THE DOLOROUS BLADE 
 
 Being A Brief Account of the Adventures of 
 
 that good Knight of the Round Table 
 
 Sir Baun, called '*Le Savage" 
 
 Done into Rhyme hy 
 
 SAMUEL DONALD NEWTON 
 
Class _ ^S3s:^J7 
 
 Book *-^Z; 
 
 Gopyii^htN^ 
 
 ^^-/ 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
THE DOLOROUS BLADE 
 
 BEING A BRIEF ACCOUNT OF THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 THAT GOOD KNIGHT OF THE 
 
 ROUND TABLE 
 
 SIR BALIN, CALLED " LE SAVAGE" 
 
 DONE INTO RHYME BY 
 
 SAMUEL DONALD NEWTON 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 RICHARD G. BADGER 
 
 1907 
 
Copyright igo6 by S. D. Newton 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 LIBBARY of eONSRESs' 
 Two Copies Received 
 
 V-, Copyrl^nt Entry 
 CUSS A XXc, No. 
 «OPY B. 
 
 ■Tg-a,r^ i 
 
 The Gorham Press, Boston 
 
TO M. W. G. 
 
 I would I had some rhyme, Sweet, fit to grace 
 Those magick letters shadowing thy name 
 Which I — ^too bold — have ventured here to place 
 Upon my book: our book; for now, fair dame, 
 Thou art at last my partner ('tis a shame 
 'Twere not more worthy) and an lovest me 
 Thou'lt so continue, for, than all the fame 
 Parnassus holds, 'twere sweeter if it be 
 That thou canst smile on this I dedicate to thee. 
 
THE DOLOROUS BLADE 
 
 I 
 
 Anon, it came to pass that at the court 
 Appeared a damsel, wondrous fair, who wore 
 About her waist (indeed it were no sport 
 To be accoutred thus, and passing sore 
 It burdened her) a belt from which she bore 
 A lordly sword, encrusted thick with gold 
 And jewels bright, of which she would implore 
 Some knight to her relieve, if one so bold 
 Were found who from that shieve could draw the 
 blade so cold. 
 
II 
 
 ** But he must be a knight of guileless name," 
 Declared the maid, * * None other need assay — 
 'Twere no avail — past many halls I came 
 But nowhere found the knight (alas, the day!) 
 Could draw this brand." King Arthur cried 
 
 straightway 
 " 'Tis well, for many knights of marlous worth 
 Here live, and at this court where I hold sway 
 One must be found, if such there be on earth 
 Who can remove this grievous weight from round 
 
 thy girth!" 
 
Ill 
 
 He said: then on the hilt he placed his hand 
 And gave a mighty pull — alas, in vain! 
 And after him all barons of the land 
 Each vainly strove; but not a knight could gain 
 The sword, until the w^eary maid was fain 
 Seek other courts: at last Sir Balin tried 
 (The meanest of all knights, who bore the stain 
 Of being pris'ner:) see the blade now glide 
 Quickly from out the shieve when he his hand 
 applied. 
 
IV 
 
 Much marvel had the king and all the court 
 
 That one so lowly knight should have achieved 
 
 When all other had failed (for 'tis no tort 
 
 To wear coarse garments if the heart hath cleaved 
 
 E'er to the good). Straightway the king reprieved 
 
 Sir Balin's durance, saying they did ill 
 
 Who wronged so true a knight: but some were 
 
 grieved 
 At his preferment, and men's ears would fill 
 With stories that he drew the sword by witchcraft's 
 
 will! 
 
 *»* 
 
Sir Balin, when he looked upon the blade, 
 
 Was wondrous pleased therewith, and would have 
 
 ta'en 
 The scabbard too, an that he could; the maid, 
 Howe'er, held to't and straightway did complain, 
 ** Give up the sword:" but Balin said again, 
 
 Nay, that I will not, till in open fight 
 One wins it from me, or that I am slain; 
 And wield I ever will this sword with might 
 To undo evil and to repossess the right!" 
 
VI 
 
 The maid replied: ** 'Twere better not, sir knight, 
 For from this steel, an that you it withhold, 
 Much ill is fated, since in grievous plight 
 'Twill bathe your nearest friend (for you're too 
 
 bold) 
 In his own life-blood : and it hath been told 
 That he the stroke most dolorous ever known 
 Must strike, who wields this blade: and ere hath 
 
 rolled 
 One year from now his life will have been blown 
 Into the vast unseen: give back the sword I own!" 
 
VII 
 
 But Balin answered only "I have said," 
 And strode from Camelot: I will not stay 
 To tell how that the king turned flaming red 
 That one his knight should rush so rude away 
 Nor how he grieved at what the maid did say; 
 Nor will I stop to hear the lying tale 
 How Balin slew a lady fair that day 
 (Averring witchcraft:) for we must not fail 
 To follow quick the knight as he his path may 
 scale. 
 
VIII 
 
 Now, this Sir Balin was but rudely found, 
 His chain-mail rusty and his target lost. 
 No banneret above him and the sound 
 Of his poor charger's jaded footsteps crossed 
 The ear but meanly: no proud feather tossed 
 Upon his helm, which battered was with flaw; 
 Yet in his gauntlet was the blade embossed, 
 The magic sword which he alone could draw: 
 His saddle held a spirit bound by no weak law! 
 
IX 
 
 " Sir Balin le Savage, now dress thyself: 
 
 'Tis Lanceor of Ireland calleth thee, 
 
 Fresh from King Arthur's court, where thou by 
 
 pelf 
 Won that fair sword which in thy hand I see 
 And with it slew a damsel guiltily 
 To thy soul's hurt; then left the court alone. 
 Without the king's consent, which all agree 
 Is treachery vile, whereat the king makes moan 
 And hath sent me, his knight, who call his cause 
 
 mine own!" 
 
X 
 
 Sir Balin turned: a glittering sight he saw; 
 
 A knight in brightest armor habited 
 
 On which the sun lay dazzling: not a flaw 
 
 In gold or silver plate there was; instead 
 
 A mirrored surface: on a steed well bred, 
 
 Of purest white, whose trappings swept the ground, 
 
 He pranced, and as he nearer drew the dread 
 
 Device upon his lordly shield was found, 
 
 The badge of Erin, golden harp of mellow sound! 
 
XI 
 
 " Thou liest bravely, prince!" Sir Balin cried; 
 
 " I slew no damsel in King Arthur's halls; 
 
 Here on my troth as knight it is denied; 
 
 Nor gained I this keen sword by pelf; those walls, 
 
 If they could speak, despite the grievous falls 
 
 Of mighty knights before me, would allow 
 
 I won it fairly; this my spirit palls 
 
 At treacherous deed, and rightly knowest thou 
 
 I left King Arthur under leave: have at thee now!" 
 
Xll 
 
 They met together in the middle plain 
 With mighty clash of arms: the good yew lance 
 That Balin bore the other's shield did gain 
 And laid him low, but Lanceor's just did glance 
 The tip of Balin's helm, as it did dance 
 Before his eyes, and left him whole; with speed 
 Leaped Balin from the saddle and askance 
 He flashed the dolorous blade: there was no need, 
 For Lanceor's spirit with a grievous wound did 
 bleed. 
 
XIII 
 
 Anon, as Balin mourned that he should be 
 The death of this so good a lord and knight 
 And pondered if this were the stroke that he 
 Were doomed to strike when first that blade he 
 
 dight, 
 There came a damsel, passing fair to sight. 
 With floating locks unkempt and streaming eyes. 
 Her garments disarrayed, her figure slight 
 Trembling with grief; herself upon the prize 
 Flinging where now her noble lord and lover dies! 
 
XIV 
 
 Then quickly she upstarted, in her hand 
 
 Sir Lanceor's bright sword, which Bahn tried 
 
 To take from her anon, but she the brand 
 
 Clung to the closer and his suit denied 
 
 Till he was fain desist for that she cried 
 
 As though in pain: then she the falchion set. 
 
 The hilt stuck fast i' the earth (again she sighed. 
 
 While Balin stood aghast) and last she let 
 
 Her soul depart, as, falling, she the cold steel met! 
 
XV 
 
 Much moan made Balin o'er the untimely fate 
 Of this fair damsel and this noble lord 
 Who loved so dearly other and who wait 
 Together now before the door which barred 
 The realms of Paradise : him seemed 'twere hard 
 That such a mournful venture should be first 
 To meet his late-recovered arms, ill-starred. 
 And well he knew now till he durst 
 Some noblest deed, his name at Arthur's court 
 were curst. 
 
XVI 
 
 Anon, as thus he mourned, he was made ware 
 Of MerHn, the great wizard, who would sore 
 Upbraid him for the mischance happened there 
 Whereby so fair a maid was bathed i' the gore 
 Of her own heart, which mightily he swore 
 Sir Balin should have stopped: then thus he spoke: 
 ** Curst be this spot, for here a fearful score 
 Wiil 'tween the two best knights on earth be broke 
 (Yet neither shall draw blood from other's heart 
 of oak!) 
 
XVII 
 
 Be this spot known the vilest under heaven, 
 For here the Dolorous Blade in anger first 
 By man on man was drawn, and here were riven 
 Two souls from out their bodies; here shall burst 
 Full many noble hearts: forever curst 
 Be this dread spot! Take up yon sword, sir knight. 
 For thou hast need of two such, thou who durst 
 The Dolorous Blade so wield: full many a fight 
 Thou'lt know, ere that descends on thee the end- 
 less night! 
 
XVIII 
 
 Take up Sir Lanceor's sword, for thou in strife 
 Must wound the man most worshipful now known. 
 Whereby three realms, in wretchedness all rife. 
 Twelve years must mourn, and he, this man, shall 
 
 moan 
 Full many years ere that be overgrown 
 His hurt: take up the sword, sir knight, for nigh 
 Approaches Balan, thy twin brother, blown 
 To thee: thy nearest kin; he who did lie 
 With thee in cradled infancy: with thee must die!"^ 
 
XIX 
 
 " A truce to gloomy prophecies, sir seer; 
 I trust them not," said Balin, "else would I 
 Cause yet another life (to me more dear) 
 Expire o' this sword: as did this maiden die, 
 I'd follow her, to prove your words a lie: 
 Yet trul}^ would I my own brother see!" 
 * ' Look up ! " said Merlin, nor could he deny 
 That Balan stood there, like as he could be 
 To his own self, save that in better harness he. 
 
XX 
 
 Long stood they thus together, gazing mute 
 Each at the other: last, Sir Balan spoke: 
 *' Aye, truly heard I that they did transmute 
 Your chains to liberty, your bitter yoke 
 To victory, in Arthur's halls, the cloak 
 Of knighthood giving back, and hasted then 
 To greet my brother gladly as he woke 
 From his long thralldom, taking among men 
 The place his errant knighthood gives him once 
 again!" 
 
XXI 
 
 To whom Sir Balin: " Softly, brother; see, 
 Full bitter deeds my first return to arms 
 Have crowned: and here is Merlin who on me 
 Hath worser things denounced: full of alarms 
 He's filled my life; but I will prove his harms 
 (God willing) false: yet would I gladly know 
 Where I may find, full-coursing o'er his farms, 
 In rage defiant, Arthur's bitterest foe: 
 To gain his grace, I'd make a giant's blood to 
 flow!" 
 
XXII 
 
 Again spake Merlin: " Him can I supply: 
 One hight Rience of Gore, of North-Wales lord, 
 A most vile monarch (none can it deny) 
 And pagan, who for many years hath warred 
 With thrice five kings his vassals, falchion scarred 
 Against King Arthur, and who now doth plot 
 A quick invasion of the land, ill-starred, 
 Unneath 'tis stopped and the leader caught!" 
 *' We'll take the venture," cried they, '"gainst this 
 man distraught!" 
 
XXIII 
 
 The great King Arthur sat upon his throne, 
 Fair-featured Guenevere close by his side, 
 While down the hall in ever widening zone 
 Were ranged the lords who at the court abide 
 And knights o' the Table Round; when with a 
 
 stride 
 Up to the dais, his black lance reversed, 
 Approached, grief shaken, trembling with the tide 
 Of human woe which all his soul immersed, 
 North-Wales' fierce lord, great Arthur's bitterest 
 
 foe and worst. 
 
XXIV 
 
 Down on the floor he bent his haughty knees 
 
 And 'twixt our king's fair palms his gnarled hands 
 
 In homage passed, while saying it did please 
 
 Two knights who were his victors such commands 
 
 To place on himr two doughty knights: there 
 
 stands 
 None in these halls their peers, as he might think, 
 Not even Launcelot, whose fame expands 
 (He said) with Christendie, and would not shrink 
 At any limits, stretching to the earth's last brink! 
 
XXV 
 
 That he had sixty coursers in his train. 
 Well armed and fearless as on earth do ride, 
 And was himself a knight (if he could gain 
 Aught by such idle boast) whom no ill tide 
 Had e'er before o'erwhelmed, but when they vied, 
 These sixty with the twain, they scattered were 
 And he was bound: and yet these knights did hide 
 Their true names from him: one of them howe'er, 
 Within each mighty hand a flashing sword did bear 
 
XXVI 
 
 Which he full nobly wielded and did fight 
 On either hand a foe, as though, indeed, 
 Two souls he had and each a belted knight 
 With perfect purpose, from the other freed. 
 A message gave they him, which he should heed 
 And now delivered, for it seemed that they 
 Offended had, and by some luckless deed, 
 Against their king, and therefore far they stray 
 Until they're pardoned, for which guerdon now 
 they pray! 
 
XXVII 
 
 King Arthur cried: '* We graciously agree 
 This pardon to, their domage be what may, 
 For ne'er our royal heart withholds rich fee 
 From those who service such as this can pav 
 Unto their king: there vacant stand today 
 Two seats o' the Table Round, which they must 
 
 fill, 
 And that they are not now o' that rank and sway, 
 As much I think they are: but I could will 
 To know their names and cognizance of herald's 
 
 quill." 
 
XXVIII 
 
 And Balan heard the summons and his way 
 Took to the court, for long the wilderness 
 Had been his home: but Balin answered nay, 
 For God's deep wildwood (so he did confess) 
 Called him afar and he resolved to press 
 To greater victories, if there were more 
 Ordained for him; yet none, I'm told, the less 
 Fair Arthur gained a knight, for he of Gore 
 A valiant vassal proved, in bloody fights a score. 
 
XXIX 
 
 And for six moons erred Balin and he knew 
 A thousand knightly deeds of willing aid 
 To sorrow-stricken damsels: he o'erthrew 
 Ten mighty giants with his dolorous blade 
 And seven with the other: well he played 
 His part, and soon of lesser knights a train 
 Him followed, and with them he did invade 
 Far distant parts of Britain, and did gain 
 His fill of glory; yet without one honor-stain. 
 
XXX 
 
 But still, withal, where'er he went, he felt 
 A hidden impulse to review the ground 
 Where brave Sir Lanceor died and where did melt 
 With his the damsel's soul, for that the sound 
 Of Merlin's gruesome warning did redound 
 Within his brain and drew him from afar. 
 As birds come back in springtime to the mound 
 Where they had nested erst, or as the star 
 Returns each night on darkening of the sun's 
 bright car. 
 
XXXI 
 
 So, after six month's tarrying, he came 
 
 And, lo, a great, flat stone concealed the spot, 
 
 'Neath which had MerHn, by his wiles and flame. 
 
 Reposed the dead; and o'er the stone there fought 
 
 Two doughty knights, whose warfare set at naught 
 
 All fighting else, so fierce it was and wild; 
 
 Yet Balin noted that none blood was brought 
 
 For all the blows that each on other piled 
 
 In weary multitude and wealth unreconciled! 
 
XXXII 
 
 "Why strive ye, knights?" cried Bahn, as he 
 
 neared 
 The scene of combat, but none answer they 
 Save more redoubled blows: then Balin feared, 
 For true came Merlin's prophesy that day 
 And Balin knew full well there were no way 
 But that the rest must follow: still there fell 
 The feast of blows, nor could he force a stay 
 Till that they both sank back, their mighty swell 
 Of fierceness spent, and yet the bards no victory 
 
 tell. 
 
XXXIII 
 
 Then off came helmets : what is this they saw ? 
 'Twas Launcelot and Tristram Lyoness, 
 The two best knights of Christendie, the awe 
 Of Moors, who each for other might confess 
 Such love as all love otherwise were less, 
 Save for their lady-queens; but each was clad 
 In stranger cognizance and unwont dress, 
 So that they knew not other, but had bade 
 Defiance bold, as ever 'twixt strange knights is had. 
 
XXXIV 
 
 These knights craved Balin stay and take good 
 
 cheer, 
 For they had heard his prowess whom all own 
 As third in true and chivalrous career, 
 Next to themselves, and they would fain have 
 
 known 
 Him better, but he begged to be alone. 
 For that the sayings of the wizard still 
 Rang in his ears, and he would pray the Throne 
 Whereon's the King of kings to steel his will 
 Ere that the time were come those sayings to fulfil. 
 
XXXV 
 
 So Balin prayed and after slowly passed 
 Upon his way; dire were his thoughts and strange, 
 Like to Childe Roland's when he found at last 
 The darktower road: one knight alone might range 
 With him; the bearded Heleus, (a change 
 From all the pompous, almost kingly train 
 Was wont to follow him o'er field and grange, 
 His vassals all. ) Him, too. Sir Balin fain 
 Would have dismissed, but that he sorely begged 
 remain. 
 
XXXVI 
 
 'Twas then, as passed these knights o'er moor and 
 
 field 
 In silence (for that Balin's soul was dumb 
 With heavy musings) one behind cried " Yield!" 
 And at the word his horse's clatterings come 
 With quick resounding: Helens' frame grew numb 
 With fear uncanny, as were ghost anigh. 
 But Balin turned and siezed his lance aplumb, 
 And dressed himself; yet could he naught descry 
 To cause alarm, though still the clashing hoof- 
 beats fly! 
 
XXXVII 
 
 Then Heleus fell, sore-pierced to the heart 
 And from the rear, as by a caitiff lance 
 Held by some dastard, daring not the part 
 Of honest knight, who never strikes askance 
 (As churls are fain!) yet still to Balin's glance 
 None foe appeared: for why ? A magic cloak 
 He wore, which him with darkness did enhance 
 And hid from view: Sir Balin dealt a stroke 
 Deep with the Dolorous Blade, though naught its 
 passage broke! 
 
XXXVIII 
 
 But when he struck again, would not await 
 
 The recreant such another, but did fly 
 
 Far off the field, still in his darkened state 
 
 Of cowardice. Sir Balin loud did cry: 
 
 " Full vengeance deal thou, vengeance, Lord on 
 
 high! 
 Against this demon who thus foully takes 
 Another's life in combat false : may I 
 The instrument the great Creator makes 
 To right this domage be: such form mine office 
 
 takes!" 
 
XXXIX 
 
 And Garlon heard (for so the fiend was called, 
 Or man with fiendish sprite, who Heleus broke,) 
 And 'neath his caitiff veil which him enthralled 
 He shook like aspen leaf; but one word, spoke 
 Within Sir Balin's breast, (" 'Tis well!") awoke 
 Rejoicings there: still, many times anon 
 The knight and fiend encountered and the yoke 
 Of death full many comrade squires must don 
 Ere rich-deserved revenge might be by Balin won. 
 
XL 
 
 There was a boy, half risen to man's years, 
 And yet more girl than boy, for woman's art 
 Alone had kept him, chased away his fears 
 And cherished him as prompts a woman's heart: 
 His aspect thus; the hair in midst y-part 
 O'er's forehead framed his dimpled cheeks in curls, 
 Hung round his shoulders, drooping soft and 
 
 smart 
 Down to a waist trim yet as any girl's, 
 A waist enroped round with dreamy, deep-sea 
 
 pearls; 
 
XLI 
 
 His garments, sheer and light, in ample folds, 
 Shaped like a maid's, for exercise unfit. 
 Approached his ivory ankles (whose fair molds 
 Seemed formed for dancing) and therethrough 
 
 might flit 
 Visions of graceful limbs, well-formed and knit, 
 Revealed, yet hidden : his fair face above, 
 As yet unmarked with beard, with frankness lit, 
 Showed truth unmasked, candor, maiden love 
 And gentleness to reign in's mind, all else above. 
 
XLII 
 
 Sir Balin, passing by with princely train 
 (His fasting o'er) beheld the lovely boy 
 Hard by the roadside, but a look of pain 
 Did cloud his face and his fair being cloy, 
 For in his hand he held a broken toy; 
 A robin, limp and pierced to the heart 
 By a sharp arrow, all the lively joy 
 Y-spilt and wasted by the feathered dart, 
 O'er which the lad made moan and bitter tears 
 upstart. 
 
XLIII 
 
 " What ails the silly bird," bewailed the youth, 
 
 " That it none flutters, as it did anon 
 
 Up in the tree ? Alas, mine heart is ruth 
 
 (It were so happy) now its joy be gone! 
 
 It was so fair a mark to shoot upon 
 
 Mine arrow left my hand ere I had thought: 
 
 I meant no harm, nor thought its orison 
 
 Would so y-stop; what is't mine hand hath 
 
 wrought 
 That silent woe hath thus its joyaunce pure dis- 
 traught ?" 
 
XLIV 
 
 "Tis dead!" said Balin. "Dead!" cried 
 
 Galahad: 
 " What is't to die; this thing ye call death ? 
 Must all it suffer, and must all that's glad 
 Thus turn to sorrow?" "So the good Book 
 
 saith," 
 Said Balin: " All must render up their breath 
 When He us calls, and so our naked souls, 
 Bright with our knightly deeds, or sunk aneath 
 Our guilty ones, must go where He unrolls 
 The scrip of Fate and grace or doom to us out- 
 doles!" 
 
XLV 
 
 All while the youth, fair Galahad, had bent 
 Low to the ground his head, but at this speech 
 Back threw his erring curls that so had strent 
 Around his cheeks; then did his eyes upreach 
 To see the speaker; but when through the breach 
 Thus made, he saw the panoply so grand 
 Arrayed afore him, straight he 'gan beseech 
 Kind mercy for his faults, for that the band 
 He thought were Seraphim who round the Lord 
 do stand 
 
XLVI 
 
 (So bright were they) and BaHn that Dread One 
 None dare name lightly: then, "Oh, God!" 1 
 
 cried: 
 " Call me not God," said Balin, "as the sun 
 Is brighter than the dark, or as the bride 
 Is blither than the widow, by so wide 
 A gulph the Master better is than I 
 Who am His slave. A belted knight, I ride 
 Forth His great Will to do or else to die 
 As He may need my service or my life apply!" 
 
XLVII 
 
 " A knight!" cried Galahad; "and dost thou ride 
 O'er earth the wrong to cancel, joy to bring ? 
 Art thou such knight ?" " 'Tis so I try," replied 
 The other. " Dost thou know our lord the king ? 
 Could I be one like thee ? Oh, could I string 
 Such falchion from my belt as are thy twain ?" 
 "Yea," answered he, "God-willing, that same 
 
 thing 
 Thou'lt be eftsoons!" Nor did the child remain 
 But " ril ask Mother!" calling, tripped he o'er 
 
 the plain. 
 
XLVIII 
 
 Sir Balin followed: soon, a stately tower 
 Rose o'er the treetops: as the keep they neared 
 The wide portcullis fell with grating power 
 And in the slowly oping door appeared 
 A lady and an one whose long, gray beard 
 Pronounced him Merlin, and between the twain 
 Smiled little Galahad, whose face, upreared, 
 Besought a kiss, got one, besought again. 
 Till that the dame must blush and discontent must 
 feign. 
 
XLIX 
 
 That night slept BaHn in the hall, but ere 
 He, of his arms undight, had gone to rest 
 The wizard Merlin made his side and there 
 Warned him in words that near to orders pressed 
 How he should act, and thus his charge addressed: 
 " Ask not the child; too soon, thy journeys o'er. 
 Thou nearest that sad battle when thy breast, 
 Pierced by cold steel, shall beat, ah, nevermore. 
 Till that the angel's trump shall call thee from 
 death's shore!" 
 
" Ask not the child! His time hath not appeared. 
 Nor can the mother spare her one bright flower p?'s 
 Yet from her side: but when his prime hath 
 
 neared 
 Then shall he be such man as evil's power 
 Can never sully: such as in his hour 
 Shall ne'er surpassed be in martial feat: 
 A maiden knight: and those dark clouds that 
 
 lower 
 Around the dolorous stroke thine hand shalt mete 
 His faith will scatter and to dolour bring defeat!" 
 
LI 
 
 So Balin on the morrow thanked the dame 
 For her kind welcome and his steps addressed 
 Upon his way, although, with eyes aflame 
 With childhood's tears, the boy behind him 
 
 pressed 
 And begged be taken. Balin, travelling west, 
 Again met Garlon and another knight 
 By churlish stroke was lost: but Balin, stressed 
 By passion, urged his charger day and night, 
 Taught by those sounds which Garlon's cloak 
 
 could not enblight 
 
LII 
 
 On, on, through weary city and through town, 
 Through tangled thickets, over grassy plain. 
 Past towers and hovels, hills with hazel crown 
 And vales with rivers threaded, nor could gain 
 One pace the dastard, under murder's bane. 
 Upon the true knight, though he could not see. 
 Till that, some castle nearing, Garlon fain 
 Threw off the cloak of darkness, for that he 
 Would seek admittance thereto, from his foe be 
 free! 
 
LIII 
 
 Now there was tourney in King Pellam's court 
 
 And all the knights fro' all the country round 
 
 Engathered were to take their hand i' th' sport, 
 
 Each hoping to be mighty victor found, 
 
 The others vanquished and himself fair crowned; 
 
 So that Sir Balin entered unforbid 
 
 (Unknown as one who Garlon's steps did hound — 
 
 The king's own cousin) and, as others did. 
 
 He to a chamber passed, from all his purpose hid. 
 
LIV 
 
 There he endight a scarlet festal gown 
 With gold embroidered, for the feast in hall 
 Was serving, nor had any yet gone down 
 Unto the lists; but when they him did call 
 To lay his weapon by (for so they all) 
 Fro's right the Dolorous Blade unbuckled he, 
 But at his left, beneath his outer shawl. 
 Kept close the other sword, for that in fee 
 He knew not when he'd need such falchion griev- 
 ously. 
 
LV 
 
 Now this King Pellam was a man of worth 
 
 (How foul his cousin were;) of charity 
 
 And worship none were more, for he by birth 
 
 Descent could trace, and by a noble tree. 
 
 Fro' him that Joseph hight of Arim'thee, 
 
 Who owned the tomb where they our Lord did lay 
 
 In distant Judah, and 'twere none but he 
 
 Might first enplant in Apostolic day 
 
 The seed of Christian faith in yon fair British clay. 
 
LVI 
 
 And he brought there with him the Holy Grail, 
 The lance wherewith our Master's side were smote 
 And other relics, which he did not fail 
 To give his son, whose whole life were devote 
 To their safe-keeping: so in time they mote 
 Come down to Pellam; who this castle reared 
 For their more sure protection, as is wrote 
 Fair in his life (oh, that it were besmeared 
 With harboring a dastard knight, and foully 
 feared!) 
 
LVII 
 
 An holy castle 'twere, whose flaming arch 
 Seemed girt with rainbow hues, whose bastions 
 
 wide 
 Did glow with light, e'en as the skies in March 
 When fair Aurora from the north doth glide 
 Anent the sky: it were as though the pride 
 Of new Jerusalem to earth were brought 
 And there established, ne'er to be espied 
 Save with such reverence as the priests have taught 
 Is due to Mother Church, by pious footsteps sought. 
 
LVIII 
 
 King Pellam, rising in his eastern chair, 
 Had scarce begun his welcome when espied 
 Base Garlon noble Balin sitting there: 
 Then 'fore the court (may ill him e'er betide!) 
 Strode he with flaming face to th' farther side 
 And dealt with back o's hand an angry blow 
 Across Sir Balin's face, who might not bide 
 But drew the Irish sword and laid him low 
 Dead i' the dust, a fee well earned and long ago. 
 
LIX 
 
 " Thus to all traitors!" Balin cried and strove, 
 With flaming face and trembling lips, the deed 
 To the dark, muttering crowd (a savage drove) 
 To justify; but Pellam, taking lead, 
 Defiance offered him who thus caused bleed 
 A foeman in a peaceful house: a pike 
 Then siezing(for so wrath 'gainst right would plead) 
 He cut the knight, who fain a blow would strike 
 But 'gainst a column brake his broadsword, folly- 
 like! 
 
LX 
 
 Thus armless fled Sir Balin from the room 
 (Pressed by the king who brandished pike in hand) 
 On, ever onward, through the dismal gloom. 
 Fro' hall to entrance, through the throne room 
 
 grand, 
 'Neath archways mighty, up the stair's wide band. 
 Past fifty chambers and then back again. 
 O'er barracks where dull yeomen gaping stand; 
 'Neath turrets where blunt warders sentry feign. 
 Without one stop, yet nowhere could he blade 
 
 attain! 
 
LXI 
 
 Through all the castle Balin fled, nor would 
 The monarch give him rest till that he gained 
 A golden door beneath an onyx hood 
 Which oping, there he found a lance. Blood- 
 stained 
 And time-dulled, near a grail round which re- 
 mained 
 An halo (sacred cup). This lance he took 
 His right hand in, although the staff him pained 
 As 'twere electric, and it fiercely shook 
 Before King Pellam: then the Dolorous Blow he 
 strook ! 
 
LXII 
 
 Sad stroke! Sad cause! That this so holy wood 
 Had pierced a Savior's side and caused to flow 
 The mingled Blood and water which has stood 
 A sign to all who peace and calm would know 
 Throughout the ages, with such deadly blow 
 In human quarrel now must wielded be! 
 Alas! When will that peace 'mongst men below 
 Prevail, He taught His saints in Galilee ? 
 'Tis for this peace, oh Lord, Thou see'st our bended 
 knee! 
 
LXIII 
 
 Down fell the castle, beam from beam distrent, 
 An hundred knights and ladies crushing there 
 Aneath the wreckage, through the wicked bent 
 Of Garlon slain: but, lo, and angel bare 
 That cup and lance aloft till that some fair 
 And virtuous life should them regain to men. 
 King Pellam lay in swound, but he, the slayer 
 Of wicked Garlon, lived and found again. 
 Unhurt, his Dolorous Blade and so passed o'er 
 the fen. 
 
LXIV 
 
 Sir Balin left the place of grief, bowed low 
 With sorrow: through a weary land he strode 
 Where wretched men and raving maids in woe 
 Called out to him: " Oh, Balin, see the goad 
 Thou'st fitted to our necks!" The very road. 
 Now thick with rocks that erst so lovely were. 
 Seemed to distrust him and to the abode 
 Of weariness him led, and e'en the air 
 With sulphurous gas was dark that erst had been 
 so fair! 
 
LXV 
 
 At last Sir Balin at a river ford 
 Met with a stranger knight who would the way 
 Dispute, and fiercely each to each they scored 
 Deep with their steel, until the weary day 
 Drew to a close, and so a forced stay 
 Came to their tired arms: then, helmets off. 
 Each laid him down to die: too long delay: 
 Lo, Balan! who a stranger helm did doff 
 That he with Balin travel might through Death's 
 dark slough! 
 
LXVI 
 
 And so the Wizard's prophesy came true 
 And Balin by his best friend's hand was slain; 
 His brother's own: today, a mighty yew 
 Grows o'er the grave where each were slowly ta'en 
 And laid together; and the yellow grain 
 Nods round the spot: oh, shed a bitter tear 
 For these two bretheren, stranger, when you gain 
 This solemn place, and one short prayer uprear 
 That yonder they may know a happier fate than 
 here! 
 
LXVII 
 
 It may hap, friend, thy later years shall be, 
 Like Balin's, lost through cold, remorseless fate, 
 And that thine hand, unwitting, earn his fee : 
 But, come what may, do thou both early, late, 
 Portray his spotless life : ne'er be the state 
 Of Garlon thine: and harbor not thou ill 
 Within thine hall, as did King Pellam great: 
 Then, if thy life be short, remember still 
 Another, grander life lies 'yond Death's sluggish 
 rill. 
 
MAR 8 1907