Read Ebook: The Tale of Balen by Swinburne Algernon Charles

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Ebook has 242 lines and 20275 words, and 5 pages

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 take my way To meet in battle, if I may, King Ryons of North Wales, and slay That king of kernes whose fiery sway Doth all the marches dire despite That serve King Arthur: so shall he Again be gracious lord to me, And I that leave thee meet with thee Once more in Arthur's sight."

So spake he ere they parted, nor Took shame or fear to counsellor, As one whom none laid ambush for; And wist not how Sir Launceor, The wild king's son of Ireland, hot And high in wrath to know that one Stood higher in fame before the sun, Even Balen, since the sword was won, Drew nigh from Camelot.

For thence, in heat of hate and pride, As one that man might bid not bide, He craved the high king's grace to ride On quest of Balen far and wide And wreak the wrong his wrath had wrought. "Yea," Arthur said, "for such despite Was done me never in my sight As this thine hand shall now requite If trust avail us aught."

But ere he passed, in eager mood To feed his hate with bitter food, Before the king's face Merlin stood And heard his tale of ill and good, Of Balen, and the sword achieved, And whence it smote as heaven's red ire That direful dame of doom as dire; And how the king's wrath turned to fire The grief wherewith he grieved.

And darkening as he gave it ear, The still face of the sacred seer Waxed wan with wrath and not with fear, And ever changed its cloudier cheer Till all his face was very night. "This damosel that brought the sword," He said, "before the king my lord, And all these knights about his board, Hath done them all despite.

"The falsest damosel she is That works men ill on earth, I wis, And all her mind is toward but this, To kill as with a lying kiss Truth, and the life of noble trust. A brother hath she,--see but now The flame of shame that brands her brow!-- A true man, pure as faith's own vow, Whose honour knows not rust.

"This good knight found within her bower A felon and her paramour, And slew him in his shameful hour, As right gave might and righteous power To hands that wreaked so foul a wrong. Then, for the hate her heart put on, She sought by ways where death had gone The lady Lyle of Avalon, Whose crafts are strange and strong.

Great pity it is and strange despite That one whose eyes are stars to light Honour, and shine as heaven's own height, Should perish, being the goodliest knight That even the all-glorious north has borne. Nor shall my lord the king behold A lordlier friend of mightier mould Than Balen, though his tale be told Ere noon fulfil his morn."

As morning hears before it run The music of the mounting sun, And laughs to watch his trophies won From darkness, and her hosts undone, And all the night become a breath, Nor dreams that fear should hear and flee The summer menace of the sea, So hears our hope what life may be, And knows it not for death.

Each day that slays its hours and dies Weeps, laughs, and lightens on our eyes, And sees and hears not: smiles and sighs As flowers ephemeral fall and rise About its birth, about its way, And pass as love and sorrow pass, As shadows flashing down a glass, As dew-flowers blowing in flowerless grass, As hope from yesterday.

The blossom of the sunny dew 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.

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."

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.

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 no man's life knows love more fair And fruitful of memorial things Than this the deep dear love that breaks With sense of life on life, and makes The sundawn sunnier as it wakes Where morning round it rings.

"O brother, O my brother!" cried Each upon each, and cast aside Their helms unbraced that might not hide From sight of memory single-eyed The likeness graven of face and face, And kissed and wept upon each other For joy and pity of either brother, And love engrafted by sire and mother, God's natural gift of grace.

And each with each took counsel meet For comfort, making sorrow sweet, And grief a goodly thing to greet: And word from word leapt light and fleet Till all the venturous tale was told, And how in Balen's hope it lay To meet the wild Welsh king and slay, And win from Arthur back for pay The grace he gave of old.

"And thither will not thou with me And win as great a grace for thee?" "That will I well," quoth Balan: "we Will cleave together, bound and free, As brethren should, being twain and one." But ere they parted thence there came A creature withered as with flame, A dwarf mismade in nature's shame, Between them and the sun.

And riding fleet as fire may glide He found the dead lie side by side, And wailed and rent his hair and cried, "Who hath done this deed?" And Balen eyed The strange thing loathfully, and said, "The knight I slew, who found him fain And keen to slay me: seeing him slain, The maid I sought to save in vain, Self-stricken, here lies dead.

"Sore grief was mine to see her die, And for her true faith's sake shall I Love, and with love of heart more high, All women better till I die." "Alas," the dwarf said, "ill for thee In evil hour this deed was done: For now the quest shall be begun Against thee, from the dawning sun Even to the sunset sea.

"From shore to mountain, dawn to night, The kinsfolk of this great dead knight Will chase thee to thy death." A light Of swift blithe scorn flashed answer bright As fire from Balen's eye. "For that, Small fear shall fret my heart," quoth he: "But that my lord the king should be For this dead man's sake wroth with me, Weep might it well thereat."

Then murmuring passed the dwarf away, And toward the knights in fair array Came riding eastward up the way From where the flower-soft lowlands lay A king whose name the sweet south-west Held high in honour, and the land That bowed beneath his gentle hand Wore on its wild bright northern strand Tintagel for a crest.

And Balen hailed with homage due King Mark of Cornwall, when he knew The pennon that before him flew: And for those lovers dead and true The king made moan to hear their doom; And for their sorrow's sake he sware To seek in all the marches there The church that man might find most fair And build therein their tomb.

As thought from thought takes wing and flies, As month on month with sunlit eyes Tramples and triumphs in its rise, As wave smites wave to death and dies, So chance on hurtling chance like steel Strikes, flashes, and is quenched, ere fear Can whisper hope, or hope can hear, If sorrow or joy be far or near For time to hurt or heal.

Swift as a shadow and strange as light That cleaves in twain the shadow of night Before the wide-winged word takes flight That thunder speaks to depth and height And quells the quiet hour with sound, There came before King Mark and stood Between the moorside and the wood The man whose word God's will made good, Nor guile was in it found.

And Merlin said to Balen: "Lo, Thou hast wrought thyself a grievous woe To let this lady die, and know Thou mightst have stayed her deadly blow." And Balen answered him and said, "Nay, by my truth to faith, not I, So fiercely fain she was to die; Ere well her sword had flashed on high, Self-slain she lay there dead."

Again and sadly Merlin spake: "My heart is wrung for this deed's sake, To know thee therefore doomed to take Upon thine hand a curse, and make Three kingdoms pine through twelve years' change, In want and woe: for thou shalt smite The man most noble and truest knight That looks upon the live world's light A dolorous stroke and strange.

And Merlin took his leave and passed And was not: and the shadow as fast Went with him that his word had cast, Too fleet for thought thereof to last: And there those brethren bade King Mark Farewell: but fain would Mark have known The strong knight's name who had overthrown The pride of Launceor, when it shone Bright as it now lay dark.

So parted they toward eventide; And tender twilight, heavy-eyed, Saw deep down glimmering woodlands ride Balen and Balan side by side, Till where the leaves grew dense and dim Again they spied from far draw near The presence of the sacred seer, But so disguised and strange of cheer That seeing they knew not him.

"Ill seen is this of thee," said they, "That thou art true in word and way Nor fain to fear the face of day, Who wilt not as a true man say The name it shames not him to bear." He answered: "Be it or be it not so, Yet why ye ride this way I know, To meet King Ryons as a foe, And how your hope shall fare.

Then Merlin bade them turn and take Rest, for their good steeds' weary sake, Between the highway and the brake, Till starry midnight bade them wake: Then "Rise," he said, "the king is nigh, Who hath stolen from all his host away With threescore horse in armed array, The goodliest knights that bear his sway And hold his kingdom high.

"And twenty ride of them before To bear his errand, ere the door Turn of the night, sealed fast no more, And sundawn bid the stars wax hoar; For by the starshine of to-night He seeks a leman where she waits His coming, dark and swift as fate's, And hearkens toward the unopening gates That yield not him to sight.

Then through the glimmering gloom around A shadowy sense of light and sound Made, ere the proof thereof were found, The brave blithe hearts within them bound, And "Where," quoth Balen, "rides the king?" But softer spake the seer: "Abide, Till hither toward your spears he ride, Where all the narrowing woodland side Grows dense with boughs that cling."

There in that straitening way they met The wild Welsh host against them set, And smote their strong king down, ere yet His hurrying horde of spears might get Fierce vantage of them. Then the fight Grew great and joyous as it grew, For left and right those brethren slew, Till all the lawn waxed red with dew More deep than dews of night.

And ere the full fierce tale was read Full forty lay before them dead, And fast the hurtling remnant fled And wist not whither fear had led: And toward the king they went again, And would have slain him: but he bowed Before them, crying in fear aloud For grace they gave him, seeing the proud Wild king brought lowest of men.

"Two knights whose heart and hope are one And fain to win your grace have done This work whereby if grace be won Their hearts shall hail the enkindling sun With joy more keen and deep than day." And ere the sundawn drank the dew Those brethren with their prisoner drew To the outer guard they gave him to And passed again away.

And Arthur came as toward his guest To greet his foe, and bade him rest As one returned from nobler quest And welcome from the stormbright west, But by what chance he fain would hear. "The chance was hard and strange, sir king," Quoth Ryons, bowed in thanksgiving. "Who won you?" Arthur said: "the thing Is worth a warrior's ear."

The wild king flushed with pride and shame, Answering: "I know not either name Of those that there against us came And withered all our strength like flame: The knight that bears two swords is one, And one his brother: not on earth May men meet men of knightlier worth Nor mightier born of mortal birth That hail the sovereign sun."

And Arthur said: "I know them not But much am I for this, God wet, Beholden to them: Launcelot Nor Tristram, when the war waxed hot Along the marches east and west, Wrought ever nobler work than this." "Ah," Merlin said, "sore pity it is And strange mischance of doom, I wis, That death should mar their quest.

"Balen, the perfect knight that won The sword whose name is malison, And made his deed his doom, is one: Nor hath his brother Balan done Less royal service: not on earth Lives there a nobler knight, more strong Of soul to win men's praise in song, Albeit the light abide not long That lightened round his birth.

"Yea, and of all sad things I know The heaviest and the highest in woe Is this, the doom whose date brings low Too soon in timeless overthrow A head so high, a hope so sure. The greatest moan for any knight That ever won fair fame in fight Shall be for Balen, seeing his might Must now not long endure."

"Alas," King Arthur said, "he hath shown Such love to me-ward that the moan Made of him should be mine alone Above all other, knowing it known I have ill deserved it of him." "Nay," Said Merlin, "he shall do for you Much more, when time shall be anew, Than time hath given him chance to do Or hope may think to say.

"But now must be your powers purveyed To meet, ere noon of morn be made To-morrow, all the host arrayed Of this wild foe's wild brother, laid Around against you: see to it well, For now I part from you." And soon, When sundawn slew the withering moon, Two hosts were met to win the boon Whose tale is death's to tell.

A lordly tale of knights and lords For death to tell by count of swords When war's wild harp in all its chords Rang royal triumph, and the hordes Of hurtling foemen rocked and reeled As waves wind-thwarted on the sea, Was told of all that there might be, Till scarce might battle hear or see The fortune of the field.

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