Tristram! Tristram! stay--receive me with thee!
95 lines✦
* * * * You see them clear--the moon shines bright.Slow, slow and softly, where she stood,She sinks upon the ground; her hoodHad fallen back, her arms outspreadStill hold her lover’s hands; her headIs bowed, half-buried, on the bed.O’er the blanched sheet, her raven hairLies in disordered streams; and there,Strung like white stars, the pearls still are;And the golden bracelets, heavy and rare,Flash on her white arms still,--The very same which yesternightFlashed in the silver sconces’ light,When the feast was gay and the laughter loudIn Tyntagel’s palace proud.But then they decked a restless ghostWith hot-flushed cheeks and brilliant eyes,And quivering lips on which the tideOf courtly speech abruptly died,And a glance which over the crowded floor,The dancers, and the festive host,Flew ever to the door;That the knights eyed her in surprise,And the dames whispered scoffingly,--“Her moods, good lack, they pass like showers!But yesternight and she would beAs pale and still as withered flowers;And now to-night she laughs and speaks,And has a color in her cheeks.Christ keep us from such fantasy!”-- Yes, now the longing is o’erpast,Which, dogged by fear and fought by shame.Shook her weak bosom day and night,Consumed her beauty like a flame,And dimmed it like the desert-blast.And though the curtains hide her face,Yet, were it lifted to the light,The sweet expression of her browWould charm the gazer, till his thoughtErased the ravages of time,Filled up the hollow cheek, and broughtA freshness back as of her prime,--So healing is her quiet now;So perfectly the lines expressA tranquil, settled loveliness,Her younger rival’s purest grace. The air of the December-nightSteals coldly around the chamber bright,Where those lifeless lovers be.Swinging with it, in the lightFlaps the ghost-like tapestry.And on the arras wrought you seeA stately huntsman, clad in green,And round him a fresh forest-scene.On that clear forest-knoll he stays,With his pack round him, and delays.He stares and stares, with troubled face,At this huge, gleam-lit fireplace,At that bright, iron-figured door,And those blown rushes on the floor.He gazes down into the roomWith heated cheeks and flurried air,And to himself he seems to say,--“_What place is this, and who are they?__Who is that kneeling lady fair?__And on his pillows that pale knight__Who seems of marble on a tomb?__How comes it here, this chamber bright,__Through whose mullioned windows clear__The castle-court all wet with rain,__The drawbridge and the moat appear,__And then the beach, and, marked with spray,__The sunken reefs, and far away__The unquiet bright Atlantic plain?__--What! has some glamour made me sleep,__And sent me with my dogs to sweep,__By night, with boisterous bugle-peal,__Through some old, sea-side, knightly hall,__Not in the free green wood at all?__That knight’s asleep, and at her prayer__That lady by the bed doth kneel--__Then hush, thou boisterous bugle-peal!_--The wild boar rustles in his lair;The fierce hounds snuff the tainted air;But lord and hounds keep rooted there. Cheer, cheer thy dogs into the brake,O hunter! and without a fearThy golden-tasselled bugle blow,And through the glades thy pastime take--For thou wilt rouse no sleepers here!For these thou seest are unmoved;Cold, cold as those who lived and lovedA thousand years ago. _TRISTRAM AND ISEULT._
✦