Down, down, down! 85 Down to the depths of the sea! She sits at her wheel in the humming town, Singing most joyfully. Hark what she sings: "O joy, O joy, For the humming street, and the child with its toy! 90 For the priest, and the bell, and the holy well; For the wheel where I spun, And the blessed light of the sun°!" °93 And so she sings her fill, Singing most joyfully, 95 Till the spindle drops from her hand, And the whizzing wheel stands still. She steals to the window, and looks at the sand, And over the sand at the sea; And her eyes are set in a stare; 100 And anon there breaks a sigh, And anon there drops a tear, From a sorrow-clouded eye, And a heart sorrow-laden, A long, long sigh; 105 For the cold strange eyes of a little Mermaiden And the gleam of her golden hair.
Come away, away, children; Come children, come down! The hoarse wind blows coldly; 110 Lights shine in the town. She will start from her slumber When gusts shake the door; She will hear the winds howling, Will hear the waves roar. 115 We shall see, while above us The waves roar and whirl, A ceiling of amber, A pavement of pearl. Singing: "Here came a mortal, 120 But faithless was she! And alone dwell for ever The kings of the sea."
But, children, at midnight, When soft the winds blow, 125 When clear falls the moonlight, When spring-tides are low; When sweet airs come seaward From heaths starr'd with broom,° °129 And high rocks throw mildly 130 On the blanch'd sands a gloom; Up the still, glistening beaches, Up the creeks we will hie, Over banks of bright seaweed The ebb-tide leaves dry. 135 We will gaze, from the sand-hills, At the white, sleeping town; At the church on the hill-side-- And then come back down. Singing: "There dwells a loved one, 140 But cruel is she! She left lonely for ever The kings of the sea."
_Tristram_. Is she not come°? The messenger was sure-- Prop me upon the pillows once again-- Raise me, my page! this cannot long endure. --Christ, what a night! how the sleet whips the pane! What lights will those out to the northward be°? °5
_The Page_. The lanterns of the fishing-boats at sea.
_Tristram_. Soft--who is that, stands by the dying fire?
What Knight is this so weak and pale, Though the locks are yet brown on his noble head, 10 Propt on pillows in his bed, Gazing seaward for the light Of some ship that fights the gale On this wild December night? Over the sick man's feet is spread 15 A dark green forest-dress; A gold harp leans against the bed, Ruddy in the fire's light. I know him by his harp of gold, Famous in Arthur's court° of old; °20 I know him by his forest-dress-- The peerless hunter, harper, knight, Tristram of Lyoness.° °23 What Lady is this, whose silk attire Gleams so rich in the light of the fire? 25 The ringlets on her shoulders lying In their flitting lustre vying With the clasp of burnish'd gold Which her heavy robe doth hold. Her looks are mild, her fingers slight 30 As the driven snow are white°; °31 But her cheeks are sunk and pale. Is it that the bleak sea-gale Beating from the Atlantic sea On this coast of Brittany, 35 Nips too keenly the sweet flower? Is it that a deep fatigue Hath come on her, a chilly fear, Passing all her youthful hour Spinning with her maidens here, 40 Listlessly through the window-bars Gazing seawards many a league, From her lonely shore-built tower, While the knights are at the wars? Or, perhaps, has her young heart 45 Felt already some deeper smart, Of those that in secret the heart-strings rive, Leaving her sunk and pale, though fair? Who is this snowdrop by the sea?-- I know her by her mildness rare, 50 Her snow-white hands, her golden hair; I know her by her rich silk dress, And her fragile loveliness-- The sweetest Christian soul alive, Iseult of Brittany. 55