70 Said Arthur ‘Thou hast ever spoken truth;
Thy too fierce manhood would not let thee lie.
Rise, my true knight. As children learn, be thou
Wiser for falling! walk with me, and move
To music with thine Order and the King.
75 Thy chair, a grief to all the brethren, stands
Vacant, but thou retake it, mine again!’
Thereafter, when Sir Balin enter’d hall,
The Lost one Found was greeted as in Heaven
With joy that blazed itself in woodland wealth
80 Of leaf, and gayest garlandage of flowers,
Along the walls and down the board; they sat,
And cup clash’d cup; they drank and some one sang,
Sweet–voiced, a song of welcome, whereupon
Their common shout in chorus, mounting, made
85 Those banners of twelve battles overhead
Stir, as they stirr’d of old, when Arthur’s host
Proclaim’d him Victor, and the day was won.
Then Balan added to their Order lived
A wealthier life than heretofore with these
90 And Balin, till their embassage return’d.
‘Sir King’ they brought report ‘we hardly found,
So bush’d about it is with gloom, the hall
Of him to whom ye sent us, Pellam, once
A Christless foe of thine as ever dash’d
95 Horse against horse; but seeing that thy realm
Hath prosper’d in the name of Christ, the King
Took, as in rival heat, to holy things;
And finds himself descended from the Saint
Arimathæan Joseph; him who first
100 Brought the great faith to Britain over seas;
He boasts his life as purer than thine own;
Eats scarce enow to keep his pulse abeat;
Hath push’d aside his faithful wife, nor lets
Or dame or damsel enter at his gates
105 Lest he should be polluted. This gray King
Show’d us a shrine wherein were wonders – yea –
Rich arks with priceless bones of martyrdom,
Thorns of the crown and shivers of the cross,
And therewithal (for thus he told us) brought
110 By holy Joseph hither, that same spear
Wherewith the Roman pierced the side of Christ.
He much amazed us; after, when we sought
The tribute, answer’d “I have quite foregone
All matters of this world: Garlon, mine heir,
115 Of him demand it,” which this Garlon gave
With much ado, railing at thine and thee.
‘But when we left, in those deep woods we found
A knight of thine spear-stricken from behind,
Dead, whom we buried; more than one of us
120 Cried out on Garlon, but a woodman there
Reported of some demon in the woods
Was once a man, who driven by evil tongues
From all his fellows, lived alone, and came
To learn black magic, and to hate his kind
125 With such a hate, that when he died, his soul
Became a Fiend, which, as the man in life
Was wounded by blind tongues he saw not whence,
Strikes from behind. This woodman show’d the cave
From which he sallies, and wherein he dwelt.
130 We saw the hoof-print of a horse, no more.’
Then Arthur, ‘Let who goes before me, see
He do not fall behind me: foully slain
And villainously! who will hunt for me
This demon of the woods?’ Said Balan, ‘I’!
135 So claim’d the quest and rode away, but first,
Embracing Balin, ‘Good my brother, hear!
Let not thy moods prevail, when I am gone
Who used to lay them! hold them outer fiends,
Who leap at thee to tear thee; shake them aside,
140 Dreams ruling when wit sleeps! yea, but to dream
That any of these would wrong thee, wrongs thyself.
Witness their flowery welcome. Bound are they
To speak no evil. Truly save for fears,
My fears for thee, so rich a fellowship
145 Would make me wholly blest: thou one of them,
Be one indeed: consider them, and all
Their bearing in their common bond of love,
No more of hatred than in Heaven itself,
No more of jealousy than in Paradise.’
150 So Balan warn’d, and went; Balin remain’d:
Who – for but three brief moons had glanced away
From being knighted till he smote the thrall,
And faded from the presence into years
Of exile – now would strictlier set himself
155 To learn what Arthur meant by courtesy,
Manhood, and knighthood; wherefore hover’d round
Lancelot, but when he mark’d his high sweet smile
In passing, and a transitory word
Make knight or churl or child or damsel seem
160 From being smiled at happier in themselves –
Sigh’d, as a boy lame-born beneath a height,
That glooms his valley, sighs to see the peak
Sun– flush’d, or touch at night the northern star;
For one from out his village lately climb’d
165 And brought report of azure lands and fair,
Far seen to left and right; and he himself
Hath hardly scaled with help a hundred feet
Up from the base: so Balin marvelling oft
How far beyond him Lancelot seem’d to move,
170 Groan’d, and at times would mutter, ‘These be gifts,
Born with the blood, not learnable, divine,
Beyond my reach. Well had I foughten – well –
In those fierce wars, struck hard – and had I crown’d
With my slain self the heaps of whom I slew –
175 So – better! – But this worship of the Queen,
That honour too wherein she holds him – this,
This was the sunshine that hath given the man
A growth, a name that branches o’er the rest,
And strength against all odds, and what the King
180 So prizes – overprizes – gentleness.
Her likewise would I worship an I might.
I never can be close with her, as he
That brought her hither. Shall I pray the King
To let me bear some token of his Queen
185 Whereon to gaze, remembering her – forget
My heats and violences? live afresh?
What, if the Queen disdain’d to grant it! nay
Being so stately-gentle, would she make
My darkness blackness? and with how sweet grace
190 She greeted my return! Bold will I be –
Some goodly cognizance of Guinevere,
In lieu of this rough beast upon my shield,
Langued gules, and tooth’d with grinning savagery.’
And Arthur, when Sir Balin sought him, said
195 ‘What wilt thou bear?’ Balin was bold, and ask’d
To bear her own crown-royal upon shield,
Whereat she smiled and turn’d her to the King,
Who answer’d ‘Thou shah put the crown to use.
The crown is but the shadow of the King,
200 And this a shadow’s shadow, let him have it,
So this will help him of his violences!’
‘No shadow’ said Sir Balin ‘O my Queen,
But light to me! no shadow, O my King,
But golden earnest of a gentler life!’
205 So Balin bare the crown, and all the knights
Approved him, and the Queen, and all the world
Made music, and he felt his being move
In music with his Order, and the King.
&nb
sp; The nightingale, full-toned in middle May,
210 Hath ever and anon a note so thin
It seems another voice in other groves;
Thus, after some quick burst of sudden wrath,
The music in him seem’d to change, and grow
Faint and far-off.
And once he saw the thrall
215 His passion half had gauntleted to death,
That causer of his banishment and shame,
Smile at him, as he deem’d, presumptuously:
His arm half rose to strike again, but fell:
The memory of that cognizance on shield
220 Weighted it down, but in himself he moan’d:
‘Too high this mount of Camelot for me:
These high-set courtesies are not for me.
Shall I not rather prove the worse for these?
Fierier and stormier from restraining, break
225 Into some madness ev’n before the Queen?’
Thus, as a hearth lit in a mountain home,
And glancing on the window, when the gloom
Of twilight deepens round it, seems a flame
That rages in the woodland far below,
230 So when his moods were darken’d, court and King
And all the kindly warmth of Arthur’s hall
Shadow’d an angry distance: yet he strove
To learn the graces of their Table, fought
Hard with himself, and seem’d at length in peace.
235 Then chanced, one morning, that Sir Balin sat
Close-bower’d in that garden nigh the hall.
A walk of roses ran from door to door;
A walk of lilies crost it to the bower:
And down that range of roses the great Queen
240 Came with slow steps, the morning on her face;
And all in shadow from the counter door
Sir Lancelot as to meet her, then at once,
As if he saw not, glanced aside, and paced
The long white walk of lilies toward the bower.
245 Follow’d the Queen; Sir Balin heard her ‘Prince,
Art thou so little loyal to thy Queen,
As pass without good morrow to thy Queen?’
To whom Sir Lancelot with his eyes on earth,
‘Fain would I still be loyal to the Queen.’
250 ‘Yea so’ she said ‘but so to pass me by
So loyal scarce is loyal to thyself,
Whom all men rate the king of courtesy.
Let be: ye stand, fair lord, as in a dream.’
Then Lancelot with his hand among the flowers
255 ‘Yea – for a dream. Last night methought I saw
That maiden Saint who stands with lily in hand
In yonder shrine. All round her prest the dark,
And all the light upon her silver face
Flow’d from the spiritual lily that she held.
260 Lo! these her emblems drew mine eyes – away:
For see, how perfect-pure! As light a flush
As hardly tints the blossom of the quince
Would mar their charm of stainless maidenhood.’
‘Sweeter to me’ she said ‘this garden rose
265 Deep-hued and many-folded! sweeter still
The wild-wood hyacinth and the bloom of May.
Prince, we have ridd’n before among the flowers
In those fair days – not all as cool as these,
Tho’ season-earlier. Art thou sad? or sick?
270 Our noble King will send thee his own leech –
Sick? or for any matter anger’d at me?’
Then Lancelot lifted his large eyes; they dwelt
Deep-tranced on hers, and could not fall: her hue
Changed at his gaze: so turning side by side
275 They past, and Balin started from his bower.
‘Queen? subject? but I see not what I see.
Damsel and lover? hear not what I hear.
My father hath begotten me in his wrath.
I suffer from the things before me, know,
280 Learn nothing; am not worthy to be knight;
A churl, a clown!’ and in him gloom on gloom
Deepen’d: he sharply caught his lance and shield,
Nor stay’d to crave permission of the King,
But, mad for strange adventure, dash’d away.
285 He took the selfsame track as Balan, saw
The fountain where they sat together, sigh’d
‘Was I not better there with him?’ and rode
The skyless woods, but under open blue
Came on the hoarhead woodman at a bough
290 Wearily hewing. ‘Churl, thine axe!’ he cried,
Descended, and disjointed it at a blow:
To whom the woodman utter’d wonderingly
‘Lord, thou couldst lay the Devil of these woods
If arm of flesh could lay him.’ Balin cried
295 ‘Him, or the viler devil who plays his part,
To lay that devil would lay the Devil in me.’
‘Nay’ said the churl, ‘our devil is a truth,
I saw the flash of him but yestereven.
And some do say that our Sir Garlon too
300 Hath learn’d black magic, and to ride unseen.
Look to the cave.’ But Balin answer’d him
‘Old fabler, these be fancies of the churl,
Look to thy woodcraft,’ and so leaving him,
Now with slack rein and careless of himself,
305 Now with dug spur and raving at himself,
Now with droopt brow down the long glades he rode;
So mark’d not on his right a cavern-chasm
Yawn over darkness, where, nor far within,
The whole day died, but, dying, gleam’d on rocks
310 Roof-pendent, sharp; and others from the floor,
Tusklike, arising, made that mouth of night
Whereout the Demon issued up from Hell.
He mark’d not this, but blind and deaf to all
Save that chain’d rage, which ever yelpt within,
315 Past eastward from the falling sun. At once
He felt the hollow-beaten mosses thud
And tremble, and then the shadow of a spear,
Shot from behind him, ran along the ground.
Sideways he started from the path, and saw,
320 With pointed lance as if to pierce, a shape,
A light of armour by him flash, and pass
And vanish in the woods; and follow’d this,
But all so blind in rage that unawares
He burst his lance against a forest bough,
325 Dishorsed himself, and rose again, and fled
Far, till the castle of a King, the hall
Of Pellam, lichen-bearded, grayly draped
With streaming grass, appear’d, low-built but strong;
The ruinous donjon as a knoll of moss,
330 The battlement overtopt with ivytods,
A home of bats, in every tower an owl.
Then spake the men of Pellam crying ‘Lord,
Why wear ye this crown-royal upon shield?’
Said Balin ‘For the fairest and the best
335 Of ladies living gave me this to bear.’
So stall’d his horse, and strode across the court,
But found the greetings both of knight and King
Faint in the low dark hall of banquet: leaves
Laid their green faces flat against the panes,
340 Sprays grated, and the canker’d boughs without
Whined in the wood; for all was hush’d within,
Till when at feast Sir Garlon likewise ask’d
‘Why wear ye that crown-royal?’ Balin said
‘The Queen we worship, Lancelot, I, and all,
345 As fairest, best and purest, granted me
To bear it!’ Such a sound (for Arthur’s knights
Were hated strangers in the hall) as makes
&
nbsp; The white swan-mother, sitting, when she hears
A strange knee rustle thro’ her secret reeds,
350 Made Garlon, hissing; then he sourly smiled.
‘Fairest I grant her: I have seen; but best,
Best, purest? thou from Arthur’s hall, and yet
So simple! hast thou eyes, or if, are these
So far besotted that they fail to see
355 This fair wife-worship cloaks a secret shame?
Truly, ye men of Arthur be but babes.’
A goblet on the board by Balin, boss’d
With holy Joseph’s legend, on his right
Stood, all of massiest bronze: one side had sea
360 And ship and sail and angels blowing on it:
And one was rough with wattling, and the walls
Of that low church he built at Glastonbury.
This Balin graspt, but while in act to hurl,
Thro’ memory of that token on the shield
365 Relax’d his hold: ‘I will be gentle’ he thought
‘And passing gentle’ caught his hand away
Then fiercely to Sir Garlon ‘Eyes have I
That saw to-day the shadow of a spear,
Shot from behind me, run along the ground;
370 Eyes too that long have watch’d how Lancelot draws
From homage to the best and purest, might,
Name, manhood, and a grace, but scantly thine,
Who, sitting in thine own hall, canst endure
To mouth so huge a foulness – to thy guest,
375 Me, me of Arthur’s Table. Felon talk!
Let be! no more!’
But not the less by night
The scorn of Garlon, poisoning all his rest,
Stung him in dreams. At length, and dim thro’ leaves
Blinkt the white morn, sprays grated, and old boughs
380 Whined in the wood. He rose, descended, met
The scorner in the castle court, and fain,
For hate and loathing, would have past him by;
But when Sir Garlon utter’d mocking-wise;
‘What, wear ye still that same crown-scandalous?’
385 His countenance blacken’d, and his forehead veins
Bloated, and branch’d; and tearing out of sheath
The brand, Sir Balin with a fiery ‘Ha!
So thou be shadow, here I make thee ghost,’
Hard upon helm smote him, and the blade flew
390 Splintering in six, and clinkt upon the stones.
Then Garlon, reeling slowly backward, fell,
And Balin by the banneret of his helm
Dragg’d him, and struck, but from the castle a cry
Sounded across the court, and – men-at-arms,
395 A score with pointed lances, making at him –
Idylls of the King Page 14