And it seemèd well to go
By the court where slept he now,
Right against her in the snow.
And at night she came and spake,
“Tristram, as for love’s true sake,
All my pleasure bid me take.”
And he sware her will to do,
And she smiled that it was so;
“I shall hear thee thro’ the snow.”
A great wonder took him there,
For her face was very fair
Under all her gathered hair.
And more near and soft she stept,
And both arms about him crept,
That for bitter love he wept.
All his heart was drawn in two
That he wist not what to do;
And she kissed him, thinking so.
Then she raised him tenderly,
Bore him lightly as might be,
That was wonderful to see.
So they passed by trail and track,
Slowly, in the night all black,
And she bore him on her back.
As they twain went on along,
Such great love had made her strong,
All her heart was full of song.
Pausing, she breathed sharply there;
And about her, bowed and bare,
Flashed and fell the golden hair.
Pausing, round her body sweet
Rolled the ripe hair to her feet;
Forth she bare him as was meet.
Thro’ the court all white and wide
Straight across from side to side
Bare she him in patient pride.
She was hurt with snow and stone,
Came no sob nor any moan.
That with bare feet had she gone.
And when all her pain was great,
Smiling in such evil state
Did she walk beneath his weight.
And his heart yearned sharp for her,
And he would not breathe or stir
For a pain of bitter fear.
Till she stood on the strewn floor
Right within the chamber door,
With the weight of love she bore.
When he stood beside her there
Smiling, she drew back the hair
From her throat and bosom fair.
All her neck was strained and red;
Then soft words to him she said,
Leaning on his face her head.
And his kisses on her hair
And her throat and shoulders bare
Fierce and bitter kisses were.
Then he wept for anger sweet,
Flung him down to touch her feet
And to kiss them as was meet.
And above him while she stood,
Stains upon her red as blood;
Then she kissed him as he would.
So great love that time had they;
And would God that I could say
All their love by year and day.
Now three years this thing had been,
And no wrath was them between,
For the love he bare the queen.
Till a knight they loved of old
To Sir Mark this marvel told,
To the king so lean and cold.
A great shadow took his face,
Somewhat low he spake in place
And flushed red in little space.
Then his hands began to stir,
Plucking at his face and hair,
Shameful things he spake of her.
Sware he by his fathers dead
(Then his thin face was not red),
“She shall bear the steel,” he said.
So he bade to wreak his thought
She should bear the white steel hot;
But the nobles hearkened not.
Then most shameful things he spake
That the nobles for his sake
Seemèd not their sense to take.
And she spake where men might see,
“Thou, Sir Mark, that shamest me,
None I gave my hand but thee.
“And if other ever were
(And a great scorn made her fair)
It was he that standeth there.”
Then great laughter laughèd all,
For against the outer wall
Evil-clad he stood in hall.
And the men for very shame
Spake her quit of ill defame,
And Sir Mark bade praise her name.
But for love he bare her so
Softly bade she Tristram go;
Thence to both was wail and woe.
So he went from her apace;
And she dwelt by Mark in place
With a trouble in her face.
CANTO 4
How Sir Tristram came to Brittany
So much grief for him was made,
All the land was changed and sad,
But Queen Yseult nothing said.
Then came Tristram the good knight
From his lady’s noble sight,
All athirst for toil and fight.
So he went by many ways
Thro’ strange lands by many days,
And in wars he won him praise.
Then for love of Lancelot
And the praise his love had got
Came the knight to Camelot.
There beheld he Guinevere,
All her face like light was clear,
That men shook for loving fear.
And more smooth than steel or glass
All her happy forehead was,
Thro’ her eyes some dream did pass.
And he thought of Yseult now,
“For this lady’s eyes and brow
She might stand with her, I trow.”
But the king and Lancelot
For the great praise he had got
Did him welcome as they mote.
So long time he dwelt with them,
In his fight was found no blame
That he won a noble name.
All men for his sake were glad,
But in thought he ever had
The gold hair that Yseult clad.
And he thirsted for one tress,
Praising her in humbleness.
Men him called of Lyonesse,
For that so his birth had been.
And when many months were seen
Took he farewell of the queen.
Farewell of the king he took,
And set sail with heavy look,
For this time he could not brook.
All his heart so weary was
And so worn with love, alas!
With great love in bitter case,
That he thirsted thence to be,
So they sailed the blowing sea
Till they came to Brittany.
He was shent in evil plight,
As one soiled with storm and fight,
Yet he stood a perfect knight.
For his face was fair and strong,
And his body straight along,
And his deep speech like a song,
And his eyes were clear and sad
As the bitter love they had,
Men for him great marvel made.
And they told him how their lord
Died in war with hand on sword,
Died and held his knightly word.
So his daughter had their land,
Yseult of the white snow-hand,
Pale and still they saw him stand.
Then as one in pain he stirred,
Speaking low some loving word
In a voice that no man heard.
And a great smile overtook
All the trouble of his look,
And he neither breathed nor spoke.
When he came by her in place,
He beheld her small sweet face
And pure eyes of patient grace.
All her face was hushed and dim
As her courcet’s pearlèd rim
With
a maiden fear of him.
And in courteous wise she bade
That fair honour should be had
Of the knight so pale and sad.
So he dwelt beside her long,
In his heart he would no wrong,
But she drew it like a song;
Some dim song at waking heard
When the tender gloom is stirr’d
With the joy of some sweet bird.
So he gladly dwelt by her
In the grey great castle there,
And she grew a lady fair.
And she mused of him alone,
Musing when the day was done
By the ranges of black stone,
Till her eyes grew strange and deep,
And it seemed they could not sleep
Tho’ men saw she did not weep.
And all men that saw her loved
For her quiet eyes approved
All her changes when she moved;
And each day by her he came
For the love of her sweet name
And her love who bare the same.
And as days were come and gone,
With no laughter and no moan,
Love grew up ere doubt was done.
Deep in her sweet soul she kept
All the tender pain that slept
So far down, she never wept.
But in all her heart she said,
“If such care for me he had,
Certes I were dear and glad.”
And it fell one gentle day
In the greenest week of May,
That her sorrow went away.
For the day was nearly done,
And among the woods alone
Was Sir Tristram softly gone.
All about the woods were green,
Walked he in the leaves between,
Thinking sweetly of the queen.
What great love he won of her,
And he thirsted for her here,
Arrow hand and golden hair.
Her old praises did he sing,
Hidden in the happy spring
Sang he many a bitter thing.
And the leaves about him shook,
For great weeping overtook
All his voice and quiet look.
And the snow-hand of her grace
Sought him in the garden place,
With a doubt in her sweet face.
And she heard his singing low,
Clear glad words she seemed to know,
And she loved him, singing so.
“This was praise that Yseult wan,
That to any maid or man
Spake she courteous as she can.
“This was praise that Yseult had,
That her happiness made glad
Man or maiden that was sad.”
And hereat the sorrow broke
Thro’ the happy words he spoke,
And the quick tears marred his look.
But the lady whiter grew,
White as fear and pale as dew,
So his voice her spirit drew.
For she fain would comfort him,
And she shook in heart and limb,
And her eyes were hot and dim.
“Ah,” she said, “our love is so
That he will not speak of woe,
And I dare not come to know.
“For I would not any change
Came to make this old life strange,
Or throw love beyond its range.
“Yet indeed he sang my name.”
And a slow blush overcame
Her bowed face with maiden flame.
“And he spake sweet things of me
For pure love and courtesy
Where none else had cared to see.
“I that am but simple maid
Shall he give me love,” she said,
“With men’s praise to crown his head?
“Yet I ween he sang my name,”
And again the glorious shame
All her sweet face overcame.
Then he met her, grave and mild,
And the maiden lips that smiled
Trembled as a chidden child.
And his heart went up for her,
Till each thought that harboured there
Rose as pure as any prayer.
And he wist that it were well
In her quiet love to dwell;
So their marriage-time befell.
For in love to her he spake
And was troubled for her sake,
And the grief her love might make.
And in quiet maiden wise,
While a light fled thro’ her eyes
Faster than a shadow flies,
Spake she to him, very low,
Then a fear did overflow
All her heart lest he should know.
But the knight her soft love knew,
And her spirit sweet and true
Where the love lay light as dew.
And such grave pure speech he made
That to listen bowed her head
With still joy of that was said.
And the maiden love snow-pure
In her heart should well endure,
Like a fair tree planted sure.
For she loved him as the light,
And was fairest in his sight
As a lake the noon keeps bright.
So their day of love was glad,
And his face nor proud nor sad,
So his maiden bride he had.
And great joy was thro’ the land
When in love the twain should stand,
Tristram and the sweet snow-hand.
Then much grief for him was made,
All the land was changed and sad,
But the cold king’s heart was glad.
So came Tristram the good knight
From his lady’s noble sight,
All athirst for toil and fight.
And great praise he won him there,
So that all men spake him fair
For the wondrous name he bare.
And when Yseult heard them speak
Died the pain that kept her weak,
Died the sorrow from her cheek.
Forth to Camelot he came,
Riding silent as in shame
Thro’ the noises of his fame.
When was made his welcome there,
He beheld Queen Guinevere,
All her face like light was clear.
Thro’ her eyes a dream did pass,
And more smooth than steel or glass
All her happy forehead was.
So he thought, “For eyes and brow
She might stand by Yseult now,
Yet were mine as fair, I trow.”
All men for his sake were glad,
But in thought he ever had
The gold hair that Yseult clad.
And he thirsted for her eyes
As a bird that bleeds and flies
For the fountain where it dies.
And he yearned to touch her hand,
As a river drawn thro’ sand
Thirsts to reach the smooth green land.
And he pined to kiss her mouth,
As a rose in dewless drouth
For the warm rains of the south.
So for thirst of her sweet look
And the hair that shone and shook,
Night or day he could not brook.
Ere a leaf had left its tree,
Sailed he all the blowing sea
Till he came to Brittany.
CANTO 5
Of the bridal night of Sir Tristram and the Lady Yseult aux Blanches Mains
So at night the maidens came;
And they called her by her name,
And she followed without shame.
And the singing-maidens there
Led the bride with tresses bare,
Singing bridal songs of her.
Purple flowers, blue and red,
On the rushes round t
he bed
Strewed they for her feet to tread.
But about the bed they set
Large white blossoms, white and wet,
Crowns the fairest they could get.
Her blue robe along the hem
Coloured like a lily’s stem,
She put off and gave to them.
And she bade the fairest girl
All her soft hair comb and curl
With a comb of jet and pearl.
By the mirrored steel she stood,
Thinking gently as she could
Sweet new thoughts of womanhood.
In his eyes that she would please
Will she seem the queen of these,
With the hair swept round her knees?
Then the tallest maiden came,
Called her softly by her name;
And she lay down without shame.
Then came Tristram softly in;
Long he stood without, I ween,
Thinking old thoughts of the queen.
Sweet old thoughts he could not say,
How in other times he lay
By Queen Yseult till the day.
Softly to the bed he came;
But between the taper’s flame
A fair face looked out at them.
Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Algernon Charles Swinburne (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series) Page 154