“And twenty ride of them before To bear his errand, ere the door Turn of the night, sealed fast no more, And sundawn bid the stars wax hoar; For by the starshine of to-night He seeks a leman where she waits His coming, dark and swift as fate’s, And hearkens toward the unopening gates That yield not him to sight. Then through the glimmering gloom around A shadowy sense of light and sound Made, ere the proof thereof were found, The brave blithe hearts within them bound, And “Where,” quoth Balen, “rides the king?” But softer spake the seer: “Abide, Till hither toward your spears he ride, Where all the narrowing woodland side Grows dense with boughs that cling.” There in that straitening way they met The wild Welsh host against them set, And smote their strong king down, ere yet His hurrying horde of spears might get Fierce vantage of them. Then the fight Grew great and joyous as it grew, For left and right those brethren slew, Till all the lawn waxed red with dew More deep than dews of night. And ere the full fierce tale was read Full forty lay before them dead, And fast the hurtling remnant fled And wist not whither fear had led: And toward the king they went again, And would have slain him: but he bowed Before them, crying in fear aloud For grace they gave him, seeing the proud Wild king brought lowest of men. And ere the wildwood leaves were stirred With song or wing of wakening bird, In Camelot was Merlin’s word With joy in joyous wonder heard That told of Arthur’s bitterest foe Diskingdomed and discomfited. “By whom?” the high king smiled and said. He answered: “Ere the dawn wax red, To-morrow bids you know. “Two knights whose heart and hope are one And fain to win your grace have done This work whereby if grace be won Their hearts shall hail the enkindling sun With joy more keen and deep than day.” And ere the sundawn drank the dew Those brethren with their prisoner drew To the outer guard they gave him to And passed again away. And Arthur came as toward his guest To greet his foe, and bade him rest As one returned from nobler quest And welcome from the stormbright west, But by what chance he fain would hear. “The chance was hard and strange, sir king,” Quoth Ryons, bowed in thanksgiving. “Who won you?” Arthur said: “the thing Is worth a warrior’s ear.” The wild king flushed with pride and shame, Answering: “I know not either name Of those that there against us came And withered all our strength like flame: The knight that bears two swords is one, And one his brother: not on earth May men meet men of knightlier worth Nor mightier born of mortal birth That hail the sovereign sun.”