FullReads

Iseult

Fear me not, I will be always with thee;
I will watch thee, tend thee, soothe thy pain;
Sing thee tales of true, long-parted lovers,
Join’d at evening of their days again.

Tristram

No, thou shalt not speak! I should be finding
Something alter’d in thy courtly tone.
Sit–sit by me! I will think, we’ve lived so
In the green wood, all our lives, alone.

Iseult

Alter’d, Tristram? Not in courts, believe me,
Love like mine is alter’d in the breast;
Courtly life is light and cannot reach it–
Ah! it lives, because so deep-suppress’d!

What, thou think’st men speak in courtly chambers
Words by which the wretched are consoled?
What, thou think’st this aching brow was cooler,
Circled, Tristram, by a band of gold?

Royal state with Marc, my deep-wrong’d husband–
That was bliss to make my sorrows flee!
Silken courtiers whispering honied nothings–
Those were friends to make me false to thee!

Ah, on which, if both our lots were balanced,
Was indeed the heaviest burden thrown–
Thee, a pining exile in thy forest,
Me, a smiling queen upon my throne?

Vain and strange debate, where both have suffer’d
Both have pass’d a youth consumed and sad,
Both have brought their anxious day to evening,
And have now short space for being glad!

Join’d we are henceforth; nor will thy people,
Nor thy younger Iseult take it ill,
That a former rival shares her office,
When she sees her humbled, pale, and still.

I, a faded watcher by thy pillow,
I, a statue on thy chapel-floor,
Pour’d in prayer before the Virgin-Mother,
Rouse no anger, make no rivals more.

She will cry: “Is this the foe I dreaded?
This his idol? this that royal bride?
Ah, an hour of health would purge his eyesight!
Stay, pale queen! for ever by my side.”

Hush, no words! that smile, I see, forgives me.
I am now thy nurse, I bid thee sleep.
Close thine eyes–this flooding moonlight blinds them!–
Nay, all’s well again! thou must not weep.

Tristram

I am happy! yet I feel, there’s something
Swells my heart, and takes my breath away.
Through a mist I see thee; near–come nearer!
Bend–bend down!–I yet have much to say.

Iseult

Heaven! his head sinks back upon the pillow–
Tristram! Tristram! let thy heart not fail!
Call on God and on the holy angels!
What, love, courage!–Christ! he is so pale.

Tristram

Hush, ’tis vain, I feel my end approaching!
This is what my mother said should be,
When the fierce pains took her in the forest,
The deep draughts of death, in bearing me.

“Son,” she said, “thy name shall be of sorrow;
Tristram art thou call’d for my death’s sake.”
So she said, and died in the drear forest.
Grief since then his home with me doth make.

I am dying.–Start not, nor look wildly!
Me, thy living friend, thou canst not save.
But, since living we were ununited,
Go not far, O Iseult! from my grave.

Close mine eyes, then seek the princess Iseult;
Speak her fair, she is of royal blood!
Say, I will’d so, that thou stay beside me–
She will grant it; she is kind and good.

Now to sail the seas of death I leave thee–
One last kiss upon the living shore!

Iseult

Tristram!–Tristram!–stay–receive me with thee!
Iseult leaves thee, Tristram! never more.

* * * * *

You see them clear–the moon shines bright.
Slow, slow and softly, where she stood,
She sinks upon the ground;–her hood
Had fallen back; her arms outspread
Still hold her lover’s hand; her head
Is bow’d, half-buried, on the bed.
O’er the blanch’d sheet her raven hair
Lies in disorder’d streams; and there,
Strung like white stars, the pearls still are,
And the golden bracelets, heavy and rare,
Flash on her white arms still.
The very same which yesternight
Flash’d in the silver sconces’ light,
When the feast was gay and the laughter loud
In Tyntagel’s palace proud.
But then they deck’d a restless ghost
With hot-flush’d cheeks and brilliant eyes,
And quivering lips on which the tide
Of courtly speech abruptly died,
And a glance which over the crowded floor,
The dancers, and the festive host,
Flew ever to the door.
That the knights eyed her in surprise,
And the dames whispered scoffingly:
“Her moods, good lack, they pass like showers!
But yesternight and she would be
As pale and still as wither’d flowers,
And now to-night she laughs and speaks
And has a colour in her cheeks;
Christ keep us from such fantasy!”–