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OUT of the night arose the second day, And saw the ship’s bows break the shoreward spray. As the sun’s boat of gold and fire began To sail the sea of heaven unsailed of man, And the soft waves of sacred air to break Round the prow launched into the morning’s lake, They saw the sign of their sea-travel done. Ah, was not something seen of yester-sun, When the sweet light that lightened all the skies Saw nothing fairer than one maiden’s eyes, That whatsoever in all time’s years may be To-day’s sun nor to-morrow’s sun shall see? Not while she lives, not when she comes to die, Shall she look sunward with that sinless eye. Yet fairer now than song may show them stand Tristram and Iseult, hand in amorous hand, Soul-satisfied, their eyes made great and bright With all the love of all the livelong night; With all its hours yet singing in their ears No mortal music made of thoughts and tears, But such a song, past conscience of man’s thought, As hearing he grows god and knows it not. Nought else they saw nor heard but what the night Had left for seal upon their sense and sight, Sound of past pulses beating, fire of amorous light. Enough, and overmuch, and never yet Enough, though love still hungering feed and fret, To fill the cup of night which dawn must overset. For still their eyes were dimmer than with tears And dizzier from diviner sounds their ears Than though from choral thunders of the quiring spheres. They heard not how the landward waters rang, Nor saw where high into the morning sprang, Riven from the shore and bastioned with the sea, Toward summits where the north wind’s nest might be, A wave-walled palace with its eastern gate Full of the sunrise now and wide at wait, And on the mighty-moulded stairs that clomb Sheer from the fierce lip of the lapping foam The knights of Mark that stood before the wall. So with loud joy and storm of festival They brought the bride in up the towery way That rose against the rising front of day, Stair based on stair, between the rocks unhewn, To those strange halls wherethrough the tidal tune Rang loud or lower from soft or strengthening sea, Tower shouldering tower, to windward and to lee, With change of floors and stories, flight on flight, That clomb and curled up to the crowning height Whence men might see wide east and west in one And on one sea waned moon and mounting sun. And severed from the sea-rock’s base, where stand Some worn walls yet they saw the broken strand, The beachless cliff that in the sheer sea dips, The sleepless shore inexorable to ships, And the straight causeway’s bare gaunt spine between The sea-spanned walls and naked mainland’s green. On the mid stairs, between the light and dark, Before the main tower’s portal stood King Mark, Crowned: and his face was as the face of one Long time athirst and hungering for the sun In barren thrall of bitter bonds, who now Thinks here to feel its blessing on his brow. A swart lean man, but kinglike, still of guise, With black streaked beard and cold unquiet eyes, Close-mouthed, gaunt-cheeked, wan as a morning moon, Though hardly time on his worn hair had strewn The thin first ashes from a sparing hand: Yet little fire there burnt upon the brand, And way-worn seemed he with life’s wayfaring. So between shade and sunlight stood the king, And his face changed nor yearned not toward his bride; But fixed between mild hope and patient pride Abode what gift of rare or lesser worth This day might bring to all his days on earth. But at the glory of her when she came His heart endured not: very fear and shame Smote him, to take her by the hand and kiss, Till both were molten in the burning bliss, And with a thin flame flushing his cold face He led her silent to the bridal place. There were they wed and hallowed of the priest; And all the loud time of the marriage feast One thought within three hearts was as a fire, Where craft and faith took counsel with desire. For when the feast had made a glorious end They gave the new queen for her maids to tend At dawn of bride-night, and thereafter bring With marriage music to the bridegroom king. Then by device of craft between them laid To him went Brangwain delicately, and prayed That this thing even for love’s sake might not be, But without sound or light or eye to see She might come in to bride-bed: and he laughed, As one that wist not well of wise love’s craft, And bade all bridal things be as she would. Yet of his gentleness he gat not good; For clothed and covered with the nuptial dark Soft like a bride came Brangwain to King Mark, And to the queen came Tristram; and the night Fled, and ere danger of detective light From the king sleeping Brangwain slid away, And where had lain her handmaid Iseult lay. And the king waking saw beside his head That face yet passion-coloured, amorous red From lips not his, and all that strange hair shed Across the tissued pillows, fold on fold, Innumerable, incomparable, all gold, To fire men’s eyes with wonder, and with love Men’s hearts; so shone its flowering crown above The brows enwound with that imperial wreath, And framed with fragrant radiance round the face beneath. And the king marvelled, seeing with sudden start Her very glory, and said out of his heart; “What have I done of good for God to bless That all this he should give me, tress on tress, All this great wealth and wondrous? Was it this That in mine arms I had all night to kiss, And mix with me this beauty? this that seems More fair than heaven doth in some tired saint’s dreams, Being part of that same heaven? yea, more, for he, Though loved of God so, yet but seems to see, But to me sinful such great grace is given That in mine hands I hold this part of heaven, Not to mine eyes lent merely. Doth God make Such things so godlike for man’s mortal sake? Have I not sinned, that in this fleshly life Have made of her a mere man’s very wife?” So the king mused and murmured; and she heard The faint sound trembling of each breathless word, And laughed into the covering of her hair. And many a day for many a month as fair Slid over them like music; and as bright Burned with love’s offerings many a secret night. And many a dawn to many a fiery noon Blew prelude, when the horn’s heart-kindling tune Lit the live woods with sovereign sound of mirth Before the mightiest huntsman hailed on earth Lord of its lordliest pleasure, where he rode Hard by her rein whose peerless presence glowed Not as that white queen’s of the virgin hunt Once, whose crown-crescent braves the night-wind’s brunt, But with the sun for frontlet of a queenlier front. For where the flashing of her face was turned As lightning was the fiery light that burned From eyes and brows enkindled more with speed And rapture of the rushing of her steed Than once with only beauty; and her mouth Was as a rose athirst that pants for drouth Even while it laughs for pleasure of desire, And all her heart was as a leaping fire. Yet once more joy they took of woodland ways Than came of all those flushed and fiery days When the loud air was mad with life and sound, Through many a dense green mile, of horn and hound Before the king’s hunt going along the wind, And ere the timely leaves were changed or thinned, Even in mid maze of summer. For the knight Forth was once ridden toward some frontier fight Against the lewd folk of the Christless lands That warred with wild and intermittent hands Against the king’s north border; and there came A knight unchristened yet of unknown name, Swart Palamede, upon a secret quest, To high Tintagel, and abode as guest In likeness of a minstrel with the king. Nor was there man could sound so sweet a string, Save Tristram only, of all held best on earth. And one loud eve, being full of wine and mirth, Ere sunset left the walls and waters dark, To that strange minstrel strongly swore King Mark, By all that makes a knight’s faith firm and strong, That he for guerdon of his harp and song Might crave and have his liking. Straight there came Up the swart cheek a flash of swarthier flame, And the deep eyes fulfilled of glittering night Laughed out in lightnings of triumphant light As the grim harper spake: “O king, I crave No gift of man that king may give to slave, But this thy crowned queen only, this thy wife, Whom yet unseen I loved, and set my life On this poor chance to compass, even as here, Being fairer famed than all save Guenevere.” Then as the noise of seaward storm that mocks With roaring laughter from reverberate rocks The cry from ships near shipwreck, harsh and high Rose all the wrath and wonder in one cry Through all the long roof’s hollow depth and length That hearts of strong men kindled in their strength May speak in laughter lion-like, and cease, Being wearied: only two men held their peace And each glared hard on other: but King Mark Spake first of these: “Man, though thy craft be dark And thy mind evil that begat this thing, Yet stands the word once plighted of a king Fast: and albeit less evil it were for me To give my life up than my wife, or be A landless man crowned only with a curse, Yet this in God’s and all men’s sight were worse, To live soul-shamed, a man of broken troth, Abhorred of men as I abhor mine oath Which yet I may forswear not.” And he bowed His head, and wept: and all men wept aloud, Save one, that heard him weeping: but the queen Wept not: and statelier yet than eyes had seen That ever looked upon her queenly state She rose, and in her eyes her heart was great And full of wrath seen manifest and scorn More strong than anguish to go thence forlorn Of all men’s comfort and her natural right. And they went forth into the dawn of night. Long by wild ways and clouded light they rode, Silent; and fear less keen at heart abode With Iseult than with Palamede: for awe Constrained him, and the might of love’s high law, That can make lewd men loyal; and his heart Yearned on her, if perchance with amorous art And soothfast skill of very love he might For courtesy find favour in her sight And comfort of her mercies: for he wist More grace might come of that sweet mouth unkissed Than joy for violence done it, that should make His name abhorred for shame’s disloyal sake. And in the stormy starlight clouds were thinned And thickened by short gusts of changing wind That panted like a sick man’s fitful breath: And like a moan of lions hurt to death Came the sea’s hollow noise along the night. But ere its gloom from aught but foam had light They halted, being aweary: and the knight As reverently forbore her where she lay As one that watched his sister’s sleep till day. Nor durst he kiss or touch her hand or hair For love and shamefast pity, seeing how fair She slept, and fenceless from the fitful air. And shame at heart stung nigh to death desire, But grief at heart burned in him like a fire For hers and his own sorrowing sake, that had Such grace for guerdon as makes glad men sad, To have their will and want it. And the day Sprang: and afar along the wild waste way They heard the pulse and press of hurrying horse-hoofs play: And like the rushing of a ravenous flame Whose wings make tempest of the darkness, came Upon them headlong as in thunder borne Forth of the darkness of the labouring morn Tristram: and up forthright upon his steed Leapt, as one blithe of battle, Palamede, And mightily with shock of horse and man They lashed together: and fair that fight began As fair came up that sunrise: to and fro, With knees nigh staggered and stout heads bent low From each quick shock of spears on either side, Reeled the strong steeds heavily, haggard-eyed And heartened high with passion of their pride As sheer the stout spears shocked again, and flew Sharp-splintering: then, his sword as each knight drew, They flashed and foined full royally, so long That but to see so fair a strife and strong A man might well have given out of his life One year’s void space forlorn of love or strife. As when a bright north-easter, great of heart, Scattering the strengths of squadrons, hurls apart Ship from ship labouring violently, in such toil As earns but ruin—with even so strong recoil Back were the steeds hurled from the spear-shock, fain And foiled of triumph: then with tightened rein And stroke of spur, inveterate, either knight Bore in again upon his foe with might, Heart-hungry for the hot-mouthed feast of fight And all athirst of mastery: but full soon The jarring notes of that tempestuous tune Fell, and its mighty music made of hands Contending, clamorous through the loud waste lands, Broke at once off; and shattered from his steed Fell, as a mainmast ruining, Palamede, Stunned: and those lovers left him where he lay, And lightly through green lawns they rode away. There was a bower beyond man’s eye more fair Than ever summer dews and sunniest air Fed full with rest and radiance till the boughs Had wrought a roof as for a holier house Than aught save love might breathe in; fairer far Than keeps the sweet light back of moon and star From high kings’ chambers: there might love and sleep Divide for joy the darkling hours, and keep With amorous alternation of sweet strife The soft and secret ways of death and life Made smooth for pleasure’s feet to rest and run Even from the moondawn to the kindling sun, Made bright for passion’s feet to run and rest Between the midnight’s and the morning’s breast, Where hardly though her happy head lie down It may forget the hour that wove its crown; Where hardly though her joyous limbs be laid They may forget the mirth that midnight made. And thither, ere sweet night had slain sweet day, Iseult and Tristram took their wandering way, And rested, and refreshed their hearts with cheer In hunters’ fashion of the woods; and here More sweet it seemed, while this might be, to dwell And take of all world’s weariness farewell Than reign of all world’s lordship queen and king. Nor here would time for three moons’ changes bring Sorrow nor thought of sorrow; but sweet earth Fostered them like her babes of eldest birth, Reared warm in pathless woods and cherished well. And the sun sprang above the sea and fell, And the stars rose and sank upon the sea; And outlaw-like, in forest wise and free, The rising and the setting of their lights Found those twain dwelling all those days and nights. And under change of sun and star and moon Flourished and fell the chaplets woven of June, And fair through fervours of the deepening sky Panted and passed the hours that lit July, And each day blessed them out of heaven above, And each night crowned them with the crown of love. Nor till the might of August overhead Weighed on the world was yet one roseleaf shed Of all their joy’s warm coronal, nor aught Touched them in passing ever with a thought That ever this might end on any day Or any night not love them where they lay; But like a babbling tale of barren breath Seemed all report and rumour held of death, And a false bruit the legend tear-impearled That such a thing as change was in the world. And each bright song upon his lips that came, Mocking the powers of change and death by name, Blasphemed their bitter godhead, and defied Time, though clothed round with ruin as kings with pride, To blot the glad life out of love: and she Drank lightly deep of his philosophy In that warm wine of amorous words which is Sweet with all truths of all philosophies. For well he wist all subtle ways of song, And in his soul the secret eye was strong That burns in meditation, till bright words Break flamelike forth as notes from fledgeling birds That feel the soul speak through them of the spring. So fared they night and day as queen and king Crowned of a kingdom wide as day and night. Nor ever cloudlet swept or swam in sight Across the darkling depths of their delight Whose stars no skill might number, nor man’s art Sound the deep stories of its heavenly heart. Till, even for wonder that such life should live, Desires and dreams of what death’s self might give Would touch with tears and laughter and wild speech The lips and eyes of passion, fain to reach, Beyond all bourne of time or trembling sense, The verge of love’s last possible eminence. Out of the heaven that storm nor shadow mars, Deep from the starry depth beyond the stars, A yearning ardour without scope or name Fell on them, and the bright night’s breath of flame Shot fire into their kisses; and like fire The lit dews lightened on the leaves, as higher Night’s heart beat on toward midnight. Far and fain Somewhiles the soft rush of rejoicing rain Solaced the darkness, and from steep to steep Of heaven they saw the sweet sheet lightning leap And laugh its heart out in a thousand smiles, When the clear sea for miles on glimmering miles Burned as though dawn were strewn abroad astray, Or, showering out of heaven, all heaven’s array Had paven instead the waters: fain and far Somewhiles the burning love of star for star Spake words that love might wellnigh seem to hear In such deep hours as turn delight to fear Sweet as delight’s self ever. So they lay Tranced once, nor watched along the fiery bay The shine of summer darkness palpitate and play. She had nor sight nor voice; her swooning eyes Knew not if night or light were in the skies; Across her beauty sheer the moondawn shed Its light as on a thing as white and dead; Only with stress of soft fierce hands she prest Between the throbbing blossoms of her breast His ardent face, and through his hair her breath Went quivering as when life is hard on death; And with strong trembling fingers she strained fast His head into her bosom; till at last, Satiate with sweetness of that burning bed, His eyes afire with tears, he raised his head And laughed into her lips; and all his heart Filled hers; then face from face fell, and apart Each hung on each with panting lips, and felt Sense into sense and spirit in spirit melt. “Hast thou no sword? I would not live till day; O love, this night and we must pass away, It must die soon, and let not us die late.” “Take then my sword and slay me; nay, but wait Till day be risen; what, wouldst thou think to die Before the light take hold upon the sky?” “Yea, love; for how shall we have twice, being twain, This very night of love’s most rapturous reign? Live thou and have thy day, and year by year Be great, but what shall I be? Slay me here; Let me die not when love lies dead, but now Strike through my heart: nay, sweet, what heart hast thou? Is it so much I ask thee, and spend my breath In asking? nay, thou knowest it is but death. Hadst thou true heart to love me, thou wouldst give This: but for hate’s sake thou wilt let me live.” Here he caught up her lips with his, and made The wild prayer silent in her heart that prayed, And strained her to him till all her faint breath sank And her bright light limbs palpitated and shrank And rose and fluctuated as flowers in rain That bends them and they tremble and rise again And heave and straighten and quiver all through with bliss And turn afresh their mouths up for a kiss, Amorous, athirst of that sweet influent love; So, hungering towards his hovering lips above, Her red-rose mouth yearned silent, and her eyes Closed, and flashed after, as through June’s darkest skies The divine heartbeats of the deep live light Make open and shut the gates of the outer night. Long lay they still, subdued with love, nor knew If cloud or light changed colour as it grew, If star or moon beheld them; if above The heaven of night waxed fiery with their love, Or earth beneath were moved at heart and root To burn as they, to burn and bring forth fruit Unseasonable for love’s sake; if tall trees Bowed, and close flowers yearned open, and the breeze Failed and fell silent as a flame that fails: And all that hour unheard the nightingales Clamoured, and all the woodland soul was stirred, And depth and height were one great song unheard, As though the world caught music and took fire From the instant heart alone of their desire. So sped their night of nights between them: so, For all fears past and shadows, shine and snow, That one pure hour all-golden where they lay Made their life perfect and their darkness day. And warmer waved its harvest yet to reap, Till in the lovely fight of love and sleep At length had sleep the mastery; and the dark Was lit with soft live gleams they might not mark, Fleet butterflies, each like a dead flower’s ghost, White, blue, and sere leaf-coloured; but the most White as the sparkle of snow-flowers in the sun Ere with his breath they lie at noon undone Whose kiss devours their tender beauty, and leaves But raindrops on the grass and sere thin leaves That were engraven with traceries of the snow Flowerwise ere any flower of earth’s would blow; So swift they sprang and sank, so sweet and light They swam the deep dim breathless air of night. Now on her rose-white amorous breast half bare, Now on her slumberous love-dishevelled hair, The white wings lit and vanished, and afresh Lit soft as snow lights on her snow-soft flesh, On hand or throat or shoulder; and she stirred Sleeping, and spake some tremulous bright word, And laughed upon some dream too sweet for truth, Yet not so sweet as very love and youth That there had charmed her eyes to sleep at last. Nor woke they till the perfect night was past, And the soft sea thrilled with blind hope of light. But ere the dusk had well the sun in sight He turned and kissed her eyes awake and said, Seeing earth and water neither quick nor dead And twilight hungering toward the day to be, “As the dawn loves the sunlight I love thee.” And even as rays with cloudlets in the skies Confused in brief love’s bright contentious wise, Sleep strove with sense rekindling in her eyes; And as the flush of birth scarce overcame The pale pure pearl of unborn light with flame Soft as may touch the rose’s heart with shame To break not all reluctant out of bud, Stole up her sleeping cheek her waking blood; And with the lovely laugh of love that takes The whole soul prisoner ere the whole sense wakes, Her lips for love’s sake bade love’s will be done. And all the sea lay subject to the sun. |
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