The Tale of Balen | Page 8

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