"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."
Then, fair as any poison-flower Whose blossom blights the withering bower Whereon its blasting breath has power, Forth fared the lady of the tower With many a lady and many a knight, And came across the water-way Even where on death's dim border lay Those brethren sent of her to slay And die in kindless fight.
And all those hard light hearts were swayed With pity passing like a shade That stays not, and may be not stayed, To hear the mutual moan they made, Each to behold his brother die, Saying, "Both we came out of one tomb, One star-crossed mother's woful womb, And so within one grave-pit's gloom Untimely shall we lie."
And Balan prayed, as God should bless That lady for her gentleness, That where the battle's mortal stress Had made for them perforce to press The bed whence never man may rise They twain, free now from hopes and fears, Might sleep; and she, as one that hears, Bowed her bright head: and very tears Fell from her cold fierce eyes.
Then Balen prayed her send a priest To housel them, that ere they ceased The hansel of the heavenly feast That fills with light from the answering east The sunset of the life of man Might bless them, and their lips be kissed With death's requickening eucharist, And death's and life's dim sunlit mist Pass as a stream that ran.
And so their dying rites were done:
And Balen, seeing the death-struck sun Sink, spake as he whose goal is won:
"Now, when our trophied tomb is one, And over us our tale is writ, How two that loved each other, two Born and begotten brethren, slew Each other, none that reads anew Shall choose but weep for it.
"And no good knight and no good man Whose eye shall ever come to scan The record of the imperious ban That made our life so sad a span Shall read or hear, who shall not pray For us for ever." Then anon Died Balan; but the sun was gone, And deep the stars of midnight shone, Ere Balen passed away.
And there low lying, as hour on hour Fled, all his life in all its flower Came back as in a sunlit shower Of dreams, when sweet-souled sleep has power On life less sweet and glad to be.
He drank the draught of life's first wine Again: he saw the moorland shine, The rioting rapids of the Tyne, The woods, the cliffs, the sea.
The joy that lives at heart and home, The joy to rest, the joy to roam, The joy of crags and scaurs he clomb, The rapture of the encountering foam Embraced and breasted of the boy, The first good steed his knees bestrode, The first wild sound of songs that flowed Through ears that thrilled and heart that glowed, Fulfilled his death with joy.
So, dying not as a coward that dies And dares not look in death's dim eyes Straight as the stars on seas and skies Whence moon and sun recoil and rise, He looked on life and death, and slept.
And there with morning Merlin came, And on the tomb that told their fame He wrote by Balan's Balen's name, And gazed thereon, and wept.
For all his heart within him yearned With pity like as fire that burned.
The fate his fateful eye discerned Far off now dimmed it, ere he turned His face toward Camelot, to tell Arthur of all the storms that woke Round Balen, and the dolorous stroke, And how that last blind battle broke The consummated spell.
"Alas," King Arthur said, "this day I have heard the worst that woe might say:
For in this world that wanes away I know not two such knights as they."
This is the tale that memory writes Of men whose names like stars shall stand, Balen and Balan, sure of hand, Two brethren of Northumberland, In life and death good knights.
