The Tale of Balen | Page 6

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