And there for three days' silent s.p.a.ce Balen and Pellam face to face Lay dead or deathlike, and the place Was death's blind kingdom, till the grace That G.o.d had given the sacred seer For counsel or for comfort led His Merlin thither, and he said, Standing between the quick and dead, "Rise up, and rest not here."

And Balen rose and set his eyes Against the seer's as one that tries His heart against the sea's and sky's And fears not if he lives or dies, Saying, "I would have my damosel, Ere I fare forth, to fare with me."

And sadly Merlin answered, "See Where now she lies; death knows if she Shall now fare ill or well.

"And in this world we meet no more, Balen." And Balen, sorrowing sore, Though fearless yet the heart he bore Beat toward the life that lay before, Rode forth through many a wild waste land Where men cried out against him, mad With grievous faith in fear that bade Their wrath make moan for doubt they had Lest h.e.l.l had armed his hand.

For in that chamber's wondrous shrine Was part of Christ's own blood, the wine Shed of the true triumphal vine Whose growth bids earth's deep darkness shine As heaven's deep light through the air and sea; That mystery toward our northern sh.o.r.e Arimathean Joseph bore For healing of our sins of yore, That grace even there might be.

And with that spear there shrined apart Was Christ's side smitten to the heart.

And fiercer than the lightning's dart The stroke was, and the deathlike smart Wherewith, nigh drained of blood and breath, The king lay stricken as one long dead: And Joseph's was the blood there shed, For near akin was he that bled, Near even as life to death.

And therefore fell on all that land Sorrow: for still on either hand, As Balen rode alone and scanned Bright fields and cities built to stand Till time should break them, dead men lay; And loud and long from all their folk Living, one cry that cursed him broke; Three countries had his dolorous stroke Slain, or should surely slay.

VII

In winter, when the year burns low As fire wherein no firebrands glow, And winds dishevel as they blow The lovely stormy wings of snow, The hearts of northern men burn bright With joy that mocks the joy of spring To hear all heaven's keen clarions ring Music that bids the spirit sing And day give thanks for night.

Aloud and dark as h.e.l.l or hate Round Balen's head the wind of fate Blew storm and cloud from death's wide gate: But joy as grief in him was great To face G.o.d's doom and live or die, Sorrowing for ill wrought unaware, Rejoicing in desire to dare All ill that innocence might bear With changeless heart and eye.

Yet pa.s.sing fain he was when past Those lands and woes at length and last.

Eight times, as thence he fared forth fast, Dawn rose and even was overcast With starry darkness dear as day, Before his venturous quest might meet Adventure, seeing within a sweet Green low-lying forest, hushed in heat, A tower that barred his way.

Strong summer, dumb with rapture, bound With golden calm the woodlands round Wherethrough the knight forth faring found A knight that on the greenwood ground Sat mourning: fair he was to see, And moulded as for love or fight A maiden's dreams might frame her knight; But sad in joy's far-flowering sight As grief's blind thrall might be.

"G.o.d save you," Balen softly said, "What grief bows down your heart and head Thus, as one sorrowing for his dead?

Tell me, if haply I may stead In aught your sorrow, that I may."

"Sir knight," that other said, "thy word Makes my grief heavier that I heard."

And pity and wonder inly stirred Drew Balen thence away.

And so withdrawn with silent speed He saw the sad knight's stately steed, A war-horse meet for warrior's need, That none who pa.s.sed might choose but heed, So strong he stood, so great, so fair, With eyes afire for flight or fight, A joy to look on, mild in might, And swift and keen and kind as light, And all as clear of care.

And Balen, gazing on him, heard Again his master's woful word Sound sorrow through the calm unstirred By fluttering wind or flickering bird, Thus: "Ah, fair lady and faithless, why Break thy pledged faith to meet me? soon An hour beyond thy trothplight noon Shall strike my death-bell, and thy boon Is this, that here I die.

"My curse for all thy gifts may be Heavier than death or night on thee; For now this sword thou gavest me Shall set me from thy bondage free."

And there the man had died self-slain, But Balen leapt on him and caught The blind fierce hand that fain had wrought Self-murder, stung with fire of thought, As rage makes anguish fain.

Then, mad for thwarted grief, "Let go My hand," the fool of wrath and woe Cried, "or I slay thee." Scarce the glow In Balen's cheek and eye might show, As dawn shows day while seas lie chill, He heard, though pity took not heed, But smiled and spake, "That shall not need: What man may do to bid you speed I, so G.o.d speed me, will."

And the other craved his name, beguiled By hope that made his madness mild.

Again Sir Balen spake and smiled: "My name is Balen, called the Wild By knights whom kings and courts make tame Because I ride alone afar And follow but my soul for star."

"Ah, sir, I know the knight you are And all your fiery fame.

"The knight that bears two swords I know, Most praised of all men, friend and foe, For prowess of your hands, that show Dark war the way where balefires glow And kindle glory like the dawn's."

So spake the sorrowing knight, and stood As one whose heart fresh hope made good: And forth they rode by wold and wood And down the glimmering lawns.

And Balen craved his name who rode Beside him, where the wild wood glowed With joy to feel how noontide flowed Through glade and glen and rough green road Till earth grew joyful as the sea.

"My name is Garnysshe of the Mount, A poor man's son of none account,"

He said, "where springs of loftier fount Laugh loud with pride to be.

"But strength in weakness lives and stands As rocks that rise through shifting sands; And for the prowess of my hands One made me knight and gave me lands, Duke Hermel, lord from far to near, Our prince; and she that loved me-she I love, and deemed she loved but me, His daughter, pledged her faith to be Ere now beside me here."

And Balen, brief of speech as light Whose word, beheld of depth and height, Strikes silence through the stars of night, Spake, and his face as dawn's grew bright, For hope to help a happier man, "How far then lies she hence?" "By this,"

Her lover sighed and said, "I wis, Not six fleet miles the pa.s.sage is, And straight as thought could span."

So rode they swift and sure, and found A castle walled and d.y.k.ed around: And Balen, as a warrior bound On search where hope might fear to sound The darkness of the deeps of doubt, Made entrance through the guardless gate As life, while hope in life grows great, Makes way between the doors of fate That death may pa.s.s thereout.

Through many a glorious chamber, wrought For all delight that love's own thought Might dream or dwell in, Balen sought And found of all he looked for nought, For like a shining sh.e.l.l her bed Shone void and vacant of her: thence Through devious wonders bright and dense He pa.s.sed and saw with shame-struck sense Where shame and faith lay dead.

Down in a sweet small garden, fair With flowerful joy in the ardent air, He saw, and raged with loathing, where She lay with love-dishevelled hair Beneath a broad bright laurel tree And clasped in amorous arms a knight, The unloveliest that his scornful sight Had dwelt on yet; a shame the bright Broad noon might shrink to see.

And thence in wrathful hope he turned, Hot as the heart within him burned, To meet the knight whose love, so spurned And spat on and made nought of, yearned And dreamed and hoped and lived in vain, And said, "I have found her sleeping fast,"

And led him where the shadows cast From leaves wherethrough light winds ran past Screened her from sun and rain.

But Garnysshe, seeing, reeled as he stood Like a tree, kingliest of the wood, Half hewn through: and the burning blood Through lips and nostrils burst aflood: And gathering back his rage and might As broken breakers rally and roar The loud wind down that drives off sh.o.r.e, 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: G.o.d 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 h.o.a.r man he saw beside Whose face was wan as woe.

"Balen the Wild," he said, "this way Thy way lies not: thou hast pa.s.sed to-day Thy bands: but turn again, and stay Thy pa.s.sage, while thy soul hath sway Within thee, and through G.o.d'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 n.o.bly 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 pa.s.s unstirred to strife."

"You shall not have ado to fight Here save against one only knight,"