Dawn on a golden moorland side
By holt and heath saw Balen ride
And Launceor after, pricked with pride
And stung with spurring envy: wide
⁠And far he had ridden athwart strange lands
And sought amiss the man he found
And cried on, till the stormy sound
Rang as a rallying trumpet round
⁠That fires men's hearts and hands.

Abide he bade him: nor was need
To bid when Balen wheeled his steed
Fiercely, less fain by word than deed
To bid his envier evil speed,
⁠And cried, 'What wilt thou with me?' Loud
Rang Launceor's vehement answer: 'Knight,
To avenge on thee the dire despite
Thou hast done us all in Arthur's sight
⁠I stand toward Arthur vowed.'