(_He presses himself to_ TRISTAN'S _breast_.)
TRISTAN. Think'st thou thus! I know 'tis not so, but this I cannot tell thee. Where I awoke ne'er I was, but where I wandered I can indeed not tell thee. The sun I could not see, nor country fair, nor people; but what I saw I can indeed not tell thee. It was-- the land from which I once came and whither I return: the endless realm of earthly night. One thing only there possessed me: blank, unending, all-oblivion.-- How faded all forebodings! O wistful goadings!-- Thus I call the thoughts that all t'ward light of day have press'd me. What only yet doth rest me, the love-pains that possess'd me, from blissful death's affright now drive me toward the light, which, deceitful, bright and golden, round thee, Isolda, shines. Accurséd day with cruel glow! Must thou ever wake my woe? Must thy light be burning ever, e'en by night our hearts to sever? Ah, my fairest, sweetest, rarest! When wilt thou-- when, ah, when-- let the torchlight dwindle, that so my bliss may kindle? The light, how long it glows! When will the house repose?
(_His voice has grown fainter and he sinks back gently, exhausted_.)
KURVENAL (_who has been deeply distressed, now quickly rousts himself from his dejection_). I once defied, through faith in thee, the one for whom now with thee I'm yearning. Trust in my words, thou soon shalt see her face to face. My tongue that comfort giveth,-- if on the earth still she liveth.
TRISTAN (_very feebly_). Yet burns the beacon's spark: yet is the house not dark, Isolda lives and wakes: her voice through darkness breaks.
KURVENAL. Lives she still, then let new hope delight thee. If foolish and dull you hold me, this day you must not scold me. As dead lay'st thou since the day when that accursed Melot so foully wounded thee. Thy wound was heavy: how to heal it? Thy simple servant there bethought that she who once closed Morold's wound with ease the hurt could heal thee that Melot's sword did deal thee. I found the best of leeches there, to Cornwall have I sent for her: a trusty serf sails o'er the sea, bringing Isold' to thee.
TRISTAN (_transported_). Isolda comes! Isolda nears! (_He struggles for words_.) O friendship! high and holy friendship!