest hell had armed his hand.     For in that chamber's wondrous shrine     Was part of Christ's own blood, the wine     Shed of the true triumphal vine     Whose growth bids earth's deep darkness shine     As heaven's deep light through the air and sea;     That mystery toward our northern shore     Arimathean Joseph bore     For healing of our sins of yore,     That grace even there might be.     And with that spear there shrined apart     Was Christ's side smitten to the heart.     And fiercer than the lightning's dart     The stroke was, and the deathlike smart     Wherewith, nigh drained of blood and breath,     The king lay stricken as one long dead:     And Joseph's was the blood there shed,     For near akin was he that bled,     Near even as life to death.     And therefore fell on all that land     Sorrow: for still on either hand,     As Balen rode alone and scanned     Bright fields and cities built to stand     Till time should break them, dead men lay;     And loud and long from all their folk     Living, one cry that cursed him broke;     Three countries had his dolorous stroke     Slain, or should surely slay. VII     In winter, when the year burns low     As fire wherein no firebrands glow,     And winds dishevel as they blow     The lovely stormy wings of snow,     The hearts of northern men burn bright     With joy that mocks the joy of spring     To hear all heaven's keen clarions ring     Music that bids the spirit sing     And day give thanks for night.     Aloud and dark as hell or hate     Round Balen's head the wind of fate     Blew storm and cloud from death's wide gate:     But joy as grief in him was great     To face God's doom and live or die,     Sorrowing for ill wrought unaware,     Rejoicing in desire to dare     All ill that innocence might bear     With changeless heart and eye.     Yet passing fain he was when past     Those lands and woes at length and last.     Eight times, as thence he fared forth fast,     Dawn rose and even was overcast     With starry darkness dear as day,     Before his venturous quest might meet     Adventure, seeing within a sweet     Green low-lying forest, hushed in heat,     A tower that barred his way.     Strong summer, dumb with rapture, bound     With golden calm the woodlands round     Wherethrough the knight forth faring found     A knight that on the greenwood ground     Sat mourning: fair he was to see,     And moulded as for love or fight     A maiden's dreams might frame her knight;     But sad in joy's far-flowering sight     As grief's blind thrall might be.     "God save you," Balen softly said,     "What grief bows down your heart and head     Thus, as one sorrowing for his dead?     Tell me, if haply I may stead     In aught your sorrow, that I may."     "Sir knight," that other said, "thy word     Makes my grief heavier that I heard."     And pity and wonder inly stirred     Drew Balen thence away.     And so withdrawn with silent speed     He saw the sad knight's stately steed,     A war-horse meet for warrior's need,     That none who passed might choose but heed,     So strong he stood, so great, so fair,     With eyes afire for flight or fight,     A joy to look on, mild in might,     And swift and keen and kind as light,     And all as clear of care.     And Balen, gazing on him, heard     Again his master's woful word     Sound sorrow through the calm unstirred     By fluttering wind or flickering bird,     Thus: "Ah, fair lady and faithless, why     Break thy pledged faith to meet me? soon     An hour beyond thy trothplight noon     Shall strike my death-bell, and thy boon     Is this, that here I die.     "My curse for all thy gifts may be     Heavier than death or night on thee;     For now this sword thou gavest me     Shall set me from thy bondage free."     And there the man had died self-slain,     But Balen leapt on him and caught     The blind fierce hand that fain had wrought     Self-murder, stung with fire of thought,     As rage makes anguish fain.     Then, mad for thwarted grief, "Let go     My hand," the fool of wrath and woe     Cried, "or I slay thee." Scarce the glow     In Balen's cheek and eye might show,     As dawn shows day while seas lie chill,     He heard, though pity took not heed,     But smiled and spake, "That shall not need:     What man may do to bid you speed     I, so God speed me, will."     And the other craved his name, beguiled     By hope that made his madness mild.     Again Sir Balen spake and smiled:     "My name is Balen, called the Wild     By knights whom kings and courts make tame     Because I ride alone afar     And follow but my soul for star."     "Ah, sir, I know the knight you are     And all your fiery fame.     "The knight that bears two swords I know,     Most praised of all men, friend and foe,     For prowess of your hands, that show     Dark war the way where balefires glow     And kindle glory like the dawn's."     So spake the sorrowing knight, and stood     As one whose heart fresh hope made good:     And forth they rode by wold and wood     And down the glimmering lawns.     And Balen craved his name who rode     Beside him, where the wild wood glowed     With joy to feel how noontide flowed     Through glade and glen and rough green road     Till earth grew joyful as the sea.     "My name is Garnysshe of the Mount,     A poor man's son of none account,"     He said, "where springs of loftier fount     Laugh loud with pride to be.     "But strength in weakness lives and stands     As rocks that rise through shifting sands;     And for the prowess of my hands     One made me knight and gave me lands,     Duke Hermel, lord from far to near,     Our prince; and she that loved me--she     I love, and deemed she loved but me,     His daughter, pledged her faith to be     Ere now beside me here."     And Balen, brief of speech as light     Whose word, beheld of depth and height,     Strikes silence through the stars of night,     Spake, and his face as dawn's grew bright,     For hope to help a happier man,     "How far then lies she hence?" "By this,"     Her lover sighed and said, "I wis,     Not six fleet miles the passage is,     And straight as thought could span."     So rode they swift and sure, and found     A castle walled and dyked around:     And Balen, as a warrior bound     On search where hope might fear to sound     The darkness of the deeps of doubt,     Made entrance through the guardless gate     As life, while hope in life grows great,     Makes way between the doors of fate     That death may pass thereout.     Through many a glorious chamber, wrought     For all delight that love's own thought     Might dream or dwell in, Balen sought     And found of all he looked for nought,     For like a shining shell her bed     Shone void and vacant of her: thence     Through devious wonders bright and dense     He passed and saw with shame-struck sense     Where shame and faith lay dead.     Down in a sweet small garden, fair     With flowerful joy in the ardent air,     He saw, and raged with loathing, where     She lay with love-dishevelled hair     Beneath a broad bright laurel tree     And clasped in amorous arms a knight,     The unloveliest that his scornful sight     Had dwelt on yet; a shame the bright     Broad noon might shrink to see.     And thence in wrathful hope he turned,     Hot as the heart within him burned,     To meet the knight whose love, so spurned     And spat on and made nought of, yearned     And dreamed and hoped and lived in vain,     And said, "I have found her sleeping fast,"     And led him where the shadows cast     From leaves wherethrough light winds ran past     Screened her from sun and rain.     But Garnysshe, seeing, reeled as he stood     Like a tree, kingliest of the wood,     Half hewn through: and the burning blood     Through lips and nostrils burst aflood:     And gathering back his rage and might     As broken breakers rally and roar     The loud wind down that drives off shore,     He smote their heads off: there no more     Their life might shame the light.     Then turned he back toward Balen, mad     With grief, and said, "The grief I had     Was nought: ere this my life was glad:     Thou hast done this deed: I was but sad     And fearful how my hope might fare:     I had lived my sorrow down, hadst thou     Not shown me what I saw but now."     The sorrow and scorn on Balen's brow     Bade silence curb him there.     And Balen answered: "What I did     I did to hearten thee and bid     Thy courage know that shame should rid     A man's high heart of love that hid     Blind shame within its core: God knows,     I did, to set a bondman free,     But as I would thou hadst done by me,     That seeing what love must die to see     Love's end might well be woe's."     "Alas," the woful weakling said,     "I have slain what most I loved: I have shed     The blood most near my heart: the head     Lies cold as earth, defiled and dead,     That all my life was lighted by,     That all my soul bowed down before,     And now may bear with life no more:     For now my sorrow that I bore     Is twofold, and I die."     Then with his red wet sword he rove     His breast in sunder, where it clove     Life, and no pulse against it strove,     So sure and strong the deep stroke drove     Deathward: and Balen, seeing him dead,     Rode thence, lest folk would say he had slain     Those three; and ere three days again     Had seen the sun's might wax and wane,     Far forth he had spurred and sped.     And riding past a cross whereon     Broad golden letters written shone,     Saying, "No knight born may ride alone     Forth toward this castle," and all the stone     Glowed in the sun's glare even as though     Blood stained it from the crucified     Dead burden of one that there had died,     An old hoar man he saw beside     Whose face was wan as woe.     "Balen the Wild," he said, "this way     Thy way lies not: thou hast passed to-day     Thy bands: but turn again, and stay     Thy passage, while thy soul hath sway     Within thee, and through God's good power     It will avail thee:" and anon     His likeness as a cloud was gone,     And Balen's heart within him shone     Clear as the cloudless hour.     Nor fate nor fear might overcast     The soul now near its peace at last.     Suddenly, thence as forth he past,     A mighty and a deadly blast     Blown of a hunting-horn he heard,     As when the chase hath nobly sped.     "That blast is blown for me," he said,     "The prize am I who am yet not dead,"     And smiled upon the word.     As toward a royal hart's death rang     That note, whence all the loud wood sang     With winged and living sound that sprang     Like fire, and keen as fire's own fang     Pierced the sweet silence that it slew.     But nought like death or strife was here:     Fair semblance and most goodly cheer     They made him, they whose troop drew near     As death among them drew.     A hundred ladies well arrayed     And many a knight well weaponed made     That kindly show of cheer: the glade     Shone round them till its very shade     Lightened and laughed from grove to lawn     To hear and see them: so they brought     Within a castle fair as thought     Could dream that wizard hands had wrought     The guest among them drawn.     All manner of glorious joy was there:     Harping and dancing, loud and fair,     And minstrelsy that made of air     Fire, so like fire its raptures were.     Then the chief lady spake on high:     "Knight with the two swords, one of two     Must help you here or fall from you:     For needs you now must have ado     And joust with one hereby.     "A good knight guards an island here     Against all swords that chance brings near,     And there with stroke of sword and spear     Must all for whom these halls make cheer     Fight, and redeem or yield up life."     "An evil custom," Balen said,     "Is this, that none whom chance hath led     Hither, if knighthood crown his head,     May pass unstirred to strife."     "You shall not have ado to fight     Here save against one only knight,"     She said, and all her face grew bright     As hell-fire, lit with hungry light     That wicked laughter touched with flame.     "Well, since I shall thereto," said he,     "I am ready at heart as death for me:     Fain would I be where death should be     And life should lose its name.     "But travelling men whose goal afar     Shines as a cloud-constraining star     Are often weary, and wearier are     Their steeds that feel each fret and jar     Wherewith the wild ways wound them: yet,     Albeit my horse be weary, still     My heart is nowise weary; will     Sustains it even till death fulfil     My trust upon him set."     "Sir," said a knight thereby that stood,     "Meseems your shield is now not good     But worn with warrior work, nor could     Sustain in strife the strokes it would:     A larger will I lend you." "Ay,     Thereof I thank you," Balen said,     Being single of heart as one that read     No face aright whence faith had fled,     Nor dreamed that faith could fly.     And so he took that shield unknown     And left for treason's touch his own,     And toward that island rode alone,     Nor heard the blast against him blown     Sound in the wind's and water's sound,     But hearkening toward the stream's edge heard     Nought save the soft stream's rippling word,     Glad with the gladness of a bird,     That sang to the air around.     And there against the water-side     He saw, fast moored to rock and ride,     A fair great boat anear abide     Like one that waits the turning tide,     Wherein embarked his horse and he     Passed over toward no kindly strand:     And where they stood again on land     There stood a maiden hard at hand     Who seeing them wept to see.     And "O knight Balen," was her cry,     "Why have ye left your own shield? why     Come hither out of time to die?     For had ye kept your shield, thereby     Ye had yet been known, and died not here.     Great pity it is of you this day     As ever was of knight, or may     Be ever, seeing in war's bright way     Praise knows not Balen's peer."     And Balen said, "Thou hast heard my name     Right: it repenteth me, though shame     May tax me not with base men's blame,     That ever, hap what will, I came     Within this country; yet, being come,     For shame I may not turn again     Now, that myself and nobler men     May scorn me: now is more than then,     And faith bids fear be dumb.     "Be it life or death, my chance I take,     Be it life's to build or death's to break:     And fall what may, me lists not make     Moan for sad life's or death's sad sake."     Then looked he on his armour, glad     And high of heart, and found it strong:     And all his soul became a song     And soared in prayer that soared not long,     For all the hope it had.     Then saw he whence against him came     A steed whose trappings shone like flame,     And he that rode him showed the same     Fierce colour, bright as fire or fame,     But dark the visors were as night     That hid from Balen Balan's face,     And his from Balan: God's own grace     Forsook them for a shadowy space     Where darkness cast out light.     The two swords girt that Balen bare     Gave Balan for a breath's while there     Pause, wondering if indeed it were     Balen his brother, bound to dare     The chance of that unhappy quest:     But seeing not as he thought to see     His shield, he deemed it was not he,     And so, as fate bade sorrow be,     They laid their spears in rest.     So mighty was the course they ran     With spear to spear so great of span,     Each fell back stricken, man by man,     Horse by horse, borne down: so the ban     That wrought by doom against them wrought:     But Balen by his falling steed     Was bruised the sorer, being indeed     Way-weary, like a rain-bruised reed,     With travel ere he fought.     And Balen rose again from swoon     First, and went toward him: all too soon     He too then rose, and the evil boon     Of strength came back, and the evil tune     Of battle unnatural made again     Mad music as for death's wide ear     Listening and hungering toward the near     Last sigh that life or death might hear     At last from dying men.     Balan smote Balen first, and clove     His lifted shield that rose and strove     In vain against the stroke that drove     Down: as the web that morning wove     Of glimmering pearl from spray to spray     Dies when the strong sun strikes it, so     Shrank the steel, tempered thrice to show     Strength, as the mad might of the blow     Shore Balen's helm away.     Then turning as a turning wave     Against the land-wind, blind and brave     In hope that dreams despair may save,     With even the unhappy sword that gave     The gifts of fame and fate in one     He smote his brother, and there had nigh     Felled him: and while they breathed, his eye     Glanced up, and saw beneath the sky     Sights fairer than the sun.     The towers of all the castle there     Stood full of ladies, blithe and fair     As the earth beneath and the amorous air     About them and above them were:     So toward the blind and fateful fight     Again those brethren went, and sore     Were all the strokes they smote and bore,     And breathed again, and fell once more     To battle in their sight.     With blood that either spilt and bled     Was all the ground they fought on red,     And each knight's hauberk hewn and shred     Left each unmailed and naked, shed     From off them even as mantles cast:     And oft they breathed, and drew but breath     Brief as the word strong sorrow saith,     And poured and drank the draught of death,     Till fate was full at last.     And Balan, younger born than he     Whom darkness bade him slay, and be     Slain, as in mist where none may see     If aught abide or fall or flee,     Drew back a little and laid him down,     Dying: but Balen stood, and said,     As one between the quick and dead     Might stand and speak, "What good knight's head     Hath won this mortal crown?     "What knight art thou? for never I     Who now beside thee dead shall die     Found yet the knight afar or nigh     That matched me." Then his brother's eye     Flashed pride and love; he spake and smiled     And felt in death life's quickening flame,     And answered: "Balan is my name,     The good knight Balen's brother; fame     Calls and miscalls him wild."     The cry from Balen's lips that sprang     Sprang sharper than his sword's stroke rang.     More keen than death's or memory's fang,     Through sense and soul the shuddering pang     Shivered: and scarce he had cried, "Alas     That ever I should see this day,"     When sorrow swooned from him away     As blindly back he fell, and lay     Where sleep lets anguish pass.     But Balan rose on hands and knees     And crawled by childlike dim degrees     Up toward his brother, as a breeze     Creeps wingless over sluggard seas     When all the wind's heart fails it: so     Beneath their mother's eyes had he,     A babe that laughed with joy to be,     Made toward him standing by her knee     For love's sake long ago.     Then, gathering strength up for a space,     From off his brother's dying face     With dying hands that wrought apace     While death and life would grant them grace     He loosed his helm and knew not him,     So scored with blood it was, and hewn     Athwart with darkening wounds: but soon     Life strove and shuddered through the swoon     Wherein its light lay dim.     And sorrow set these chained words free:     "O Balan, O my brother! me     Thou hast slain, and I, my brother, thee     And now far hence, on shore and sea,     Shall all the wide world speak of us."     "Alas," said Balan, "that I might     Not know you, seeing two swords were dight     About you; now the unanswering sight     Hath here found answer thus.     "Because you bore another shield     Than yours, that even ere youth could wield     Like arms with manhood's tried and steeled     Shone as my star of battle-field,     I deemed it surely might not be     My brother." Then his brother spake     Fiercely: "Would God, for thy sole sake,     I had my life again, to take     Revenge for only thee!     "For all this deadly work was wrought     Of one false knight's false word and thought,     Whose mortal craft and counsel caught     And snared my faith who doubted nought,     And made me put my shield away.     Ah, might I live, I would destroy     That castle for its customs: joy     There makes of grief a deadly toy,     And death makes night of day."     "Well done were that, if aught were done     Well ever here beneath the sun,"     Said Balan: "better work were none:     For hither since I came and won     A woful honour born of death,     When here my hap it was to slay     A knight who kept this island way,     I might not pass by night or day     Hence, as this token saith.     "No more shouldst thou, for all the might     Of heart and hand that seals thee knight     Most noble of all that see the light,     Brother, hadst thou but slain in fight     Me, and arisen unscathed and whole,     As would to God thou hadst risen! though here     Light is as darkness, hope as fear,     And love as hate: and none draws near     Save toward a mortal goal."     Then, fair as any poison-flower     Whose blossom blights the withering bower     Whereon its blasting breath has power,     Forth fared the lady of the tower     With many a lady and many a knight,     And came across the water-way     Even where on death's dim border lay     Those brethren sent of her to slay     And die in kindless fight.     And all those hard light hearts were swayed     With pity passing like a shade     That stays not, and may be not stayed,     To hear the mutual moan they made,     Each to behold his brother die,     Saying, "Both we came out of one tomb,     One star-crossed mother's woful womb,     And so within one grave-pit's gloom     Untimely shall we lie."     And Balan prayed, as God should bless     That lady for her gentleness,     That where the battle's mortal stress     Had made for them perforce to press     The bed whence never man may rise     They twain, free now from hopes and fears,     Might sleep; and she, as one that hears,     Bowed her bright head: and very tears     Fell from her cold fierce eyes.     Then Balen prayed her send a priest     To housel them, that ere they ceased     The hansel of the heavenly feast     That fills with light from the answering east     The sunset of the life of man     Might bless them, and their lips be kissed     With death's requickening eucharist,     And death's and life's dim sunlit mist     Pass as a stream that ran.     And so their dying rites were done:     And Balen, seeing the death-struck sun     Sink, spake as he whose goal is won:     "Now, when our trophied tomb is one,     And over us our tale is writ,     How two that loved each other, two     Born and begotten brethren, slew     Each other, none that reads anew     Shall choose but weep for it.     "And no good knight and no good man     Whose eye shall ever come to scan     The record of the imperious ban     That made our life so sad a span     Shall read or hear, who shall not pray     For us for ever." Then anon     Died Balan; but the sun was gone,     And deep the stars of midnight shone,     Ere Balen passed away.     And there low lying, as hour on hour     Fled, all his life in all its flower     Came back as in a sunlit shower     Of dreams, when sweet-souled sleep has power     On life less sweet and glad to be.     He drank the draught of life's first wine     Again: he saw the moorland shine,     The rioting rapids of the Tyne,     The woods, the cliffs, the sea.     The joy that lives at heart and home,     The joy to rest, the joy to roam,     The joy of crags and scaurs he clomb,     The rapture of the encountering foam     Embraced and breasted of the boy,     The first good steed his knees bestrode,     The first wild sound of songs that flowed     Through ears that thrilled and heart that glowed,     Fulfilled his death with joy.     So, dying not as a coward that dies     And dares not look in death's dim eyes     Straight as the stars on seas and skies     Whence moon and sun recoil and rise,     He looked on life and death, and slept.     And there with morning Merlin came,     And on the tomb that told their fame     He wrote by Balan's Balen's name,     And gazed thereon, and wept.     For all his heart within him yearned     With pity like as fire that burned.     The fate his fateful eye discerned     Far off now dimmed it, ere he turned     His face toward Camelot, to tell     Arthur of all the storms that woke     Round Balen, and the dolorous stroke,     And how that last blind battle broke     The consummated spell.     "Alas," King Arthur said, "this day     I have heard the worst that woe might say:     For in this world that wanes away     I know not two such knights as they."     This is the tale that memory writes     Of men whose names like stars shall stand,     Balen and Balan, sure of hand,     Two brethren of Northumberland,     In life and death good knights.