{"collection":"Northern European Mythology","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/neu/arthur/art064.htm","path":"neu/arthur/art064.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/neu/arthur/art064.htm","text":"Sacred Texts\u00a0\n Legends/Sagas\u00a0\n England\u00a0\n Index\u00a0\n Previous\u00a0\n Next\u00a0\n \n \n An Arthurian Miscellany\n THE LOVE-SONG OF TRISTRAM AND ISEULT\n by\n CYRIL EMRA\n In crimson light the ocean shone\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Beneath the heavens sublime;\n Far-spent, the day was passing on\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To the great deep of time;\n And half-way hid behind the west,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The dying sun immense and bright\n Touched with red fire the foamy crest\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of endless waves, and bathed in light\n A ship with ivory sails unfurled\n That danced adown the waste sea-world,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Alone of all things there,-\n Sir Tristram's vessel voyaging\n South to the Cornish coast to bring\n For Mark, his uncle and his king,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A bride, Iseult the fair.\n \n Iseult and Tristram - knight and maid: -\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0O names of dust and fire!\n When shall the glamour of them fade,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Or when the pity tire?\n On strange adventure came they, he\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Unwilling escort of the queen\n That was to be; unwilling she\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To wed the king she ne'er had seen.\n And who, that knows how love may be\n Bound not by any man's decree,\n But works its wilful way and free\n To what dim fate it cannot see,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Through peril and through woe,\n Shall wonder that between these twain,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The goodliest of all splendid men,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The loveliest woman living then,\n A spell, a charm their souls to chain,\n A bond of dread, delightful pain\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Silent and strong should grow?\n \n All day adown the shining seas\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0They saw the sunlight gleam;\n The straining canvas caught the breeze\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That surged upon their beam,\n Till the long hours to evening drew,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Hushed to a whisper sank the wind,\n And ribboned out across the blue\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The fleecy clouds far-streaming thinned\n Into illumined lines of mist\n By the red sunset redly kissed,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And blushing rosy-bright,\n In that short hour of lesser life\n That drifts between the alternate strife\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of restless day and night.\n \n Faint as a bank of cloud that sails\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Where sea-line touches sky,\n They saw the hilly coast of Wales\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0On the horizon lie;\n And gazing at the distant heights,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0'How long?' she asked; 'how many more\n Of sunny days and starry nights\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Before we reach Tintagel's shore?'\n 'By wind and tide so fairly sped,\n On the third day,' Sir Tristram said,\n 'I doubt not we shall see you led\n In royal state, a bride to wed\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With Mark, my kinsman lord.'\n And either in the other's eyes\n A moment glanced, aware and wise\n Of speech that in deep silence lies,\n Of fear that through great stillness cries;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Nor spake they other word.\n \n The sun slid down behind the west;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Bright grew the milky moon;\n That dream of dusk, that hour of rest\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Was ended all too soon;\n Fresh sang the breeze at sunset lulled;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The rattling tackle quivered tight;\n The sullen waters, lately dulled,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Gleamed with a myriad points of white.\n Close-hauled, with sheets no longer slacked,\n Windward the golden galley tacked,\n And by the cloud-ribbed heavens tracked,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Through the gray twilight, she\n Into the moonshine and the dark\n Went gliding like a phantom bark\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Adown a fairy sea.\n \n One gleaming planet pale and red\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0They saw about them burn,\n The mirrored moonlight far ahead\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Lay glistening, and astern\n Like trampled snow her froth-strewn wake,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Whereon were shadowed blurred and black\n The broad sails and the high-raised deck,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Slow-fading followed on her track.\n The crested water slapped her bows\n Like spray on some strong swimmer's brows\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Who beats against the breeze;\n And where, the shattered foam amid,\n Her knife-edged battle-bleak was hid,\n Purred a low ripple as she slid\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Along the gliding seas.\n Screened by the bulwark's lofty shade\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And lit by swinging lights\n Iseult sate idle with her maid,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And Tristram with his knights.\n After the long inactive day\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Bound by the vessel's narrow space,\n With tale and song they whiled away\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0This last, late hour of twilight grace.\n O keen young faces eager-eyed,\n O strength and beauty well allied,\n Bright souls whose fire not yet had died,\n And hearts impassioned with the pride\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Which only youth can give!\n How well it were that night to be\n One there of Cornwall's chivalry, -\n Between the starlight and the sea\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0How well to be alive!\n \n Sir Tristram took his harp of gold\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And sang an old, sad song,\n Of two whose love was never told\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Through lonely years and long.\n For she already was a wife\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Who suffered silent to the end,\n And he who loved her more than life,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Her husband's own familiar friend.\n And Iseult feared the nameless pang\n Of yearning and despair that rang\n Through sense and spirit as he sang, -\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Almost it seemed to be\n Her own heart's music in the chords,\n Her soul's voice wailing in the words\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of that wild melody.\n \n With lips light-parted, curving red\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Above a pearly gleam,\n With eyes in whose deep lustre played\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The shadow of a dream,\n Entranced she heard him, while the throng\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of knights about her, great and tall,\n The brave, the battle-tried, the strong,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Were held by the sweet minstrel all.\n And Tristram made the music thrill\n With witchery of sleep to still\n And lull the listeners at his will\n Where round him rested they, until\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He saw the wakeful fire\n In their eyes soften, as the spell\n Of numbering languour on them fell;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But hers he could not tire.\n \n Their souls were drowsed with sleep; they grew\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Aweary; one by one\n And two by two away they drew\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And left them twain alone.\n His fingers faltered on the strings,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Upon his lips the music died,\n And stirred with dim disquietings\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He rose and gat him to her side.\n 'The night grows old,' he said, 'and lo,\n Now the still hours more silent grow;\n Thy maiden waits for thee below;\n Ah, then, Iseult, I pray thee go,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0While I a vigil keep;\n In me such fires unrestful roll\n As drive the calmness from my soul,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And from mine eyes the sleep!'\n No stir save that the vessel made\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Seemed there in all the world;\n In utter calm, in silence dead,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0She lay with canvas furled;\n The sudden landward breeze had sighed\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Its life away an hour ago;\n And hushed as in a shrine replied\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Iseult, her clear voice thrilling low, -\n 'From me, too, sleep is far away;\n Should I fare better if I lay\n Wide-eyed until the weary day?\n Ah, Tristram, the may I not stay\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And watch with thee awhile?'\n And though he feared her presence nigh,\n Yet could he not her will deny,\n So with light words of courtesy\n Tristram made answer, marvelling why\n Such rapture in her touch should lie,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Such peril in her smile!\n \n The starry heavens circled slow;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The dreamy hours of sleep\n On wings of slumber brooded low\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Above the drowsy deep;\n But never life more wakeful glowed\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Through their twain hearts that beat in tune,\n As side by side the deck they trod\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And watched the westward-waning moon\n In burnished splendour round and large\n Like some spent warrior's battle-targe,\n Drop down behind the distant marge\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of shadowy sea and sky, -\n So calm the night, so clear the sight\n Of those keen eyes whose vision bright\n Saw the last ragged wisp of light,\n Like flames on some faint far-off height,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Melt to a mist and die!\n \n 'Now,' said Sir Tristram, 'night is come\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To its most breathless tide;\n In this great silence ghostly-dumb\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0We must no more abide.'\n 'Ah, stay thou yet awhile!' she said,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0'Is not this hour at least our own?\n My heart is touched with sudden dread;\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0I fear the stillness all alone,\n I fear the solitary hours,\n The darkness that above me towers\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In my low cabin's gloom,\n And most the sounds that sigh and groan\n All night of waters, like the moan\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of souls that sob in doom.\n \n 'But here no restless murmur mars\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The deep, unworldly spell\n Of glassy sea and solemn stars, -\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0These that I love most well.\n And haply this the last time is\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That earth so free a mood can give,\n When not in dreams and memories\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But still in burning life I live.\n Ah, Tristram, to the world is shown\n The gilded glory of a throne,\n Yet she is friendless and alone\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Who weds a gray-haired king.\n Would God 'twere mine to choose between\n Love and the splendours of a queen,\n Or that I had not destined been\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For such proud sorrowing.'\n \n And Tristram found no word to say,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Nor might his will devise\n To tell what pity in him lay,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And he with silent eyes\n Gazed on her through the twilight dim,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Desired, adored all else above,\n Dearer than his own life to him\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And fair beyond the dreams of love.\n Almost in fancy wild and sweet\n He felt his arms about her meet,\n His heart upon her bosom beat\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In passionate embrace;\n And through the pulses of his frame,\n And through his soul in shuddering flame\n The wonder of her beauty came,\n Till might he not, for fear and shame,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Look more upon her face.\n 'This is a bitter thing,' she said,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0'That comes upon my life;\n Almost I would that I were dead\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Than be that gaunt king's wife.\n Ah! Tristram, like a little child\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0My little woes on thee I pour;\n Forgive me if my words are wild.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Forget them! Now I say no more!'\n Then with low voice he answered, 'Nay,\n Iseult, there is no word to say\n Save this, that if on any day\n All else desert thee or betray,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then look thou unto me;\n And if I fail thee may my name\n Be blotted from the book of fame,\n And in the silence set with them\n Which for dishonour and black shame\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0May never spoken be!\n \n 'And now, since all sweet hours must die,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Since even the dark has sight\n And ears that gape and tongues that lie,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0My lady fair, good-night!'\n Then lifted she her wistful eyes\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To where in the faint light he stood\n Seeming of more than mortal size\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Near her, and splendid as a god.\n And all her strength grew weak and dim;\n She loved the clean-cut length of limb,\n The beauty and the might of him,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The proud imperial face\n With features clear against the night,\n And eyes now lit with tender light\n Which in the battle, blue and bright\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So terribly might blaze.\n \n They passed from where the encircling screen\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Had hid them in its frame,\n Whose silken curtains hung between\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The middle ship and them;\n And beautiful before their sight\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0All the great galley dreaming lay,\n The mightiest ship that e'er in fight\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Or peaceful errand flung the spray.\n Her tall masts tapered overhead;\n A hundred steps a man might tread\n From rudder-post to figure-head,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A score across her beam;\n High-decked, and slender, lithe of bow\n Was she; and sheer the deep to plough\n The royal dragon on her prow\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Shone with a golden gleam.\n \n All living things, as in some realm\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Sleep-haunted, seemed to drowse;\n The steersman nodded at the helm,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And in the distant bows\n The seaman of the watch looked out\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Over the deep and never stirred;\n Neither was any call nor shout\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Nor murmur of low voices heard;\n And laced by shadows gaunt and gray\n From the pale mast-light's ghostly ray,\n Beside their oars the rowers lay\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Like sleepers dumb in death.\n 'Speak low; step softly!' Tristram said,\n 'Iseult, we are as two that tread\n With mortal feet the darkness dread\n On some gray vessel of the dead\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Where none but we have breath!'\n \n The sheen of stars was all that came\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0From the blue vault of night,\n Yet the wide waters were aflame\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With luminous, dim light.\n Most strange it was how silent gleamed\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Those pale fires on the deep around,\n And once, when a star shot, it seemed\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0There should have been some gentle sound.\n No stir, no breath, above, beneath!\n All earth, all heaven were calm as death,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Save only, now and then,\n A low wave lapped the vessel's side,\n And faint above their heads replied\n The tap of quivering rope and slide,\n As smooth she rocked upon the tide,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And all was hushed again.\n \n 'Now,' said Iseult, 'I must obey\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0If thou wilt have it so;\n A maiden has no voice to say\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0What things she will or no.\n Howe'er the impatient heart rebels\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Still must she suffer and be dumb:\n Therefore in this, as in all else,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Perforce I yield. Then, Tristram, come!'\n And down the narrow stairway slow,\n Lit by a flickering lantern's glow,\n They passed to the dim deck below,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And at her door made pause.\n And Iseult opening looked therein:\n No light was there save what might win\n Through the high porthole drifting thin;\n Nor in the shadowy dusk within\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Or sound or movement was.\n \n 'My maid is gone,' she said. 'Wilt thou\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Bring, of thy courtesy,\n The lamp that hangs behind thee now,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And set it here for me?'\n So Tristram, in the old, free way\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of those less rigid-mannered days,\n Entered with her, and silent they\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Pale in the lantern's dusky haze,\n With hands that trembled at the touch\n Each of the other, marvelled much\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0What presence filled the room, -\n A lonely sound, it seemed to them,\n The breath of one who listened came,\n And watchful eyes of quiet flame\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Peered through the dim-lit gloom.\n \n Shamed with a strange and sacred awe,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0As in some holy place,\n He lifted up his eyes and saw,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Framed round her loveliness,\n All things that in that chamber made\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Fit setting for a fairy face, -\n The walls with costly stuff arrayed,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And mirrors of dark steely glaze;\n Fur of wild things with peril killed,\n And niche-held bowls with flowers filled,\n Whose faint erotic perfume thrilled\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Like some dim dream of old;\n And on a carven shelf that swung\n By chains of cunning silver slung,\n A great bejewelled flagon hung,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And cup of curious gold.\n \n 'Lo here,' she said, 'a gift I bring\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0From that old home of mine,\n My father's gift to Mark the king,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A meed of ancient wine.\n And now, I wis, the night grows cold; -\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Sir Tristram, ere thou go from here,\n Of this rare vintage century-old\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Drink thou one cup of royal cheer!\"\n No seals upon the vessel were,\n And little toil it made for her\n To take the golden lid from there,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And pour a cup thereof.\n Thus with her lithe, white hands she did,\n And thence her faltering fingers slid\n To where lay in her bosom hid\n A witchwork fiery and forbid,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A reckless charm of love.\n \n By what compelling whim possessed\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Her soul might scarce divine,\n She drew the philtre from her breast\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And poured it in the wine,\n That secret draught her mother brewed\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For Mark and her, of magic might\n To sear the soul and sting the blood\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With passion perilously bright.\n They watched the rosy bubbles swim\n Around the golden beaker's brim,\n Like spirits loosened, which in dim\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Strange bondage were asleep;\n She drank, and kissed the goblet's edge.\n 'Take thou,' she said, 'this cup I pledge!'\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And Tristram drained it deep.\n \n What breath of drowsy fire was this\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That made his soul to swoon;\n What drift of sunset memories,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Or love beneath the moon;\n What surging music faintly sighed\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0From ways in old glad seasons trod;\n What dreadful daring that defied\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The vengeance of eternal God?\n He looked into her eyes and felt\n His soul touch hers that in them dwelt,\n His brimming senses reel and melt\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In some supreme eclipse.\n He drew her to him; close and still\n She drooped as one who has no will;\n More near and near he leaned, until\n His whole heart's yearning seemed to thrill\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Like flame upon her lips!\n \n Ah joy beyond the world's desire!\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0What burning dream was this?\n Their breathless souls drew in like fire\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0All heaven in a kiss!\n Through deeps of space, it seemed to him,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Her voice thrilled low: - 'Dear love,' she said,\n 'My spirit faints; the world grows dim\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With joy that makes my soul afraid.'\n And from her arms' dear bondage he\n Loosed him, and said low-voiced, 'On me\n Fear also comes. And now from thee\n Must I begone till day shall be.'\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Nor made they other speech,\n But parted there as dreamers might\n Whom some wild vision of the night\n Fulfils with anguish and delight,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0An-hungered each for each.\n \n And Tristram went, with shuddering soul,\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Back to the star-lit gloom.\n The brooding stillness seemed to roll\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0On him great breaths of doom.\n Athrough the silence and the dark\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He heard a voice cry out his name,\n And saw the ghostly face of Mark\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Peer on him through a mist of flame; -\n 'Art thou that knight whom rumour saith\n Men shall find faithful to the death?\n Is Tristram traitor to his faith?'\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And answer found he none,\n But felt about him darkly set,\n With some strange purpose dim and great,\n The glowing fetters of a fate\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He might not guide nor shun.\n \n In the gray watch before the morn\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Deep silence hung sublime;\n Darkly the dying night was borne\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To the great dark of Time.\n No breath the quiet water stirred\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Nor frayed the heaven's cloudy bars,\n Yet one who listened might have heard\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A sigh which to the drooping stars\n From the dead stillness of the deep\n Lifted, as from a world asleep\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That feels a dream withdrawn;\n And up the purple orient flowed\n A stormy light that throbbed and glowed\n Like the avenging fires of God, -\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The first faint pulse of dawn!\n \n \n \n \n Next: When Tristram to Tintagel Came, by Cyril Emra [1905]","title":"Arthurian Miscellany: The Love-song of Tristram and Iseult, by Cyril Emra [1905]","type":"page"}