And here and there, lock'd by the land, Long inlets of smooth glittering sea, And many a stretch of watery sand All shining in the white moon-beams-- 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? 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 rejoin'd me; Thou hast dared it--but too late to save. Fear not now that men should tax thine honour! I am dying: build--(thou may'st)--my grave! _Iseult_ Tristram, ah, for love of Heaven, speak kindly! What, I hear these bitter words from thee? Sick with grief I am, and faint with travel-- Take my hand--dear Tristram, look on me! _Tristram_ I forgot, thou comest from thy voyage-- Yes, the spray is on thy cloak and hair. But thy dark eyes are not dimm'd, proud Iseult! And thy beauty never was more fair. _Iseult_ Ah, harsh flatterer! let alone my beauty! I, like thee, have left my youth afar. Take my hand, and touch these wasted fingers-- See my cheek and lips, how white they are! _Tristram_ Thou art paler--but thy sweet charm, Iseult! Would not fade with the dull years away. Ah, how fair thou standest in the moonlight! I forgive thee, Iseult!--thou wilt stay? _Iseult_ Fear me not, I will be always with thee; I will watch thee, tend thee, soothe thy pain; Sing thee tales of true, long-parted lovers, Join'd at evening of their days again. _Tristram_ No, thou shalt not speak! I should be finding Something alter'd in thy courtly tone. Sit--sit by me! I will think, we've lived so In the green wood, all our lives, alone. _Iseult_ Alter'd, Tristram? Not in courts, believe me, Love like mine is alter'd in the breast; Courtly life is light and cannot reach it-- Ah! it lives, because so deep-suppress'd! What, thou think'st men speak in courtly chambers Words 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-wrong'd husband-- That was bliss to make my sorrows flee! Silken courtiers whispering honied 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?