The Tale of Balen | Page 6

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