And fall what may, me lists not make Moan for sad life's or death's sad sake."
Then looked he on his armour, glad And high of heart, and found it strong:
And all his soul became a song And soared in prayer that soared not long, For all the hope it had.
Then saw he whence against him came A steed whose trappings shone like flame, And he that rode him showed the same Fierce colour, bright as fire or fame, But dark the visors were as night That hid from Balen Balan's face, And his from Balan: God's own grace Forsook them for a shadowy space Where darkness cast out light.
The two swords girt that Balen bare Gave Balan for a breath's while there Pause, wondering if indeed it were Balen his brother, bound to dare The chance of that unhappy quest:
But seeing not as he thought to see His shield, he deemed it was not he, And so, as fate bade sorrow be, They laid their spears in rest.
So mighty was the course they ran With spear to spear so great of span, Each fell back stricken, man by man, Horse by horse, borne down: so the ban That wrought by doom against them wrought:
But Balen by his falling steed Was bruised the sorer, being indeed Way-weary, like a rain-bruised reed, With travel ere he fought.
And Balen rose again from swoon First, and went toward him: all too soon He too then rose, and the evil boon Of strength came back, and the evil tune Of battle unnatural made again Mad music as for death's wide ear Listening and hungering toward the near Last sigh that life or death might hear At last from dying men.
Balan smote Balen first, and clove His lifted shield that rose and strove In vain against the stroke that drove Down: as the web that morning wove Of glimmering pearl from spray to spray Dies when the strong sun strikes it, so Shrank the steel, tempered thrice to show Strength, as the mad might of the blow Shore Balen's helm away.
Then turning as a turning wave Against the land-wind, blind and brave In hope that dreams despair may save, With even the unhappy sword that gave The gifts of fame and fate in one He smote his brother, and there had nigh Felled him: and while they breathed, his eye Glanced up, and saw beneath the sky Sights fairer than the sun.
The towers of all the castle there Stood full of ladies, blithe and fair As the earth beneath and the amorous air About them and above them were:
So toward the blind and fateful fight Again those brethren went, and sore Were all the strokes they smote and bore, And breathed again, and fell once more To battle in their sight.
With blood that either spilt and bled Was all the ground they fought on red, And each knight's hauberk hewn and shred Left each unmailed and naked, shed From off them even as mantles cast:
And oft they breathed, and drew but breath Brief as the word strong sorrow saith, And poured and drank the draught of death, Till fate was full at last.
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."
