And still with subtly tempered tale
His wile held fast the foe.
With woven words of magic might
Wherein the subtle shadow and light
Changed hope and fear till fear took flight,
He stayed King Lot’s fierce lust of fight
Till all the wild Welsh war was driven
As foam before the wind that wakes
With the all-awakening sun, and breaks
Strong ships that rue the mirth it makes
When grace to slay is given.
And ever hotter lit and higher,
As fire that meets encountering fire,
Waxed in King Lot his keen desire
To bid revenge within him tire
On Arthur’s ravaged fame and life:
Across the waves of war between
Floated and flashed, unseen and seen,
The lustrous likeness of the queen
Whom shame had sealed his wife.
But when the woful word was brought
That while he tarried, doubting nought,
The hope was lost whose goal he sought
And all the fight he yearned for fought,
His heart was rent for grief and shame,
And half his hope was set on flight
Till word was given him of a knight
Who said: “They are weary and worn with fight,
And we more fresh than flame.”
And bright and dark as night and day
Ere either find the unopening way
Clear, and forego the unaltering sway,
The sad king’s face shone, frowning: “Yea,
I would that every knight of mine
Would do his part as I shall do,”
He said, “till death or life anew
Shall judge between us as is due
With wiser doom than thine.”
Then thundered all the awakening field
With crash of hosts that clashed and reeled,
Banner to banner, shield to shield,
And spear to splintering spear-shaft, steeled
As heart against high heart of man,
As hope against high hope of knight
To pluck the crest and crown of fight
From war’s clenched hand by storm’s wild light,
For blessing given or ban.
All hearts of hearkening men that heard
The ban twin-born with blessing, stirred
Like springtide waters, knew the word
Whereby the steeds of storm are spurred
With ravenous rapture to destroy,
And laughed for love of battle, pierced
With passion of tempestuous thirst
And hungering hope to assuage it first
With draughts of stormy joy.
But sheer ahead of the iron tide
That rocked and roared from side to side
Rode as the lightning’s lord might ride
King Lot, whose heart was set to abide
All peril of the raging hour,
And all his host of warriors born
Where lands by warring seas are worn
Was only by his hands upborne
Who gave them pride and power.
But as the sea’s hand smites the shore
And shatters all the strengths that bore
The ravage earth may bear no more,
So smote the hand of Pellinore
Charging, a knight of Arthur’s chief,
And clove his strong steed’s neck in twain,
And smote him sheer through brow and brain,
Falling: and there King Lot lay slain,
And knew not wrath or grief.
And all the host of Orkney fled,
And many a mother’s son lay dead:
But when they raised the stricken head
Whence pride and power and shame were fled
And rage and anguish now cast out,
And bore it toward a kingly tomb,
The wife whose love had wrought his doom
Came thither, fair as morning’s bloom
And dark as twilight’s doubt.
And there her four strong sons and his,
Gawain and Gareth, Gaherys
And Agravain, whose sword’s sharp kiss
With sound of hell’s own serpent’s hiss
Should one day turn her life to death,
Stood mourning with her: but by these
Seeing Mordred as a seer that sees,
Anguish of terror bent her knees
And caught her shuddering breath.
The splendour of her sovereign eyes
Flashed darkness deeper than the skies
Feel or fear when the sunset dies
On his that felt as midnight rise
Their doom upon them, there undone
By faith in fear ere thought could yield
A shadowy sense of days revealed,
The ravin of the final field,
The terror of their son.
For Arthur’s, as they caught the light
That sought and durst not seek his sight,
Darkened, and all his spirit’s might
Withered within him even as night
Withers when sunrise thrills the sea.
But Mordred’s lightened as with fire
That smote his mother and his sire
With darkling doom and deep desire
That bade its darkness be.
And heavier on their hearts the weight
Sank of the fear that brings forth fate,
The bitter doubt whose womb is great
With all the grief and love and hate
That turn to fire men’s days on earth.
And glorious was the funeral made,
And dark the deepening dread that swayed
Their darkening souls whose light grew shade
With sense of death in birth.
VI
In autumn, when the wind and sea
Rejoice to live and laugh to be,
And scarce the blast that curbs the tree
And bids before it quail and flee
The fiery foliage, where its brand
Is radiant as the seal of spring,
Sounds less delight, and waves a wing
Less lustrous, life’s loud thanksgiving
Puts life in sea and land.
High hope in Balen’s heart alight
Laughed, as from all that clamorous fight
He passed and sought not Arthur’s sight,
Who fain had found his kingliest knight
And made amend for Balen’s wrong.
But Merlin gave his soul to see
Fate, rising as a shoreward sea,
And all the sorrow that should be
Ere hope or fear thought long.
“O where are they whose hands upbore
My battle,” Arthur said, “before
The wild Welsh host’s wide rage and roar?
Balen and Balan, Pellinore,
Where are they?” Merlin answered him:
“Balen shall be not long away
From sight of you, but night nor day
Shall bring his brother back to say
If life burn bright or dim.”
“Now, by my faith,” said Arthur then,
“Two marvellous knights are they, whose ken
Toward battle makes the twain as ten,
And Balen most of all born men
Passeth of prowess all I know
Or ever found or sought to see:
Would God he would abide with me,
To face the times foretold of thee
And all the latter woe.”
For there had Merlin shown the king
The doom that songs unborn should sing,
The gifts that time should rise and bring
Of blithe and bitter days to spring
As weeds and flowers against the sun.
And on the king for fear’s sake fell
Sickness, and sorrow deep as hell,
Nor even might sleep bid fear farewell
If grace to sleep were won.
Down in a meadow green and still
He bade the folk that wrought his will
Pitch his pavilion, where the chill
Soft night would let not rest fulfil
His heart wherein dark fears lay deep.
And sharp against his hearing cast
Came a sound as of horsehoofs fast
Passing, that ere their sound were past
Aroused him as from sleep.
And forth he looked along the grass
And saw before his portal pass
A knight that wailed aloud, “Alas
That life should find this dolorous pass
And find no shield from doom and dole!”
And hearing all his moan, “Abide,
Fair sir,” the king arose and cried,
“And say what sorrow bids you ride
So sorrowful of soul.”
“My hurt may no man heal, God wot,
And help of man may speed me not,”
The sad knight said, “nor change my lot.”
And toward the castle of Melyot
Whose towers arose a league away
He passed forth sorrowing: and anon,
Ere well the woful sight were gone,
Came Balen down the meads that shone,
Strong, bright, and brave as day.
And seeing the king there stand, the knight
Drew rein before his face to alight
In reverence made for love’s sake bright
With joy that set his face alight
As theirs who see, alive, above,
The sovereign of their souls, whose name
To them is even as love’s own flame
To enkindle hope that heeds not fame
And knows no lord but love.
And Arthur smiled on him, and said,
“Right welcome be thou: by my head,
I would not wish me better sped.
For even but now there came and fled
Before me like a cloud that flies
A knight that made most heavy cheer,
I know not wherefore; nor may fear
Or pity give my heart to hear
Or lighten on mine eyes.
“But even for fear’s and pity’s sake
Fain were I thou shouldst overtake
And fetch again this knight that spake
No word of answering grace to make
Reply to mine that hailed him: thou,
By force or by goodwill, shalt bring
His face before me.” “Yea, my king,”
Quoth Balen, “and a greater thing
Were less than is my vow.
“I would the task required and heard
Were heavier than your sovereign word
Hath laid on me:” and thence he spurred
Elate at heart as youth, and stirred
With hope as blithe as fires a boy:
And many a mile he rode, and found
Far in a forest’s glimmering bound
The man he sought afar around
And seeing took fire for joy.
And with him went a maiden, fair
As flowers aflush with April air.
And Balen bade him turn him there
To tell the king what woes they were
That bowed him down so sore: and he
Made woeful answer: “This should do
Great scathe to me, with nought for you
Of help that hope might hearken to
For boot that may not be.”
And Balen answered: “I were loth
To fight as one perforce made wroth
With one that owes by knighthood’s oath
One love, one service, and one troth
With me to him whose gracious hand
Holds fast the helm of knighthood here
Whereby man’s hope and heart may steer:
I pray you let not sorrow or fear
Against his bidding stand.”
The strange knight gazed on him, and spake:
“Will you, for Arthur’s royal sake,
Be warrant for me that I take
No scathe from strife that man may make?
Then will I go with you.” And he
Made joyous answer: “Yea, for I
Will be your warrant or will die.”
And thence they rode with hearts as high
As men’s that search the sea.
And as by noon’s large light the twain
Before the tented hall drew rein,
Suddenly fell the strange knight, slain
By one that came and went again
And none might see him; but his spear
Clove through the body, swift as fire,
The man whose doom, forefelt as dire,
Had darkened all his life’s desire,
As one that death held dear.
And dying he turned his face and said,
“Lo now thy warrant that my head
Should fall not, following forth where led
A knight whose pledge hath left me dead.
This darkling manslayer hath to name
Garlon: take thou my goodlier steed,
Seeing thine is less of strength and speed,
And ride, if thou be knight indeed,
Even thither whence we came.
“And as the maiden’s fair behest
Shall bid you follow on my quest,
Follow: and when God’s will sees best,
Revenge my death, and let me rest
As one that lived and died a knight,
Unstained of shame alive or dead.”
And Balen, wrung with sorrow, said,
“That shall I do: my hand and head
I pledge to do you right.”
And thence with sorrowing heart and cheer
He rode, in grief that cast out fear
Lest death in darkness yet were near,
And bore the truncheon of the spear
Wherewith the woful knight lay slain
To her with whom he rode, and she
Still bare it with her, fain to see
What righteous doom of God’s might be
The darkling manslayer’s bane.
And down a dim deep woodland way
They rode between the boughs asway
With flickering winds whose flash and play
Made sunlight sunnier where the day
Laughed, leapt, and fluttered like a bird
Caught in a light loose leafy net
That earth for amorous heaven had set
To hold and see the sundawn yet
And hear what morning heard.
There in the sweet soft shifting light
Across their passage rode a knight
Flushed hot from hunting as from fight,
And seeing the sorrow-stricken sight
Made question of them why they rode
As mourners sick at heart and sad,
When all alive about them bade
Sweet earth for heaven’s sweet sake be glad
As heaven for earth’s love glowed.
“Me lists not tell you,” Balen said.
The strange knight’s face grew keen and red
“Now, might my hand but keep my head,
Even here should one of twain lie dead
Were he no better armed than I.”
And Balen spake with smiling speed,
Where scorn and courtesy kept heed
Of either: “That should little need:
Not here shall either die.”
And all the cause he told him through
As one that feared not though he knew
All: and the strange knight spake anew,
Saying: “I will part no more from you
While life shall last me.” So they went
Where he might arm himself to ride,
And ro
de across wild ways and wide
To where against a churchyard side
A hermit’s harbour leant.
And there against them riding came
Fleet as the lightning’s laugh and flame
The invisible evil, even the same
They sought and might not curse by name
As hell’s foul child on earth set free,
And smote the strange knight through, and fled,
And left the mourners by the dead.
“Alas, again,” Sir Balen said,
“This wrong he hath done to me.”
And there they laid their dead to sleep
Royally, lying where wild winds keep
Keen watch and wail more soft and deep
Than where men’s choirs bid music weep
And song like incense heave and swell.
And forth again they rode, and found
Before them, dire in sight and sound,
A castle girt about and bound
With sorrow like a spell.
Above it seemed the sun at noon
Sad as a wintry withering moon
That shudders while the waste wind’s tune
Craves ever none may guess what boon,
But all may know the boon for dire.
And evening on its darkness fell
More dark than very death’s farewell,
And night about it hung like hell,
Whose fume the dawn made fire.
And Balen lighted down and passed
Within the gateway, whence no blast
Rang as the sheer portcullis, cast
Suddenly down, fell, and made fast
The gate behind him, whence he spied
A sudden rage of men without
And ravin of a murderous rout
That girt the maiden hard about
With death on either side.
And seeing that shame and peril, fear
Bade wrath and grief awake and hear
What shame should say in fame’s wide ear
If she, by sorrow sealed more dear
Than joy might make her, so should die:
And up the tower’s curled stair he sprang
As one that flies death’s deadliest fang,
And leapt right out amid their gang
As fire from heaven on high.
And they thereunder seeing the knight
Unhurt among their press alight
And bare his sword for chance of fight
Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Algernon Charles Swinburne (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series) Page 139