And stings itself to everlasting death, He ended: Arthur knew the voice; the face And shouted and leapt down upon the fall'n; And drawing somewhat backward she replied, What rights are his that dare not strike for them? So, pluck'd one way by hate and one by love, Drain'd of her force, again she sat, and spake To Tristram, as he knelt before her, saying, "O hunter, and O blower of the horn, Harper, and thou hast been a rover too, For, ere I mated with my shambling king, Ye twain had fallen out about the bride Of one-his name is ont of me-the prize, If prize she were-(what marvel-she could see)Thine, friend; and ever since my craven seeks To wreck thee villanously: but, O Sir Knight, What dame or damsel have ye kneeled to last?" And Tristram, "Last to my Queen Paramount, Here now to my Queen Paramount of love, Come round by the East, and out beyond them And loveliness, ay, lovelier than when first flush'd The long low dune, and lazy-plunging sea. Hath left me or is dead;" whereon he thought- The hounds of Mark, and felt the goodly hounds A crown of towers. Down in a casement sat, A low sea-sunset glorying round her hair And glossy-throated grace, Isolt the Queen. And when she heard the feet of Tristram grind The spiring stone that scaled about her tower, Flushed, started, met him at the doors, and there Belted his body with her white embrace, Crying aloud "Not Mark-not Mark, my soul! The footstep flutter'd me at first: not he: Cat-like thro' his own castle steals my Mark, But warrior-wise thou stridest through his halls Who hates thee, as I him-ev'n to the death. My soul, I felt my hatred for my Mark Quicken within me, and knew that thou wert nigh." To whom Sir Tristram smiling, "I am here. Let be thy Mark, seeing he is not thine." Her light feet fell on our rough Lyonesse, Sailing from Ireland." Softly laugh'd Isolt, "Flatter me not, for hath not our great Queen My dole of beauty trebled ?" and he said "Her beauty is her beauty, and thine thine, And thine is more to me-soft, gracious, kind— Save when thy Mark is kindled on thy lips Most gracious; but she, haughty, ev'n to him, Lancelot; for I have seen him wan enow To make one doubt if ever the great Queen Have yielded him her love." To whom Isolt, "Ah then, false hunter and false harper, thou Who brakest thro' the scruple of my bond, Calling me thy white hind, and saying to me That Guinevere had sinned against the highest, And I-misyoked with such a want of manThat I could hardly sin against the lowest." He answer'd, "O my soul, be comforted! If this be sweet, to sin in leading-strings, If here be comfort, and if ours be sin, Crown'd warrant had we for the crowning sin That made us happy: but how ye greet me-fear And fault and doubt-no word of that fond taleThy deep heart-yearnings, thy sweet memories Of Tristram in that year he was away." And she, my namesake of the hands, that heal'd And Tristram, fondling her light hands, replied, "Grace, Queen, for being loved: she loved me well. Did I love her? the name at least I loved. Isolt? I fought his battles, for Isolt! The night was dark: the true star set!-Isolt! The name was ruler of the dark-Isolt? Care not for her! patient, and prayerful, meek, Pale-blooded, she will yield herself to God." And Isolt answer'd, "Yea, and why not I? Mine is the larger need, who am not meek, Pale-blooded, prayerful. Let me tell thee now. Here one black, mute midsummer night I sate Lonely, but musing on thee, wondering where, Murmuring a light song I had heard thee sing, And once or twice I spake thy name aloud. Then flash'd a levin-brand; and near me stood, In fuming sulphur blue and green, a fiendMark's way to steal behind one in the darkFor there was Mark: 'He has wedded her,' he said, Not said, but hiss'd it: then this crown of towers So shook to such a roar of all the sky, That here in utter dark I swoon'd away, And woke again in utter dark, and cried, 'I will flee hence and give myself to God'And thou wert lying in thy new leman's arms." Then Tristram, ever dallying with her hand, "May God be with thee, sweet, when old and gray, And past desire!" a saying that anger'd her. "May God be with thee, sweet, when thou art old, And sweet no more to me! I need Him now. For when had Lancelot utter'd ought so gross Ev'n to the swineherd's malkin in the mast? The greater man, the greater courtesy. But thou, thro' ever harrying thy wild beastsSave that to touch a harp, tilt with a lance Becomes thee well-art grown wild beast thyself. How darest thou, if lover, push me even In fancy from thy side, and set me far In the gray distance, half a life away, Her to be loved no more? Unsay it, unswear! Flatter me rather, seeing me so weak, Broken with Mark and hate and solitude, Thy marriage and mine own, that I should suck Lies like sweet wines: lie to me: I believe. Will ye not lie? not swear, as there ye kneel, And solemnly as when ye sware to him, The man of men, our King-My God, the power Was once in vows when men believed the King! They lied not then, who swore, and thro' their VOWS The King prevailing made his realm:-I say, Swear to me thou wilt love me ev'n when old, Gray-haired, and past desire, and in despair." Then Tristram, pacing moodily up and down, "Vows! did ye keep the vow ye made to Mark More than I mine? Lied, say ye? Nay, but learnt, The vow that binds too strictly snaps itselfMy knighthood taught me this-ay, being snaptWe run more counter to the soul thereof Than had we never sworn. I swear no more. I swore to the great King, and am forsworn. For once-ev'n to the height-I honor'd him. 'Man, is he man at all?' methought, when first I rode from our rough Lyonesse, and beheld That victor of the Pagan throned in hallHis hair, a sun that ray'd from off a brow Like hillsnow high in heaven, the steel-blue eyes, The golden beard that clothed his lips with light- Did mightier deeds than elsewise he had done, They fail'd to trace him thro' the flesh and blood Which flesh and blood perforce would violate: Here ending, he moved toward her, and she said, "Good: an I turn'd away my love for thee To some one thrice as courteous as thyselfFor courtesy wins woman all as well As valor may-but he that closes both Is perfect, he is Lancelot-taller indeed, Rosier, and comelier, thou-but say I loved This knightliest of all knights, and cast thee back Thine own small saw, 'We love but while we may,' Well then, what answer?" He that while she spake, Mindful of what he brought to adorn her with, The jewels, had let one finger lightly touch The warm white apple of her throat, replied, "Press this a little closer, sweet, until— Come, I am hunger'd and half anger'd-meat, Wine, wine-and I will love thee to the death, And out beyond into the dream to come." So then, when both were brought to full accord, She rose, and set before him all he will'd; And after these had comforted the blood With meats and wines, and satiated their heartsNow talking of their woodland paradise, The deer, the dews, the fern, the founts, the lawns; Now mocking at the much ungainliness, And craven shifts, and long crane legs of MarkThen Tristram laughing caught the harp, and sang: "Ay, ay, O ay-the winds that bend the brier! A star in heaven, a star within the mere! Ay, ay, O ay-a star was my desire; And one was far apart, and one was near: Ay, ay, O ay-the winds that bow the grass! And one was water and one star was fire, And one will ever shine and one will passAy, ay, O ay-the winds that move the mere." Then in the light's last glimmer Tristram show'd And swung the ruby carcauet. She cried, "The collar of some order, which our King Hath newly founded, all for thee, my soul, He rose, he turn'd, and flinging round her neck, Behind him rose a shadow and a shriek"Mark's way," said Mark, and clove him thro' the brain. That night came Arthur home, and while he climb'd, All in a death-dumb Autumn-dripping gloom, The stairway to the hall, and look'd and saw The great Queen's bower was dark,-about his feet A voice clung sobbing till he question'd it, "What art thou?" and the voice about his feet Sent up an answer, sobbing, "I am thy fool, And I shall never make thee smile again." |