But while the fire of war waxed hot The wild king hearkened, hearing not, Through storm of spears and arrow-shot, For succour toward him from King Lot And all his host of sea-born men, Strong as the strong storm-baffling bird Whose cry round Orkney’s headlands heard Is as the sea’s own sovereign word That mocks our mortal ken. For Merlin’s craft of prophecy, Who wist that one of twain must die, Put might in him to say thereby Which head should lose its crown, and lie Stricken, though loth he were to know That either life should wane and fail; Yet most might Arthur’s love avail, And still with subtly tempered tale His wile held fast the foe. With woven words of magic might Wherein the subtle shadow and light Changed hope and fear till fear took flight, He stayed King Lot’s fierce lust of fight Till all the wild Welsh war was driven As foam before the wind that wakes With the all-awakening sun, and breaks Strong ships that rue the mirth it makes When grace to slay is given. And ever hotter lit and higher, As fire that meets encountering fire, Waxed in King Lot his keen desire To bid revenge within him tire On Arthur’s ravaged fame and life: Across the waves of war between Floated and flashed, unseen and seen, The lustrous likeness of the queen Whom shame had sealed his wife. But when the woful word was brought That while he tarried, doubting nought, The hope was lost whose goal he sought And all the fight he yearned for fought, His heart was rent for grief and shame, And half his hope was set on flight Till word was given him of a knight Who said: “They are weary and worn with fight, And we more fresh than flame.” And bright and dark as night and day Ere either find the unopening way Clear, and forego the unaltering sway, The sad king’s face shone, frowning: “Yea, I would that every knight of mine Would do his part as I shall do,” He said, “till death or life anew Shall judge between us as is due With wiser doom than thine.” Then thundered all the awakening field With crash of hosts that clashed and reeled, Banner to banner, shield to shield, And spear to splintering spear-shaft, steeled As heart against high heart of man, As hope against high hope of knight To pluck the crest and crown of fight From war’s clenched hand by storm’s wild light, For blessing given or ban. All hearts of hearkening men that heard The ban twin-born with blessing, stirred Like springtide waters, knew the word Whereby the steeds of storm are spurred With ravenous rapture to destroy, And laughed for love of battle, pierced With passion of tempestuous thirst And hungering hope to assuage it first With draughts of stormy joy.