And Balan, younger born than he
Whom darkness bade him slay, and be
Slain, as in mist where none may see
If aught abide or fall or flee,
Drew back a little and laid him down,
Dying: but Balen stood, and said,
As one between the quick and dead
Might stand and speak, “What good knight’s head
Hath won this mortal crown?
“What knight art thou? for never I
Who now beside thee dead shall die
Found yet the knight afar or nigh
That matched me.” Then his brother’s eye
Flashed pride and love; he spake and smiled
And felt in death life’s quickening flame,
And answered: “Balan is my name,
The good knight Balen’s brother; fame
Calls and miscalls him wild.”
The cry from Balen’s lips that sprang
Sprang sharper than his sword’s stroke rang.
More keen than death’s or memory’s fang,
Through sense and soul the shuddering pang
Shivered: and scarce he had cried, “Alas
That ever I should see this day,”
When sorrow swooned from him away
As blindly back he fell, and lay
Where sleep lets anguish pass.
But Balan rose on hands and knees
And crawled by childlike dim degrees
Up toward his brother, as a breeze
Creeps wingless over sluggard seas
When all the wind’s heart fails it: so
Beneath their mother’s eyes had he,
A babe that laughed with joy to be,
Made toward him standing by her knee
For love’s sake long ago.
Then, gathering strength up for a space,
From off his brother’s dying face
With dying hands that wrought apace
While death and life would grant them grace
He loosed his helm and knew not him,
So scored with blood it was, and hewn
Athwart with darkening wounds: but soon
Life strove and shuddered through the swoon
Wherein its light lay dim.
And sorrow set these chained words free:
“O Balan, O my brother! me
Thou hast slain, and I, my brother, thee
And now far hence, on shore and sea,
Shall all the wide world speak of us.”
“Alas,” said Balan, “that I might
Not know you, seeing two swords were dight
About you; now the unanswering sight
Hath here found answer thus.
“Because you bore another shield
Than yours, that even ere youth could wield
Like arms with manhood’s tried and steeled
Shone as my star of battle-field,
I deemed it surely might not be
My brother.” Then his brother spake
Fiercely: “Would God, for thy sole sake,
I had my life again, to take
Revenge for only thee!
“For all this deadly work was wrought
Of one false knight’s false word and thought,
Whose mortal craft and counsel caught
And snared my faith who doubted nought,
And made me put my shield away.
Ah, might I live, I would destroy
That castle for its customs: joy
There makes of grief a deadly toy,
And death makes night of day.”
“Well done were that, if aught were done
Well ever here beneath the sun,”
Said Balan: “better work were none:
For hither since I came and won
A woful honour born of death,
When here my hap it was to slay
A knight who kept this island way,
I might not pass by night or day
Hence, as this token saith.
“No more shouldst thou, for all the might
Of heart and hand that seals thee knight
Most noble of all that see the light,
Brother, hadst thou but slain in fight
Me, and arisen unscathed and whole,
As would to God thou hadst risen! though here
Light is as darkness, hope as fear,
And love as hate: and none draws near
Save toward a mortal goal.”