Swift as a shadow and strange as light
That cleaves in twain the shadow of night
Before the wide-winged word takes flight
That thunder speaks to depth and height
⁠And quells the quiet hour with sound,
There came before King Mark and stood
Between the moorside and the wood
The man whose word God's will made good,
⁠Nor guile was in it found.

And Merlin said to Balen: 'Lo,
Thou hast wrought thyself a grievous woe
To let this lady die, and know
Thou mightst have stayed her deadly blow.'
⁠And Balen answered him and said,
'Nay, by my truth to faith, not I,
So fiercely fain she was to die;
Ere well her sword had flashed on high,
⁠Self-slain she lay there dead.'