第33章 Balin and Balan(3)

I suffer from the things before me,know,Learn nothing;am not worthy to be knight;A churl,a clown!'and in him gloom on gloom Deepened:he sharply caught his lance and shield,Nor stayed to crave permission of the King,But,mad for strange adventure,dashed away.

He took the selfsame track as Balan,saw The fountain where they sat together,sighed 'Was I not better there with him?'and rode The skyless woods,but under open blue Came on the hoarhead woodman at a bough Wearily hewing.'Churl,thine axe!'he cried,Descended,and disjointed it at a blow:

To whom the woodman uttered wonderingly 'Lord,thou couldst lay the Devil of these woods If arm of flesh could lay him.'Balin cried '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 Hath learned black magic,and to ride unseen.

Look to the cave.'But Balin answered 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,Now with dug spur and raving at himself,Now with droopt brow down the long glades he rode;So marked not on his right a cavern-chasm Yawn over darkness,where,nor far within,The whole day died,but,dying,gleamed on rocks Roof-pendent,sharp;and others from the floor,Tusklike,arising,made that mouth of night Whereout the Demon issued up from Hell.

He marked not this,but blind and deaf to all Save that chained rage,which ever yelpt within,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,With pointed lance as if to pierce,a shape,A light of armour by him flash,and pass And vanish in the woods;and followed this,But all so blind in rage that unawares He burst his lance against a forest bough,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,appeared,low-built but strong;The ruinous donjon as a knoll of moss,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 Of ladies living gave me this to bear.'

So stalled 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,Sprays grated,and the cankered boughs without Whined in the wood;for all was hushed within,Till when at feast Sir Garlon likewise asked 'Why wear ye that crown-royal?'Balin said 'The Queen we worship,Lancelot,I,and all,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 The white swan-mother,sitting,when she hears A strange knee rustle through her secret reeds,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 This fair wife-worship cloaks a secret shame?

Truly,ye men of Arthur be but babes.'

A goblet on the board by Balin,bossed With holy Joseph's legend,on his right Stood,all of massiest bronze:one side had sea 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,Through memory of that token on the shield Relaxed his hold:'I will be gentle'he thought 'And passing gentle'caught his hand away,Then fiercely to Sir Garlon 'Eyes have IThat saw today the shadow of a spear,Shot from behind me,run along the ground;Eyes too that long have watched 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,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 through leaves Blinkt the white morn,sprays grated,and old boughs 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 uttered mocking-wise;

'What,wear ye still that same crown-scandalous?'

His countenance blackened,and his forehead veins Bloated,and branched;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 Splintering in six,and clinkt upon the stones.

Then Garlon,reeling slowly backward,fell,And Balin by the banneret of his helm Dragged him,and struck,but from the castle a cry Sounded across the court,and--men-at-arms,A score with pointed lances,making at him--He dashed the pummel at the foremost face,Beneath a low door dipt,and made his feet Wings through a glimmering gallery,till he marked The portal of King Pellam's chapel wide And inward to the wall;he stept behind;Thence in a moment heard them pass like wolves Howling;but while he stared about the shrine,In which he scarce could spy the Christ for Saints,Beheld before a golden altar lie The longest lance his eyes had ever seen,Point-painted red;and seizing thereupon Pushed through an open casement down,leaned on it,Leapt in a semicircle,and lit on earth;Then hand at ear,and harkening from what side The blindfold rummage buried in the walls Might echo,ran the counter path,and found His charger,mounted on him and away.