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 rode 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
Stood from him, loth to strive or smite,
   And bade him hear their woful word,
That not the maiden’s death they sought;
But there through years too dire for thought
Had lain their lady stricken, and nought
   Might heal her: and he heard.

For there a maiden clean and whole
In virgin body and virgin soul,
Whose name was writ on royal roll,
That would but stain a silver bowl
   With offering of her stainless blood,
Therewith might heal her: so they stayed
For hope’s sad sake each blameless maid
There journeying in that dolorous shade
   Whose bloom was bright in bud.

No hurt nor harm to her it were
If she should yield a sister there
Some tribute of her blood, and fare
Forth with this joy at heart to bear,
   That all unhurt and unafraid
This grace she had here by God’s grace wrought.
And kindling all with kindly thought
And love that saw save love’s self nought,
   Shone, smiled, and spake the maid.

“Good knight of mine, good will have I
To help this healing though I die.”
“Nay,” Balen said, “but love may try
What help in living love may lie.
  —I will not lose the life of her
While my life lasteth.”  So she gave
The tribute love was fain to crave,
But might not heal though fain to save,
   Were God’s grace helpfuller.

Another maid in later Mays
Won with her life that woful praise,
And died.  But they, when surging day’s
Deep tide fulfilled the dawn’s wide ways,
   Rode forth, and found by day or night
No chance to cross their wayfaring
Till when they saw the fourth day spring
A knight’s hall gave them harbouring
   Rich as a king’s house might.

And while they sat at meat and spake
Words bright and kind as grace might make
Sweet for true knighthood’s kindly sake,
They heard a cry beside them break
   The still-souled joy of blameless rest.
“What noise is this?” quoth Balen.  “Nay,”
His knightly host made answer, “may
Our grief not grieve you though I say
   How here I dwell unblest.

“Not many a day has lived and died
Since at a tournay late I tried
My strength to smite and turn and ride
Against a knight of kinglike pride,
   King Pellam’s brother: twice I smote
The splendour of his strength to dust:
And he, fulfilled of hate’s fierce lust,
Swore vengeance, pledged for hell to trust,
   And keen as hell’s wide throat.

“Invisible as the spirit of night
That heaven and earth in depth and height
May see not by the mild moon’s light
Nor even when stars would grant them sight,
   He walks and slays as plague’s blind breath
Slays: and my son, whose anguish here
Makes moan perforce that mars our cheer,
He wounded, even ere love might fear
   That hate were strong as death.

“Nor may my son be whole till he
Whose stroke through him hath stricken me
Shall give again his blood to be
Our healing: yet may no man see
   This felon, clothed with darkness round
And keen as lightning’s life.”  Thereon
Spake Balen, and his presence shone
Even as the sun’s when stars are gone
   That hear dawn’s trumpet sound.

“That knight I know: two knights of mine,
Two comrades, sealed by faith’s bright sign,
Whose eyes as ours that live should shine,
And drink the golden sunlight’s wine
   With joy’s thanksgiving that they live,
He hath slain in even the same blind wise:
Were all wide wealth beneath the skies
Mine, might I meet him, eyes on eyes,
   All would I laugh to give.”

His host made answer, and his gaze
Grew bright with trust as dawn’s moist maze
With fire: “Within these twenty days,
King Pellam, lord of Lystenayse,
   Holds feast through all this country cried,
And there before the knightly king
May no knight come except he bring
For witness of his wayfaring
   His paramour or bride.

“And there that day, so soon to shine,
This knight, your felon foe and mine,
Shall show, full-flushed with bloodred wine,
The fierce false face whereon we pine
   To wreak the wrong he hath wrought us, bare
As shame should see and brand it.”  “Then,”
Said Balen, “shall he give again
His blood to heal your son, and men
   Shall see death blind him there.”

“Forth will we fare to-morrow,” said
His host: and forth, as sunrise led,
They rode; and fifteen days were fled
Ere toward their goal their steeds had sped.
   And there alighting might they find
For Balen’s host no place to rest,
Who came without a gentler guest
Beside him: and that household’s hest
   Bade leave his sword behind.

“Nay,” Balen said, “that do I not:
My country’s custom stands, God wot,
That none whose lot is knighthood’s lot,
To ride where chance as fire is hot
   With hope or promise given of fight,
Shall fail to keep, for knighthood’s part,
His weapon with him as his heart;
And as I came will I depart,
   Or hold herein my right.”

Then gat he leave to wear his sword
Beside the strange king’s festal board
Where feasted many a knight and lord
In seemliness of fair