The Tale of Balen | Page 4

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