Thy lovely youthful wife grows pale
Watching by the salt sea-tide,
With her children at her side,
For the gleam of thy white sail.
Home, Tristram, to thy halls again!
To our lonely sea complain,

To our forests tell thy pain.

TRISTRAM.

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! . . .

Ah, poor soul! if this be so,
Only death can balm thy woe.
The solitudes of the green wood
Had no medicine for thy mood;
The rushing battle cleared thy blood
As little as did solitude.

Ah! his eyelids slowly break

Their hot seals, and let him wake;
What new change shall we now see?
A happier? Worse it cannot be.

TRISTRAM.

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, 'tis too late! 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!

She left the gleam-lit fireplace,

She came to the bedside;

She took his hands in hers, her tears
Down on her slender fingers rained.
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 sympathize.
Sweet flower! thy children's eyes
Are not more innocent than thine.

But they sleep in sheltered 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
Turned 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-opened 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.

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 jewelled with bright drops of rain,—
How would your voices run again!
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, locked by the land,
Long inlets of smooth glittering sea,
And many a stretch of watery sand
All shining in the white moonbeams.

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?

TRISTRAM AND ISEULT.

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.

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.

Thou art come, indeed; thou hast rejoined me; Thou hast dared it — but too late to save. Fear not now that men should tax thine honor! I am dying; build (thou may'st) my grave.

ISEULT.

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.

I forgot, thou comest from thy voyage;

Yes, the spray is on thy cloak and hair. But thy dark eyes are not dimmed, proud Iseult ! And thy beauty never was more fair.

ISEULT.

Ah, harsh flatterer! let alone my beauty!
I, like thee, have left my youth afar.

Take my hand, and touch these wasted fingers;
See my cheek and lips, how white they are!

TRISTRAM.

Thou art paler; but thy sweet charm, Iseult,
Would not fade with the dull years away.
Ah, how fair thou standest in the moonlight!
I forgive thee, Iseult! thou wilt stay?

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, Joined at evening of their days again.

TRISTRAM.

No, thou shalt not speak! I should be finding Something altered in thy courtly tone. Sitsit by me! I will think, we've lived so

In the green wood, all our lives, alone.