And they thereunder seeing the knight Unhurt among their press alight And bare his sword for chance of fight Stood from him, loth to strive or smite, And bade him hear their woful word, That not the maiden’s death they sought; But there through years too dire for thought Had lain their lady stricken, and nought Might heal her: and he heard. For there a maiden clean and whole In virgin body and virgin soul, Whose name was writ on royal roll, That would but stain a silver bowl With offering of her stainless blood, Therewith might heal her: so they stayed For hope’s sad sake each blameless maid There journeying in that dolorous shade Whose bloom was bright in bud. No hurt nor harm to her it were If she should yield a sister there Some tribute of her blood, and fare Forth with this joy at heart to bear, That all unhurt and unafraid This grace she had here by God’s grace wrought. And kindling all with kindly thought And love that saw save love’s self nought, Shone, smiled, and spake the maid. “Good knight of mine, good will have I To help this healing though I die.” “Nay,” Balen said, “but love may try What help in living love may lie. —I will not lose the life of her While my life lasteth.” So she gave The tribute love was fain to crave, But might not heal though fain to save, Were God’s grace helpfuller. Another maid in later Mays Won with her life that woful praise, And died. But they, when surging day’s Deep tide fulfilled the dawn’s wide ways, Rode forth, and found by day or night No chance to cross their wayfaring Till when they saw the fourth day spring A knight’s hall gave them harbouring Rich as a king’s house might. And while they sat at meat and spake Words bright and kind as grace might make Sweet for true knighthood’s kindly sake, They heard a cry beside them break The still-souled joy of blameless rest. “What noise is this?” quoth Balen. “Nay,” His knightly host made answer, “may Our grief not grieve you though I say How here I dwell unblest. “Not many a day has lived and died Since at a tournay late I tried My strength to smite and turn and ride Against a knight of kinglike pride, King Pellam’s brother: twice I smote The splendour of his strength to dust: And he, fulfilled of hate’s fierce lust, Swore vengeance, pledged for hell to trust, And keen as hell’s wide throat. “Invisible as the spirit of night That heaven and earth in depth and height May see not by the mild moon’s light Nor even when stars would grant them sight, He walks and slays as plague’s blind breath Slays: and my son, whose anguish here Makes moan perforce that mars our cheer, He wounded, even ere love might fear That hate were strong as death.