The Tale of Balen | Page 5

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