accord:
   And Balen asked of one beside,
“Is there not in this court, if fame
Keep faith, a knight that hath to name
Garlon?” and saying that word of shame,
   He scanned that place of pride.

“Yonder he goeth against the light,
He with the face as swart as night,”
Quoth the other: “but he rides to fight
Hid round by charms from all men’s sight,
   And many a noble knight he hath slain,
Being wrapt in darkness deep as hell
And silence dark as shame.”  “Ah, well,”
Said Balen, “is that he? the spell
   May be the sorcerer’s bane.”

Then Balen gazed upon him long,
And thought, “If here I wreak my wrong,
Alive I may not scape, so strong
The felon’s friends about him throng;
   And if I leave him here alive,
This chance perchance may life not give
Again: much evil, if he live,
He needs must do, should fear forgive
   When wrongs bid strike and strive.”

And Garlon, seeing how Balen’s eye
Dwelt on him as his heart waxed high
With joy in wrath to see him nigh,
Rose wolf-like with a wolfish cry
   And crossed and smote him on the face,
Saying, “Knight, what wouldst thou with me?  Eat,
For shame, and gaze not: eat thy meat
Do that thou art come for: stands thy seat
   Next ours of royal race?”

“Well hast thou said: thy rede rings true;
That which I came for will I do,”
Quoth Balen: forth his fleet sword flew,
And clove the head of Garlon through
   Clean to the shoulders.  Then he cried
Loud to his lady, “Give me here
The truncheon of the shameful spear
Wherewith he slew your knight, when fear
   Bade hate in darkness ride.”

And gladly, bright with grief made glad,
She gave the truncheon as he bade,
For still she bare it with her, sad
And strong in hopeless hope she had,
   Through all dark days of thwarting fear,
To see if doom should fall aright
And as God’s fire-fraught thunder smite
That head, clothed round with hell-faced night,
   Bare now before her here.

And Balen smote therewith the dead
Dark felon’s body through, and said
Aloud, “With even this truncheon, red
With baser blood than brave men bled
   Whom in thy shameful hand it slew,
Thou hast slain a nobler knight, and now
It clings and cleaves thy body: thou
Shall cleave again no brave man’s brow,
   Though hell would aid anew.”

And toward his host he turned and spake;
“Now for your son’s long-suffering sake
Blood ye may fetch enough, and take
Wherewith to heal his hurt, and make
   Death warm as life.”  Then rose a cry
Loud as the wind’s when stormy spring
Makes all the woodland rage and ring:
“Thou hast slain my brother,” said the king,
   “And here with him shalt die.”