Balin and Balan, part 3 of 3

¶Half-wroth he had not ended, but all glad, Knightlike, to find his charger yet unlamed, Sir Balin drew the shield from off his neck, Stared at the priceless cognizance, and thought “I have shamed thee so that now thou shamest me, Thee will I bear no more,” high on a branch Hung it, and turned aside into the woods, And there in gloom cast himself all along, Moaning “My violences, my violences!”

¶But now the wholesome music of the wood Was dumbed by one from out the hall of Mark, A damsel-errant, warbling, as she rode The woodland alleys, Vivien, with her Squire.

¶“The fire of Heaven has killed the barren cold, And kindled all the plain and all the wold. The new leaf ever pushes off the old. The fire of Heaven is not the flame of Hell.

¶“Old priest, who mumble worship in your quire— Old monk and nun, ye scorn the world’s desire, Yet in your frosty cells ye feel the fire! The fire of Heaven is not the flame of Hell.

¶“The fire of Heaven is on the dusty ways. The wayside blossoms open to the blaze. The whole wood-world is one full peal of praise. The fire of Heaven is not the flame of Hell.

¶“The fire of Heaven is lord of all things good, And starve not thou this fire within thy blood, But follow Vivien through the fiery flood! The fire of Heaven is not the flame of Hell!”

¶Then turning to her Squire “This fire of Heaven, This old sun-worship, boy, will rise again, And beat the cross to earth, and break the King And all his Table.” Then they reached a glade, Where under one long lane of cloudless air Before another wood, the royal crown Sparkled, and swaying upon a restless elm Drew the vague glance of Vivien, and her Squire; Amazed were these; “Lo there” she cried—“a crown— Borne by some high lord-prince of Arthur’s hall, And there a horse! the rider? where is he? See, yonder lies one dead within the wood. Not dead; he stirs!—but sleeping. I will speak. Hail, royal knight, we break on thy sweet rest, Not, doubtless, all unearned by noble deeds. But bounden art thou, if from Arthur’s hall, To help the weak. Behold, I fly from shame, A lustful King, who sought to win my love Through evil ways: the knight, with whom I rode, Hath suffered misadventure, and my squire Hath in him small defence; but thou, Sir Prince, Wilt surely guide me to the warrior King, Arthur the blameless, pure as any maid, To get me shelter for my maidenhood. I charge thee by that crown upon thy shield, And by the great Queen’s name, arise and hence.”

¶And Balin rose, “Thither no more! nor Prince Nor knight am I, but one that hath defamed The cognizance she gave me: here I dwell Savage among the savage woods, here die— Die: let the wolves’ black maws ensepulchre Their brother beast, whose anger was his lord. O me, that such a name as Guinevere’s, Which our high Lancelot hath so lifted up, And been thereby uplifted, should through me, My violence, and my villainy, come to shame.”

¶Thereat she suddenly laughed and shrill, anon Sighed all as suddenly. Said Balin to her “Is this thy courtesy—to mock me, ha? Hence, for I will not with thee.” Again she sighed “Pardon, sweet lord! we maidens often laugh When sick at heart, when rather we should weep. I knew thee wronged. I brake upon thy rest, And now full loth am I to break thy dream, But thou art man, and canst abide a truth, Though bitter. Hither, boy—and mark me well. Dost thou remember at Caerleon once— A year ago—nay, then I love thee not— Ay, thou rememberest well—one summer dawn— By the great tower—Caerleon upon Usk— Nay, truly we were hidden: this fair lord, The flower of all their vestal knighthood, knelt In amorous homage—knelt—what else?—O ay Knelt, and drew down from out his night-black hair And mumbled that white hand whose ringed caress Had wandered from her own King’s golden head, And lost itself in darkness, till she cried— I thought the great tower would crash down on both— ‘Rise, my sweet King, and kiss me on the lips, Thou art my King.’ This lad, whose lightest word Is mere white truth in simple nakedness, Saw them embrace: he reddens, cannot speak, So bashful, he! but all the maiden Saints, The deathless mother-maidenhood of Heaven, Cry out upon her. Up then, ride with me! Talk not of shame! thou canst not, an thou would’st, Do these more shame than these have done themselves.”

¶She lied with ease; but horror-stricken he, Remembering that dark bower at Camelot, Breathed in a dismal whisper “It is truth.”

¶Sunnily she smiled “And even in this lone wood, Sweet lord, ye do right well to whisper this. Fools prate, and perish traitors. Woods have tongues, As walls have ears: but thou shalt go with me, And we will speak at first exceeding low. Meet is it the good King be not deceived. See now, I set thee high on vantage ground, From whence to watch the time, and eagle-like Stoop at thy will on Lancelot and the Queen.”

¶She ceased; his evil spirit upon him leapt, He ground his teeth together, sprang with a yell, Tore from the branch, and cast on earth, the shield, Drove his mailed heel athwart the royal crown, Stampt all into defacement, hurled it from him Among the forest weeds, and cursed the tale, The told-of, and the teller. That weird yell, Unearthlier than all shriek of bird or beast, Thrilled through the woods; and Balan lurking there (His quest was unaccomplished) heard and thought “The scream of that Wood-devil I came to quell!” Then nearing “Lo! he hath slain some brother-knight, And tramples on the goodly shield to show His loathing of our Order and the Queen. My quest, meseems, is here. Or devil or man Guard thou thine head.” Sir Balin spake not word, But snatched a sudden buckler from the Squire, And vaulted on his horse, and so they crashed In onset, and King Pellam’s holy spear, Reputed to be red with sinless blood, Redded at once with sinful, for the point Across the maiden shield of Balan pricked The hauberk to the flesh; and Balin’s horse Was wearied to the death, and, when they clashed, Rolling back upon Balin, crushed the man Inward, and either fell, and swooned away.

¶Then to her Squire muttered the damsel “Fools! This fellow hath wrought some foulness with his Queen: Else never had he borne her crown, nor raved And thus foamed over at a rival name: But thou, Sir Chick, that scarce hast broken shell, Art yet half-yolk, not even come to down— Who never sawest Caerleon upon Usk— And yet hast often pleaded for my love— See what I see, be thou where I have been, Or else Sir Chick—dismount and loose their casques I fain would know what manner of men they be.” And when the Squire had loosed them, “Goodly!—look! They might have cropt the myriad flower of May, And butt each other here, like brainless bulls, Dead for one heifer! Then the gentle Squire “I hold them happy, so they died for love: And, Vivien, though ye beat me like your dog, I too could die, as now I live, for thee.”

¶“Live on, Sir Boy,” she cried. “I better prize The living dog than the dead lion: away! I cannot brook to gaze upon the dead.” Then leapt her palfrey o’er the fallen oak, And bounding forward “Leave them to the wolves.”

¶But when their foreheads felt the cooling air, Balin first woke, and seeing that true face, Familiar up from cradle-time, so wan, Crawled slowly with low moans to where he lay, And on his dying brother cast himself Dying; and he lifted faint eyes; he felt One near him; all at once they found the world, Staring wild-wide; then with a childlike wail And drawing down the dim disastrous brow That o’er him hung, he kissed it, moaned and spake;

¶“O Balin, Balin, I that fain had died To save thy life, have brought thee to thy death. Why had ye not the shield I knew? and why Trampled ye thus on that which bare the Crown?”

¶Then Balin told him brokenly, and in gasps, All that had chanced, and Balan moaned again.

¶“Brother, I dwelt a day in Pellam’s hall: This Garlon mocked me, but I heeded not. And one said ‘Eat in peace! a liar is he, And hates thee for the tribute!’ this good knight Told me, that twice a wanton damsel came, And sought for Garlon at the castle-gates, Whom Pellam drove away with holy heat. I well believe this damsel, and the one Who stood beside thee even now, the same. ‘She dwells among the woods’ he said ‘and meets And dallies with him in the Mouth of Hell.’ Foul are their lives; foul are their lips; they lied. Pure as our own true Mother is our Queen.”

¶“O brother” answered Balin “woe is me! My madness all thy life has been thy doom, Thy curse, and darkened all thy day; and now The night has come. I scarce can see thee now.

¶Goodnight! for we shall never bid again Goodmorrow—Dark my doom was here, and dark It will be there. I see thee now no more. I would not mine again should darken thine, Goodnight, true brother. Balan answered low “Goodnight, true brother here! goodmorrow there! We two were born together, and we die Together by one doom:” and while he spoke Closed his death-drowsing eyes, and slept the sleep With Balin, either locked in either’s arm.