And gathering back his rage and might As broken breakers rally and roar The loud wind down that drives off shore, He smote their heads off: there no more Their life might shame the light.
Then turned he back toward Balen, mad With grief, and said, "The grief I had Was nought: ere this my life was glad:
Thou hast done this deed: I was but sad And fearful how my hope might fare:
I had lived my sorrow down, hadst thou Not shown me what I saw but now."
The sorrow and scorn on Balen's brow Bade silence curb him there.
And Balen answered: "What I did I did to hearten thee and bid Thy courage know that shame should rid A man's high heart of love that hid Blind shame within its core: God knows, I did, to set a bondman free, But as I would thou hadst done by me, That seeing what love must die to see Love's end might well be woe's."
"Alas," the woful weakling said, "I have slain what most I loved: I have shed The blood most near my heart: the head Lies cold as earth, defiled and dead, That all my life was lighted by, That all my soul bowed down before, And now may bear with life no more:
For now my sorrow that I bore Is twofold, and I die."
Then with his red wet sword he rove His breast in sunder, where it clove Life, and no pulse against it strove, So sure and strong the deep stroke drove Deathward: and Balen, seeing him dead, Rode thence, lest folk would say he had slain Those three; and ere three days again Had seen the sun's might wax and wane, Far forth he had spurred and sped.
And riding past a cross whereon Broad golden letters written shone, Saying, "No knight born may ride alone Forth toward this castle," and all the stone Glowed in the sun's glare even as though Blood stained it from the crucified Dead burden of one that there had died, An old hoar man he saw beside Whose face was wan as woe.
"Balen the Wild," he said, "this way Thy way lies not: thou hast passed to-day Thy bands: but turn again, and stay Thy passage, while thy soul hath sway Within thee, and through God's good power It will avail thee:" and anon His likeness as a cloud was gone, And Balen's heart within him shone Clear as the cloudless hour.
Nor fate nor fear might overcast The soul now near its peace at last.
Suddenly, thence as forth he past, A mighty and a deadly blast Blown of a hunting-horn he heard, As when the chase hath nobly sped.
"That blast is blown for me," he said, "The prize am I who am yet not dead,"
And smiled upon the word.
As toward a royal hart's death rang That note, whence all the loud wood sang With winged and living sound that sprang Like fire, and keen as fire's own fang Pierced the sweet silence that it slew.
But nought like death or strife was here:
Fair semblance and most goodly cheer They made him, they whose troop drew near As death among them drew.
A hundred ladies well arrayed And many a knight well weaponed made That kindly show of cheer: the glade Shone round them till its very shade Lightened and laughed from grove to lawn To hear and see them: so they brought Within a castle fair as thought Could dream that wizard hands had wrought The guest among them drawn.
All manner of glorious joy was there:
Harping and dancing, loud and fair, And minstrelsy that made of air Fire, so like fire its raptures were.
Then the chief lady spake on high:
"Knight with the two swords, one of two Must help you here or fall from you:
For needs you now must have ado And joust with one hereby.
"A good knight guards an island here Against all swords that chance brings near, And there with stroke of sword and spear Must all for whom these halls make cheer Fight, and redeem or yield up life."
"An evil custom," Balen said, "Is this, that none whom chance hath led Hither, if knighthood crown his head, May pass unstirred to strife."
"You shall not have ado to fight Here save against one only knight,"
She said, and all her face grew bright As hell-fire, lit with hungry light That wicked laughter touched with flame.
"Well, since I shall thereto," said he, "I am ready at heart as death for me:
Fain would I be where death should be And life should lose its name.
"But travelling men whose goal afar Shines as a cloud-constraining star Are often weary, and wearier are Their steeds that feel each fret and jar Wherewith the wild ways wound them: yet, Albeit my horse be weary, still My heart is nowise weary; will Sustains it even till death fulfil My trust upon him set."
"Sir," said a knight thereby that stood, "Meseems your shield is now not good But worn with warrior work, nor could Sustain in strife the strokes it would:
A larger will I lend you." "Ay, Thereof I thank you," Balen said, Being single of heart as one that read No face aright whence faith had fled, Nor dreamed that faith could fly.
And so he took that shield unknown And left for treason's touch his own, And toward that island rode alone, Nor heard the blast against him blown Sound in the wind's and water's sound, But hearkening toward the stream's edge heard Nought save the soft stream's rippling word, Glad with the gladness of a bird, That sang to the air around.
And there against the water-side He saw, fast moored to rock and ride, A fair great boat anear abide Like one that waits the turning tide, Wherein embarked his horse and he Passed over toward no kindly strand:
And where they stood again on land There stood a maiden hard at hand Who seeing them wept to see.
And "O knight Balen," was her cry, "Why have ye left your own shield? why Come hither out of time to die?
For had ye kept your shield, thereby Ye had yet been known, and died not here.
Great pity it is of you this day As ever was of knight, or may Be ever, seeing in war's bright way Praise knows not Balen's peer."
And Balen said, "Thou hast heard my name Right: it repenteth me, though shame May tax me not with base men's blame, That ever, hap what will, I came Within this country; yet, being come, For shame I may not turn again Now, that myself and nobler men May scorn me: now is more than then, And faith bids fear be dumb.
"Be it life or death, my chance I take, Be it life's to build or death's to break:
