{"collection":"Northern European Mythology","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/neu/arthur/art199.htm","path":"neu/arthur/art199.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/neu/arthur/art199.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 ISOLT AT THE TOMB OF TRISTRAM \n by\n JOHN GROSVENOR WILSON\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \n \"Here, with my arms curled round the sacred cross \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 That in white warning stands above his bones, \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 I crouch, with hot limbs pressed against the stones, \n And moan his name, and wail and weep his loss. \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \n \"Stand back, good sirs -- ye shall not drag me hence; \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 But, pray ye, keep between me and King Mark; \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0My husband? yes -- God pity me -- but hark, \n Surely ye know not his most foul offence. \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\n \"Yet know ye how he came, that rainy day, \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0When Tristram played the harp to me, to keep \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The hours in joyance. -- Ah, sirs, could ye sleep, \n And in a dream but hear Sir Tristram play -- \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\n \"How like the tinkle of a silver bell\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The sweet notes from his cunning fingers tripped, \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In airy melody that softly slipped\n Into the heart, with sunny stir and swell. -- \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\n \"In very heaven of joy I heard him play, \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And saw his eyes with love grow master-ful; \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0When, at a sudden, stealthy, noiseless pull, \n The curtains parted and for Mark made way. \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\n \"I felt my lips were frozen in a smile, \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And with that fix\u00e8d smile I watched King Mark \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Drive his sharp glaive thro' Tristram's throat, still stark \n My Tristram lay -- and I said naught the while, \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\n \"Until that man came to me -- half in fear, \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0I wot -- whereat I shrieked, and in a swoon \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Fell down, and knew no more until the moon \n Rose yesternight, and then I hurried here. \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\n \"Now shall Mark come to judge me? -- he? -- who knew \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0All of my Tristram's love from first to last, \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And knowing how that love would bind him fast \n Made use of him to keep his kingdom true. \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\n \"Has any man who profits by a sin, \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In ways direct or indirect, a right \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To sit as judge of what is black or white, \n Or join his voice to the accusing din? \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\n \"O, I can say no more! -- do what ye will! \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0My heart grows sick above my Tristram's tomb -- \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0O loyal love, how fares it in the gloom? \n Dost hear my voice? hath it the old-time thrill? \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\n \"Rest, rest, my love -- I grow so weak and faint, \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Thou shalt not wait me long. O blessed hour! \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0When from the gate of heaven's portal-tower\n Thou wilt rush forth to still my cold complaint.\" \n \n \n \n \n \n \n \n Next: Sir Palamides, by John Grosvenor Wilson [1886]","title":"Arthurian Miscellany: Isolt at the Tomb of Tristram, by John Grosvenor Wilson [1886]","type":"page"}