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TRISTRAM AND ISEULT

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Author Topic: TRISTRAM AND ISEULT  (Read 506 times)
Victoria Liss
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« Reply #15 on: December 20, 2009, 01:40:11 am »

The chase neglected, and his hound
Couch'd beside him on the ground.
--Ah! what trouble's on his brow?
Hither let him wander now;
Hither, to the quiet hours
Pass'd among these heaths of ours
By the grey Atlantic sea;
Hours, if not of ecstasy,
From violent anguish surely free!
Tristram
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Victoria Liss
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« Reply #16 on: December 20, 2009, 01:40:27 am »

All red with blood the whirling river flows,
The wide plain rings, the dazed air throbs with blows.
Upon us are the chivalry of Rome--
Their spears are down, their steeds are bathed in foam.
"Up, Tristram, up," men cry, "thou moonstruck knight!
What foul fiend rides thee? On into the fight!"
--Above the din her voice is in my ears;
I see her form glide through the crossing spears.--
Iseult! . . . .

* * * *
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Victoria Liss
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« Reply #17 on: December 20, 2009, 01:41:02 am »

Ah! he wanders forth again;
We cannot keep him; now, as then,
There's a secret in his breast
Which will never let him rest.
These musing fits in the green wood
They cloud the brain, they dull the blood!
--His sword is sharp, his horse is good;
Beyond the mountains will he see
The famous towns of Italy,
And label with the blessed sign
The heathen Saxons on the Rhine.
At Arthur's side he fights once more
With the Roman Emperor.
There's many a gay knight where he goes
Will help him to forget his care;
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Victoria Liss
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« Reply #18 on: December 20, 2009, 01:41:07 am »

Ah! he wanders forth again;
We cannot keep him; now, as then,
There's a secret in his breast
Which will never let him rest.
These musing fits in the green wood
They cloud the brain, they dull the blood!
--His sword is sharp, his horse is good;
Beyond the mountains will he see
The famous towns of Italy,
And label with the blessed sign
The heathen Saxons on the Rhine.
At Arthur's side he fights once more
With the Roman Emperor.
There's many a gay knight where he goes
Will help him to forget his care;
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Victoria Liss
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« Reply #19 on: December 20, 2009, 01:42:28 am »

All round the forest sweeps off, black in shade,
But it is moonlight in the open glade;
And in the bottom of the glade shine clear
The forest-chapel and the fountain near.
--I think, I have a fever in my blood;
Come, let me leave the shadow of this wood,
Ride down, and bathe my hot brow in the flood.
--Mild shines the cold spring in the moon's clear light;
God! 'tis her face plays in the waters bright.
"Fair love," she says, "canst thou forget so soon,
At this soft hour, under this sweet moon?"--
Iseult! . . . .

* * * *
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Victoria Liss
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« Reply #20 on: December 20, 2009, 01:43:00 am »

All round the forest sweeps off, black in shade,
But it is moonlight in the open glade;
And in the bottom of the glade shine clear
The forest-chapel and the fountain near.
--I think, I have a fever in my blood;
Come, let me leave the shadow of this wood,
Ride down, and bathe my hot brow in the flood.
--Mild shines the cold spring in the moon's clear light;
God! 'tis her face plays in the waters bright.
"Fair love," she says, "canst thou forget so soon,
At this soft hour, under this sweet moon?"--
Iseult! . . . .

* * * *
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Victoria Liss
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« Reply #21 on: December 20, 2009, 01:43:13 am »

Is my page here? Come, turn me to the fire!
Upon the window-panes the moon shines bright;
The wind is down--but she'll not come to-night.
Ah no! she is asleep in Cornwall now,
Far hence; her dreams are fair--smooth is her brow.
Of me she recks not, nor my vain desire.
--I have had dreams, I have had dreams, my page,
Would take a score years from a strong man's age;
And with a blood like mine, will leave, I fear,
Scant leisure for a second messenger.
--My princess, art thou there? Sweet, do not wait!
To bed, and sleep! my fever is gone by;
To-night my page shall keep me company.
Where do the children sleep? kiss them for me!
Poor child, thou art almost as pale as I;
This comes of nursing long and watching late.
To bed--good night!

* * * *
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Victoria Liss
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« Reply #22 on: December 20, 2009, 01:43:29 am »

She left the gleam-lit fireplace,
She came to the bed-side;
She took his hands in hers--her tears
Down on his wasted fingers rain'd.
She raised her eyes upon his face--
Not with a look of wounded pride,
A look as if the heart complained--
Her look was like a sad embrace;
The gaze of one who can divine
A grief, and sympathise.
Sweet flower! thy children's eyes
Are not more innocent than thine.
But they sleep in shelter'd rest,
Like helpless birds in the warm nest,
On the castle's southern side;
Where feebly comes the mournful roar
Of buffeting wind and surging tide
Through many a room and corridor.
--Full on their window the moon's ray
Makes their chamber as bright as day.
It shines upon the blank white walls,
And on the snowy pillow falls,
And on two angel-heads doth play
Turn'd to each other--the eyes closed,
The lashes on the cheeks reposed.
Round each sweet brow the cap close-set
Hardly lets peep the golden hair;
Through the soft-open'd lips the air
Scarcely moves the coverlet.
One little wandering arm is thrown
At random on the counterpane,
And often the fingers close in haste
As if their baby-owner chased
The butterflies again.
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Victoria Liss
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« Reply #23 on: December 20, 2009, 01:43:47 am »

This stir they have, and this alone;
But else they are so still!
--Ah, tired madcaps! you lie still;
But were you at the window now,
To look forth on the fairy sight
Of your illumined haunts by night,
To see the park-glades where you play
Far lovelier than they are by day,
To see the sparkle on the eaves,
And upon every giant-bough
Of those old oaks, whose wet red leaves
Are jewell'd with bright drops of rain--
How would your voices run again!
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Victoria Liss
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« Reply #24 on: December 20, 2009, 01:45:40 am »

And far beyond the sparkling trees
Of the castle-park one sees
The bare heaths spreading, clear as day,
Moor behind moor, far, far away,
Into the heart of Brittany.
And here and there, lock'd by the land,
Long inlets of smooth glittering sea,
And many a stretch of watery sand
All shining in the white moon-beams--
But you see fairer in your dreams!

What voices are these on the clear night-air?
What lights in the court--what steps on the stair?
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Victoria Liss
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« Reply #25 on: December 20, 2009, 01:46:13 am »

 II
ISEULT OF IRELAND
Tristram


Raise the light, my page! that I may see her.--
Thou art come at last, then, haughty Queen!
Long I've waited, long I've fought my fever;
Late thou comest, cruel thou hast been.
Iseult
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Victoria Liss
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« Reply #26 on: December 20, 2009, 01:46:27 am »

Blame me not, poor sufferer! that I tarried;
Bound I was, I could not break the band.
Chide not with the past, but feel the present!
I am here--we meet--I hold thy hand.
Tristram
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Victoria Liss
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« Reply #27 on: December 20, 2009, 01:46:37 am »

Thou art come, indeed--thou hast rejoin'd me;
Thou hast dared it--but too late to save.
Fear not now that men should tax thine honour!
I am dying: build--(thou may'st)--my grave!
Iseult
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Victoria Liss
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« Reply #28 on: December 20, 2009, 01:46:54 am »

Tristram, ah, for love of Heaven, speak kindly!
What, I hear these bitter words from thee?
Sick with grief I am, and faint with travel--
Take my hand--dear Tristram, look on me!
Tristram
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Victoria Liss
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« Reply #29 on: December 20, 2009, 01:47:10 am »

I forget, thou comest from thy voyage--
Yes, the spray is on thy cloak and hair.
But thy dark eyes are not dimm'd, proud Iseult!
And thy beauty never was more fair.
Iseult
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