The bare heaths spreading, clear as day,
Moor behind moor, far, far away,
Into the heart of Brittany.
And here and there, locked by the land,
Long inlets of smooth glittering sea,
And many a stretch of watery sand
All shining in the white moonbeams.
But you see fairer in your dreams!
What voices are these on the clear night air?
What lights in the court, what steps on the stair?
TRISTRAM AND ISEULT.
II.
Iseult of Ireland.
TRISTRAM.
Raise the light, my page! that I may see her.—
Thou art come at last, then, haughty queen!
Long I've waited, long I've fought my fever;
Late thou comest, cruel thou hast been.
ISEULT.
Blame me not, poor sufferer! that I tarried:
Bound I was, I could not break the band.
Chide not with the past, but feel the present;
I am here, we meet, I hold thy hand.
TRISTRAM.
Thou art come, indeed; thou hast rejoined me;
Thou hast dared it—but too late to save.
Fear not now that men should tax thine honor!
I am dying; build (thou may'st) my grave.
