the tale of balen-第1章

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The　Tale　of　Balen

by　Algernon　Charles　Swinburne





DEDICATION



TO　MY　MOTHER

Love　that　holds　life　and　death　in　fee；
Deep　as　the　clear　unsounded　sea
And　sweet　as　life　or　death　can　be；
Lays　here　my　hope；　my　heart；　and　me
Before　you；　silent；　in　a　song。
Since　the　old　wild　tale；　made　new；　found　grace；
When　half　sung　through；　before　your　face；
It　needs　must　live　a　springtide　space；
While　April　suns　grow　strong。

March　24；　1896。



THE　TALE　OF　BALEN



In　hawthorn…time　the　heart　grows　light；
The　world　is　sweet　in　sound　and　sight；
Glad　thoughts　and　birds　take　flower　and　flight；
The　heather　kindles　toward　the　light；
The　whin　is　frankincense　and　flame。
And　be　it　for　strife　or　be　it　for　love
The　falcon　quickens　as　the　dove
When　earth　is　touched　from　heaven　above
With　joy　that　knows　no　name。

And　glad　in　spirit　and　sad　in　soul
With　dream　and　doubt　of　days　that　roll
As　waves　that　race　and　find　no　goal
Rode　on　by　bush　and　brake　and　bole
A　northern　child　of　earth　and　sea。
The　pride　of　life　before　him　lay
Radiant：　　the　heavens　of　night　and　day
Shone　less　than　shone　before　his　way
His　ways　and　days　to　be。

And　all　his　life　of　blood　and　breath
Sang　out　within　him：　　time　and　death
Were　even　as　words　a　dreamer　saith
When　sleep　within　him　slackeneth；
And　light　and　life　and　spring　were　one。
The　steed　between　his　knees　that　sprang；
The　moors　and　woods　that　shone　and　sang；
The　hours　where　through　the　spring's　breath　rang；
Seemed　ageless　as　the　sun。

But　alway　through　the　bounteous　bloom
That　earth　gives　thanks　if　heaven　illume
His　soul　forefelt　a　shadow　of　doom；
His　heart　foreknew　a　gloomier　gloom
Than　closes　all　men's　equal　ways；
Albeit　the　spirit　of　life's　light　spring
With　pride　of　heart　upheld　him；　king
And　lord　of　hours　like　snakes　that　sting
And　nights　that　darken　days。

And　as　the　strong　spring　round　him　grew
Stronger；　and　all　blithe　winds　that　blew
Blither；　and　flowers　that　flowered　anew
More　glad　of　sun　and　air　and　dew；
The　shadow　lightened　on　his　soul
And　brightened　into　death　and　died
Like　winter；　as　the　bloom　waxed　wide
From　woodside　on　to　riverside
And　southward　goal　to　goal。

Along　the　wandering　ways　of　Tyne；
By　beech　and　birch　and　thorn　that　shine
And　laugh　when　life's　requickening　wine
Makes　night　and　noon　and　dawn　divine
And　stirs　in　all　the　veins　of　spring；
And　past　the　brightening　banks　of　Tees；
He　rode　as　one　that　breathes　and　sees
A　sun　more　blithe；　a　merrier　breeze；
A　life　that　hails　him　king。

And　down　the　softening　south　that　knows
No　more　how　glad　the　heather　glows；
Nor　how；　when　winter's　clarion　blows
Across　the　bright　Northumbrian　snows；
Sea…mists　from　east　and　westward　meet；
Past　Avon　senseless　yet　of　song
And　Thames　that　bore　but　swans　in　throng
He　rode　elate　in　heart　and　strong
In　trust　of　days　as　sweet。

So　came　he　through　to　Camelot；
Glad；　though　for　shame　his　heart　waxed　hot；
For　hope　within　it　withered　not
To　see　the　shaft　it　dreamed　of　shot
Fair　toward　the　glimmering　goal　of　fame；
And　all　King　Arthur's　knightliest　there
Approved　him　knightly；　swift　to　dare
And　keen　to　bid　their　records　bear
Sir　Balen's　northern　name。

Sir　Balen　of　Northumberland
Gat　grace　before　the　king　to　stand
High　as　his　heart　was；　and　his　hand
Wrought　honour　toward　the　strange　north　strand
That　sent　him　south　so　goodly　a　knight。
And　envy；　sick　with　sense　of　sin；
Began　as　poisonous　herbs　begin
To　work　in　base　men's　blood；　akin
To　men's　of　nobler　might。

And　even　so　fell　it　that　his　doom；
For　all　his　bright　life's　kindling　bloom
And　light　that　took　no　thought　for　gloom；
Fell　as　a　breath　from　the　opening　tomb
Full　on　him　ere　he　wist　or　thought。
For　once　a　churl　of　royal　seed；
King　Arthur's　kinsman；　faint　in　deed
And　loud　in　word　that　knew　not　heed；
Spake　shame　where　shame　was　nought。

〃What　doth　one　here　in　Camelot
Whose　birth　was　northward？　　Wot　we　not
As　all　his　brethren　borderers　wot
How　blind　of　heart；　how　keen　and　hot；
The　wild　north　lives　and　hates　the　south？
Men　of　the　narrowing　march　that　knows
Nought　save　the　strength　of　storms　and　snows；
What　would　these　carles　where　knighthood　blows
A　trump　of　kinglike　mouth？〃

Swift　from　his　place　leapt　Balen；　smote
The　liar　across　his　face；　and　wrote
His　wrath　in　blood　upon　the　bloat
Brute　cheek　that　challenged　shame　for　note
How　vile　a　king…born　knave　might　be。
Forth　sprang　their　swords；　and　Balen　slew
The　knave　ere　well　one　witness　knew
Of　all　that　round　them　stood　or　drew
What　sight　was　there　to　see。

Then　spake　the　great　king's　wrathful　will
A　doom　for　six　dark　months　to　fill
Wherein　close　prison　held　him；　still
And　steadfast…souled　for　good　or　ill。
But　when　those　weary　days　lay　dead
His　lordliest　knights　and　barons　spake
Before　the　king　for　Balen's　sake
Good　speech　and　wise；　of　force　to　break
The　bonds　that　bowed　his　head。



II



In　linden…time　the　heart　is　high
For　pride　of　summer　passing　by
With　lordly　laughter　in　her　eye；
A　heavy　splendour　in　the　sky
Uplifts　and　bows　it　down　again。
The　spring　had　waned　from　wood　and　wold
Since　Balen　left　his　prison　hold
And　lowlier…hearted　than　of　old
Beheld　it　wax　and　wane。

Though　humble　heart　and　poor　array
Kept　not　from　spirit　and　sense　away
Their　noble　nature；　nor　could　slay
The　pride　they　bade　but　pause　and　stay
Till　time　should　bring　its　trust　to　flower；
Yet　even　for　noble　shame's　sake；　born
Of　hope　that　smiled　on　hate　and　scorn；
He　held　him　still　as　earth　ere　morn
Ring　forth　her　rapturous　hour。

But　even　as　earth　when　dawn　takes　flight
And　beats　her　wings　of　dewy　light
Full　in　the　faltering　face　of　night；
His　soul　awoke　to　claim　by　right
The　life　and　death　of　deed　and　doom；
When　once　before　the　king　there　came
A　maiden　clad　with　grief　and　shame
And　anguish　burning　her　like　flame
That　feeds　on　flowers　in　bloom。

Beneath　a　royal　mantle；　fair
With　goodly　work　of　lustrous　vair；
Girt　fast　against　her　side　she　bare
A　sword　whose　weight　bade　all　men　there
Quail　to　behold　her　face　again。
Save　of　a　passing　perfect　knight
Not　great　alone　in　force　and　fight
It　might　not　be　for　any　might
Drawn　forth；　and　end　her　pain。

So　said　she：　　then　King　Arthur　spake：
〃Albeit　indeed　I　dare　not　take
Such　praise　on　me；　for　knighthood's　sake
And　love　of　ladies　will　I　make
Assay　if　better　none　may　be。〃
By　girdle　and　by　sheath　he　caught
The　sheathed　and　girded　sword；　and　wrought
With　strength　whose　force　availed　him　nought
To　save　and　set　her　free。

Again　she　spake：　　〃No　need　to　set
The　might　that　man　has　matched　not　yet
Against　it：　　he　whose　hand　shall　get
Grace　to　release　the　bonds　that　fret
My　bosom　and　my　girdlestead
With　little　strain　of　strength　or　strife
Shall　bring　me　as　from　death　to　life
And　win　to　sister　or　to　wife
Fame　that　outlives　men　dead。〃

Then　bade　the　king　his　knights　assay
This　mystery　that　before　him　lay
And　mocked　his　might　of　manhood。　　〃Nay；〃
Quoth　she；　〃the　man　that　takes　away
This　burden　laid　on　me　must　be
A　knight　of　record　clean　and　fair
As　sunlight　and　the　flowerful　air；
By　sire　and　mother　born　to　bear
A　name　to　shame　not　me。〃

Then　forth　strode　Launcelot；　and　laid
The　mighty…moulded　hand　that　made
Strong　knights　reel　back　like　birds　affrayed
By　storm　that　smote　them　as　they　strayed
Against　the　hilt　that　yielded　not。
Then　Tristram；　bright　and　sad　and　kind
As　one　that　bore　in　noble　mind
Love　that　made　light　as　darkness　blind；
Fared　even　as　Launcelot。

Then　Lamoracke；　with　hardier　cheer；
As　one　that　held　all　hope　and　fear
Wherethrough　the　spirit　of　man　may　steer
In　life　and　death　less　dark　or　dear；
Laid　hand　thereon；　and　fared　as　they。
With　half　a　smile　his　hand　he　drew
Back　from　the　spell…bound　thing；　and　threw
With　half　a　glance　his　heart　anew
Toward　no　such　blameless　may。

Between　Iseult　and　Guenevere
Sat　one　of　name　as　high　to　hear；
But　darklier　doomed　than　they　whose　cheer
Foreshowed　not　yet　the　deadlier　year
That　bids　the　queenliest　head　bow　down；
The　queen　Morgause　of　Orkney：　　they
With　scarce　a　flash　of　the　eye　could　say
The　very　word　of　dawn；　when　day
Gives　earth　and　heaven　their　crown。

But　bright　and　dark　as　night　or　noon
And　lowering　as　a　storm…flushed　moon
When　clouds　and　th