ISEULT.
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ltered, Tristram? Not in courts, believe me,Love like mine is altered in the breast:Courtly life is light, and cannot reach it;Ah! it lives, because so deep-suppressed! What! thou think’st men speak in courtly chambersWords by which the wretched are consoled?What! thou think’st this aching brow was cooler,Circled, Tristram, by a band of gold? Royal state with Marc, my deep-wronged husband,--That was bliss to make my sorrows flee!Silken courtiers whispering honeyed nothings,--Those were friends to make me false to thee! Ah! on which, if both our lots were balanced,Was indeed the heaviest burden thrown,--Thee, a pining exile in thy forest,Me, a smiling queen upon my throne? Vain and strange debate, where both have sufferedBoth have passed a youth repressed and sad,Both have brought their anxious day to evening,And have now short space for being glad! Joined we are henceforth; nor will thy peopleNor thy younger Iseult take it ill,That a former rival shares her office,When she sees her humbled, pale, and still. I, a faded watcher by thy pillow,I, a statue on thy chapel-floor,Poured in prayer before the Virgin-Mother,Rouse no anger, make no rivals more. She will cry, “Is this the foe I dreaded?This his idol, this that royal bride?Ah! an hour of health would purge his eyesight!Stay, pale queen, forever by my side.” Hush, no words! that smile, I see, forgives me.I am now thy nurse, I bid thee sleep.Close thine eyes: this flooding moonlight blinds them.Nay, all’s well again! thou must not weep.
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