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SPRING watched her last moon burn and fade with May While the days deepened toward a bridal day. And on her snowbright hand the ring was set While in the maiden’s ear the song’s word yet Hovered, that hailed as love’s own queen by name Iseult: and in her heart the word was flame; A pulse of light, a breath of tender fire, Too dear for doubt, too driftless for desire. Between her father’s hand and brother’s led From hall to shrine, from shrine to marriage-bed, She saw not how by hap at home-coming Fell from her new lord’s hand a royal ring, Whereon he looked, and felt the pulse astart Speak passion in his faith-forsaken heart. For this was given him of the hand wherein That heart’s pledge lay for ever: so the sin That should be done if truly he should take This maid to wife for strange love’s faithless sake Struck all his mounting spirit abashed, and fear Fell cold for shame’s sake on his changing cheer. Yea, shame’s own fire that burned upon his brow To bear the brand there of a broken vow Was frozen again for very fear thereof That wrung his heart with keener pangs than love. And all things rose upon him, all things past Ere last they parted, cloven in twain at last, Iseult from Tristram, Tristram from the queen; And how men found them in the wild woods green Sleeping, but sundered by the sword between, Dividing breast from amorous breast a span, But scarce in heart the woman from the man As far as hope from joy or sleep from truth, And Mark that saw them held for sacred sooth These were no fleshly lovers, by that sign That severed them, still slumbering; so divine He deemed it: how at waking they beheld The king’s folk round the king, and uncompelled Were fain to follow and fare among them home Back to the towers washed round with rolling foam And storied halls wherethrough sea-music rang: And how report thereafter swelled and sprang, A full-mouthed serpent, hissing in men’s ears Word of their loves: and one of all his peers That most he trusted, being his kinsman born, A man base-moulded for the stamp of scorn, Whose heart with hate was keen and cold and dark, Gave note by midnight whisper to King Mark Where he might take them sleeping; how ere day Had seen the grim next morning all away Fast bound they brought him down a weary way With forty knights about him, and their chief That traitor who for trust had given him grief, To the old hoar chapel, like a strait stone tomb Sheer on the sea-rocks, there to take his doom: How, seeing he needs must die, he bade them yet Bethink them if they durst for shame forget What deeds for Cornwall had he done, and wrought For all their sake what rescue, when he fought Against the fierce foul Irish foe that came To take of them for tribute in their shame Three hundred heads of children; whom in fight His hand redeeming slew Moraunt the knight That none durst lift his eyes against, not one Had heart but he, who now had help of none, To take the battle; whence great shame it were To knighthood, yea, foul shame on all men there, To see him die so shamefully: nor durst One man look up, nor one make answer first, Save even the very traitor, who defied And would have slain him naked in his pride, But he, that saw the sword plucked forth to slay, Looked on his hands, and wrenched their bonds away, Haling those twain that he went bound between Suddenly to him, and kindling in his mien Shone lion-fashion forth with eyes alight, And lion-wise leapt on that kinsman knight And wrung forth of his felon hands with might The sword that should have slain him weaponless, And smote him sheer down: then came all the press All raging in upon him; but he wrought So well for his deliverance as they fought That ten strong knights rejoicingly he slew, And took no wound, nor wearied: then the crew Waxed greater, and their cry on him; but he Had won the chapel now above the sea That chafed right under: then the heart in him Sprang, seeing the low cliff clear to leap, and swim Right out by the old blithe way the sea-mew takes Across the bounding billow-belt that breaks For ever, but the loud bright chain it makes To bind the bridal bosom of the land Time shall unlink not ever, till his hand Fall by its own last blow dead: thence again Might he win forth into the green great main Far on beyond, and there yield up his breath At least, with God’s will, by no shameful death, Or haply save himself, and come anew Some long day later, ere sweet life were through. And as the sea-gull hovers high, and turns With eyes wherein the keen heart glittering yearns Down toward the sweet green sea whereon the broad noon burns, And suddenly, soul-stricken with delight, Drops, and the glad wave gladdens, and the light Sees wing and wave confuse their fluttering white, So Tristram one brief breathing-space apart Hung, and gazed down; then with exulting heart Plunged: and the fleet foam round a joyous head Flashed, that shot under, and ere a shaft had sped Rose again radiant, a rejoicing star, And high along the water-ways afar Triumphed: and all they deemed he needs must die; But Gouvernayle his squire, that watched hard by, Sought where perchance a man might win ashore, Striving, with strong limbs labouring long and sore, And there abode an hour: till as from fight Crowned with hard conquest won by mastering might, Hardly, but happier for the imperious toil, Swam the knight in forth of the close waves’ coil, Sea-satiate, bruised with buffets of the brine, Laughing, and flushed as one afire with wine: All this came hard upon him in a breath; And how he marvelled in his heart that death Should be no bitterer than it seemed to be There, in the strenuous impulse of the sea Borne as to battle deathward: and at last How all his after seasons overpast Had brought him darkling to this dark sweet hour, Where his foot faltered nigh the bridal bower. And harder seemed the passage now to pass, Though smoother-seeming than the still sea’s glass, More fit for very manhood’s heart to fear, Than all straits past of peril. Hardly here Might aught of all things hearten him save one, Faith: and as men’s eyes quail before the sun So quailed his heart before the star whose light Put out the torches of his bridal night, So quailed and shrank with sense of faith’s keen star That burned as fire beheld by night afar Deep in the darkness of his dreams; for all The bride-house now seemed hung with heavier pall Than clothes the house of mourning. Yet at last, Soul-sick with trembling at the heart, he passed Into the sweet light of the maiden bower Where lay the lonely lily-featured flower That, lying within his hand to gather, yet Might not be gathered of it. Fierce regret And bitter loyalty strove hard at strife With amorous pity toward the tender wife That wife indeed might never be, to wear The very crown of wedlock; never bear Children, to watch and worship her white hair When time should change, with hand more soft than snow, The fashion of its glory; never know The loveliness of laughing love that lives On little lips of children: all that gives Glory and grace and reverence and delight To wedded woman by her bridal right, All praise and pride that flowers too fair to fall, Love that should give had stripped her of them all And left her bare for ever. So his thought Consumed him, as a fire within that wrought Visibly, ravening till its wrath were spent: So pale he stood, so bowed and passion-rent, Before the blithe-faced bride-folk, ere he went Within the chamber, heavy-eyed: and there Gleamed the white hands and glowed the glimmering hair That might but move his memory more of one more fair, More fair than all this beauty: but in sooth So fair she too shone in her flower of youth That scarcely might man’s heart hold fast its truth, Though strong, who gazed upon her: for her eyes Were emerald-soft as evening-coloured skies, And a smile in them like the light therein Slept, or shone out in joy that knew not sin, Clear as a child’s own laughter: and her mouth, Albeit no rose full-hearted from the south And passion-coloured for the perfect kiss That signs the soul for love and stamps it his, Was soft and bright as any bud new-blown; And through her cheek the gentler lifebloom shone Of mild wild roses nigh the northward sea. So in her bride-bed lay the bride: and he Drew nigh, and all the high sad heart in him Yearned on her, seeing the twilight meek and dim Through all the soft alcove tremblingly lit With hovering silver, as a heart in it Beating, that burned from one deep lamp above, Fainter than fire of torches, as the love Within him fainter than a bridegroom’s fire, No marriage-torch red with the heart’s desire, But silver-soft, a flameless light that glowed Starlike along night’s dark and starry road Wherein his soul was traveller. And he sighed, Seeing, and with eyes set sadly toward his bride Laid him down by her, and spake not: but within His heart spake, saying how sore should be the sin To break toward her, that of all womankind Was faithfullest, faith plighted, or unbind The bond first linked between them when they drank The love-draught: and his quick blood sprang and sank, Remembering in the pulse of all his veins That red swift rapture, all its fiery pains And all its fierier pleasures: and he spake Aloud, one burning word for love’s keen sake— “Iseult;” and full of love and lovelier fear A virgin voice gave answer—“I am here.” And a pang rent his heart at root: but still, For spirit and flesh were vassals to his will, Strong faith held mastery on them: and the breath Felt on his face did not his will to death, Nor glance nor lute-like voice nor flower-soft touch Might so prevail upon it overmuch That constancy might less prevail than they, For all he looked and loved her as she lay Smiling; and soft as bird alights on bough He kissed her maiden mouth and blameless brow, Once, and again his heart within him sighed: But all his young blood’s yearning toward his bride, How hard soe’er it held his life awake For passion, and sweet nature’s unforbidden sake, And will that strove unwillingly with will it might not break, Fell silent as a wind abashed, whose breath Dies out of heaven, suddenly done to death, When in between them on the dumb dusk air Floated the bright shade of a face more fair Than hers that hard beside him shrank and smiled And wist of all no more than might a child. So had she all her heart’s will, all she would, For love’s sake that sufficed her, glad and good, All night safe sleeping in her maidenhood. |