'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.