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.
And sorrowing for their strange love's sake Rode Balen forth by lawn and lake, By moor and moss and briar and brake, And in his heart their sorrow spake Whose lips were dumb as death, and said Mute words of presage blind and vain As rain-stars blurred and marred by rain To wanderers on a moonless main Where night and day seem dead.
Then toward a sunbright wildwood side He looked and saw beneath it ride A knight whose arms afar espied By note of name and proof of pride Bare witness of his brother born, His brother Balan, hard at hand, Twin flower of bright Northumberland, Twin sea-bird of their loud sea-strand, Twin song-bird of their morn.
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.
