He had no rhetoric to make reply: Only his arms about her, and his eyes Upon her eyes, and kisses on her mouth. Long time they stood.--Outside, the sunset flung Barbaric glory on the autumn wood.-- And lifting up her face he said to her: "Hast thou thy lute still? Then come sing to me; That song again, that pleased me once so ill-- Two years ago at parting. If it please No better now, straightway I will depart, And--thou with me. Yea, on one steed, if needs, We will ride forth together to the Queen, To old Caerleon, and King Arthur's Court; And Gwenhwyvar shall kiss thee and confess Thou art her loveliest flower, my own wild rose, And give thee to me who will wear thee here."
"_But when the queen, La beale Isoude heard these tidings shee made such sorrow that shee was full nigh out of her minde, and so upon a day she thought to slay herselfe, and never for to live after Sir Tristram's death._"--Le Morte d'Arthure.
The wild dawn flares o'er wood and vale, O'er all the world she used to love: Low on her couch it finds her pale, The dawn that breaks with flame above. Her lute, that once was all her care, To which her love had often sung, Upon a damask-covered chair Now lies neglected and unstrung. Back from her face her hair she throws, Her heavy hair that falls and slips, Then, rising, to the casement goes With languid eyes and pallid lips.
With feverish face from morn till noon, And noon to middle-night she stoops From her high lattice; late and soon In search for him among the troops That come and go or loiter by. For there had come a dame, in garb Of pearls and samite, green of dye, A stately woman on a barb, From Camelot, who, looking round, Had sneered, "'Mid herdsmen and such craft This Tristram lives like any hound." Then as she shook her curls and laughed, And flashed on Isolt looks of scorn, Trailing her glimmering jewels past, "I met a madman yestermorn Within the forest. Wild, aghast He stood, all naked in the rain, 'Twas Tristram, he of Lyonesse, A good knight once, but now--" Again She laughed, then sneered.--And one might guess The thing she hinted in disdain.
So Isolt watched now: long she leant From her high tower that hapless dawn: Above her bloomed the firmament, Below, the world was dewy wan. She saw a long lake where the stags Came down to drink: and woods of pines Beyond which mountains loomed, whose crags,-- Gaunt guardians of Mark's boundary lines,-- Gray watch-towers, hawk-like, overhung; And 'mid the pines, wild, ivy-clung, She saw a castle lift its old Green walls of ruin, now a cave For bandits, and a robber-hold Of lust, beside a torrent's wave. Then o'er a bridge, whose granite arched The torrent's foam, she saw a knight,-- Behind whom spear-armed followers marched,-- Like Galahad, in glittering white, Ride from the forest-covered height.