Queen Yseult

*
An Arthurian Miscellany

Canto 1

\" Of the birth of Sir Tristram, and how he voyaged into Ireland"

In the noble days were shown

Deeds of good knights many one,

Many worthy wars were done.

It was time of scath and scorn

When at breaking of the morn

Tristram the good knight was born.

He was fair and well to see

As his mother's child might be:

Many happy wars had he;

Slew Moronde the knight alone,

Whence was all the ill begun

That on Blancheflour was done.

For long since Queen Blancheflour

Took a knight to paramour,

Who had served her well of yore.

And across the waters dim

And by many a river's rim

Went Queen Blancheflour with him.

Many a bitter path she went,

Many a stone her feet had rent,

But her heart was well content.

"Lo!" she said, "I lady free

Took this man for lord of me

Where the crowned saints might see.

"And I will not bid him go,

Not for joyance nor for woe,

Till my very love he know."

When he kissed her as they went,

All her heart was well content,

For the love that she him meant.

Now this knight was called Roland,

And he had within his hand

Ermonie the happy land.

So five months in Ermonie

Dwelt they in their pleasure free;

For they knew not what should be.

Then came Moronde with his men,

Warring with her lord again.

All her heart was bitter then.

But she said: "If this be so,

Tho' I die, he shall not know."

And she kissed and bade him go;

And he wept and went from her.

Then was all the land astir

With a trouble in the air.

When Roland the knight was gone,

Praise of men his warriors won

Warring well before the sun.

But Moronde the evil knight

Smote him falsely in the fight,

Slew him basely out of sight.

Then was weeping long and sore:

For the great love they him bore

All men wept but Blancheflour.

But she took her golden ring

And a fair sword of the king

Wrought with many a carven thing.

With no crown about her head,

Thinking wild thoughts of the dead,

Evermore she fled and fled.

Far within the forest fair,

A great anguish came on her

Till a strong manchild she bare.

And she fain had suckled him,

There beneath the lindens dim,

Round a fountain's weedy brim.

But too soon came death to take

All her beauty for his sake;

And ere death she moaned and spake.

"Ah, fair child," the lady said,

"For this anguish that it had

All thy mother's heart is dead.

"Sweet, I would not live to see

Any sorrow rest on thee,

Better thou hadst died with me.

"Only thou art still too fair

For that smile I cannot bear

In such eyes as Roland's were.

"Now, fair child, mine own wert thou

(And she kissed the small soft brow)

But for death that takes me now.

"And a bitter birth is thine;

But no man can stain thy line

With a shame that was not mine.

"Thou art pure and princely born;

Fairer name was never worn,

Past the touch of any scorn.

"Now thy grief has come on me,

As I prayed that it might be

Lest some woe should rest on thee."

Wept the low voice musical;

"Now that mine has given thee all,

Better love thy love befall.

"Purer prayers be round thy sleep,

Truer tears than these that drip

On thy tender cheek and lip.

"Now, dear child, of all on earth

Thou art yet the fairest birth

For the pain thy life was worth.

"Sweetest name and sweetest heart,

Now I see thee as thou art

I have had the better part.

"For the grief my love has had,

May the sweet saints keep thee glad

Tho' thy birth were strange and sad.

"Now, dear child" (her thin voice strove

Thro' the drawn dry sobs to move),

"Leave I thee to Christ's own love."

So she died in that dark place,

With the anguish in her face;

Mary took her into grace.

On the robe was sown her name,

Where a fine thread white as flame

Thro' the coloured samite came.

For on skirt and hem between

Wrought she letters white and green

"This is Blancheflour the Queen."

There men found her as they sped,

Very beautiful and dead,

In the lilies white and red.

And beside her lying there,

Found a manchild strong and fair

Lain among the lilies bare.

And they thought it were ill fate,

If the child, for fear or hate,

They should leave in evil state.

So they took him lying there,

Playing with the lady's hair,

For his face was very fair.

And so tenderly he played,

Half asmile and half afraid,

With her lips and hair, I said,

That the strong men for his sake

Could have wept for dear heartache

At the murmurs he did make.

And the strongest lightly stept

Forth to where the mother slept;

Stooping over her, he wept.

Lightly bowed above the child

The large face whose might was mild

With black-bearded lips that smiled.

Then he took it of his grace,

Bowed him where she lay in place,

Put to hers the little face.

Then they softly buried her

Where the greenest leaves did stir,

With some white flowers in her hair.

And for the sweet look he had,

Weeping not but very sad,

Tristram by his name they bade.

"For he looks upon her so,

Pity where he should not grow

All the piteous thing to know."

And they took the sword and ring

That were of Roland the king,

Wrought with many a carven thing.

So they bred him as they knew;

And a noble child he grew,

Like a tree in sun and dew.

Ere he was ten summers old

All the sorrow they him told,

Showed the sword and ring of gold.

Kissed the boy both sword and ring;

"As my father was a king,

I will wreak this bitter thing."

Kissed the boy both ring and sword;

"As my mother to her lord,

Fast I cling to this my word."

So he grew in might and grace,

With her look about his face:

All men saw his royal race.

But when twenty years were done

At the rising of the sun

Tristram from his place was gone.

Forth with warriors is he bound

Over many a change of ground,

To have wreak of Sir Moronde.

When he came to Ermonie,

Bare upon the earth bowed he,

Kissed the earth with kisses three.

To the city men him bring,

Where the herald stood to sing

"Largesse of Moronde the king!"

To the king came Tristram then,

To Moronde the evil man,

Treading softly as he can.

Spake he loftily in place:

A great light was on his face:

"Listen, king, of thy free grace.

"I am Tristram, Roland's son;

By thy might my lands were won,

All my lovers were undone.

"Died by thee Queen Blancheflour,

Mother mine in bitter hour,

That was white as any flower.

"Tho' they died not well aright,

Yet, for thou art belted knight,

King Moronde, I bid thee fight."

A great laughter laughed they all,

Drinking wine about the hall,

Standing by the outer wall.

But the pale king leapt apace,

Caught his staff that lay in place

And smote Tristram on the face.

Tristram stood back paces two,

All his face was reddened so

Round the deep mark of the blow.

Large and bright the king's eyes grew:

As knight Roland's sword he drew,

Fiercely like a pard he flew.

And above the staring eyes

Smote Moronde the king flatwise,

That men saw the dear blood rise.

At the second time he smote,

All the carven blade, I wot,

With the blood was blurred and hot.

At the third stroke that he gave,

Deep the carven steel he drave,

Thro' King Moronde's heart it clave.

Well I ween his wound was great

As he sank across the seat,

Slain for Blancheflour the sweet.

Then spake Tristram, praising God;

In his father's place he stood

Wiping clean the smears of blood,

That the sword, while he did pray,

At the throne's foot he might lay;

Christ save all good knights, I say.

Then spake all men in his praise,

Speaking words of the old days,

Sweeter words than sweetest lays.

Said one, "Lo the dead queen's hair

And her brows so straight and fair;

So the lips of Roland were."

For all praised him as he stood,

That such things none other could

Than the son of kingly blood.

Round he looked with quiet eyes;

"When ye saw King Moronde rise,

None beheld me on this wise."

At such words as he did say,

Bare an old man knelt to pray;

"Christ be with us all to-day.

"This is Tristram the good lord;

Knightly hath he held his word,

Warring with his father's sword."

Then one brought the diadem,

Clear and golden like pure flame;

And his thanks did grace to them.

Next in courteous wise he bade

That fair honour should be had

Of the dear queen that was dead.

So in her great sorrow's praise

A fair tomb he bade them raise

For a wonder to the days.

And between its roof and floor

Wrote he two words and no more,

Wrote " Roland" and " Blancheflour".

That was carven sharp in gold,

For a great praise to behold,

Where the queen lay straight and cold,

All was graven deep and fine,

In and out, and line with line,

That all men might see it shine.

So far off it sprang and shone,

Ere ten paces one had gone,

Showing all the sorrow done.

And the pillars, that upbore

The large roof for evermore,

In wrought flowers her sweet name wore:

Points of stone carved gently all,

Wrought in cusp and capital,

Climbing still to creep and fall.

And in many a tender nook,

Traced soft as running brook,

Shone her face's quiet look.

And above they wrought to lie

King Roland all white on high,

With the lady carven by.

Very patient was her face,

Stooping from its maiden place

Into strange new mother-grace.

Parted lips and closing eyes,

All the quiet of the skies

Fills her beauty where she lies.

On her hair the forest crown

Lets the sliding tresses down,

Touched ere dark with golden brown;

Both with carven hands uplift,

Praying softly as at shrift,

So it stood a kingly gift.

And when all was graven fair

Tristram came, and standing there

Kissed his mother's tender hair.

Then he bade them take for King

His true father in each thing,

Him who saved the sword and ring.

So they hearkened to his word,

And they took to be their lord

Him who kept the ring and sword.

Then by many painful ways,

With a noble thought in chase,

Tristram journeyed many days.

Towards the Cornwall king he bore,

Since an oath of love he swore

For the name of Blancheflour,

That King Mark, her brother true,

He would honour as he knew;

This was he I tell to you.

When he stood in Cornwall there,

Mark beheld him standing bare,

And he knew his sister's hair.

All these things to Mark he told,

To the king so lean and cold,

And he showed her ring of gold.

Then wept all the valiant men,

Wept King Mark upon him then,

Thinking what a grief had been.

Then was Tristram belted knight,

For his happy hand in fight.

Then spake Mark in all men's sight:

"For the love my sister won,

I will honour as I can

This her son, the loved man.

"And this praise I give him here:

He shall go to bring anear

My new bride with noble cheer.

"For strange things are said in place

Of the wonder of her face

And her tender woman's grace."

Spake the king so lean and cold:

"She hath name of honour old,

Yseult queen, the hair of gold.

"All her limbs are fair and strong,

And her face is straight and long,

And her talk is as a song.

"And faint lines of colour stripe

(As spilt wine that one should wipe)

All her golden hair corn-ripe;

"Drawn like red gold ears that stand

In the yellow summer land;

Arrow-straight her perfect hand,

"And her eyes like river-lakes

Where a gloomy glory shakes

Which the happy sunset makes.

"Her shall Tristram go to bring,

With a gift of some rich thing

Fit to free a prisoned king."

As Sir Mark said, it was done;

And ere set the morrow's sun,

Tristram the good knight was gone.

Forth to Ireland bade he come,

Forth across the grey sea-foam,

All to bring Queen Yseult home.

Canto 2

\" Of Queen Yseult, and of the voyage to Cornwall"

Day by day and year by year

In the quiet chambers here

Grew the lady white and dear.

Day by day and week by week

Grew the glory of her cheek

Till it seemed to breathe and speak.

Day by day and night by night

Grew she in her mother's sight,

Maiden Yseult dear and white.

Ever as her face grew fair

In a light of growing hair

Grew the tresses bright and bare.

For no crown the maiden had,

But with tresses golden-glad

Was her perfect body clad.

And no gems the maiden wore

But the bright hair evermore

All her warm white limbs before.

Ah, dear saints, to see her face

Many would have died in place,

She was wonderful for grace.

Wept for love her mother fair,

Wept for utter love of her,

Kissing soft her maiden hair.

Many maidens have men seen,

But on earth has never been

Any maiden like the queen.

So did all her love endure

In a life most sweet and sure,

Very beautiful and pure.

For her mother and the king

Sang she many a maiden thing,

Standing at their feet to sing.

Unto her came Tristram then,

Sailing straight with many men

For King Mark her love to win.

And most royal gifts he bare,

Robes for any queen to wear,

And great jewels for her hair.

And he brought a royal ring

Such as noble knight should bring,

Wedding her for Mark the king.

Very courteously he spake,

That for holy honour's sake

Maiden Yseult should him take.

So the king bade send for her;

And she came before them there,

Clothed upon with golden hair.

And Sir Tristram for her sight

Praisd all the saints aright

As men would for happy fight.

And he would have died in place

But for love and knightly grace

That he saw that maiden face.

And he knelt with heart aflame,

Took her robe in sight of them,

Kissed the skirt and kissed the hem.

Ah, dear saints, how well it were,

Thought he, to die knightly there

For that lady's golden hair.

And he thought it very good

He should perish where she stood

Crowned upon with maidenhood.

And his whole heart for her sake

With a large delight did ache

Till it seemed to burn and break.

And he thought it well and meet,

Lain before that lady sweet,

To be trodden by her feet.

And so loved he her least tress,

That his heart strange thoughts did bless

Of its deep unworthiness.

For no nearer would he be

Her he lovd loyally

With a bright humility.

And he thought him, loving her,

Of sweet words he used to hear,

Lancelot and Guinevere.

And what love some men might see,

So in under-breath spake he,

"Now I know what things they be."

Then the king spake gravely all,

And his large voice in the hall

Ever seemed to grow and fall.

Then the queen spake softlier,

And it seemd him to bear

A new trouble in the air.

Answered Yseult maidenwise;

Great hot tears grew thro' his eyes,

That he could not speak or rise.

Knowing not what words she said

Seemed to beat upon his head

Noise that vex't him, being dead.

But he spake in courteous wise

So that all the knights did rise

With a light in their grave eyes.

And the king with straight grey hairs

Laid Sir Tristram's hand in hers

As the bridal manner bears.

And her mother that had skill

In all herbs that sain or heal

Arrow-wound or fever ill,

Gave a secret drink of might

That she bade her maiden bright

Drink upon the bridal night.

"For it is a mighty thing,

And great love to both shall bring

If thou drink with Mark the king."

So was Yseult brought to ship,

There she kissed her mother's lip

And sat softly down to weep.

Forth to Cornwall back they come,

Over all the grey salt foam

Brought they maiden Yseult home.

So came Yseult from her own;

Wept the grave king on his throne,

And her mother wept alone.

Now the days grew bright and long,

And her voice the men among

Warmed their spirits like a song.

And the men at oar that rowed,

Seeing Yseult where she trode

For her dear face praisd God.

For they said, "Was never man

Since the world's great hap began

Such a lady to him wan."

So they spake between their oars,

Rowing level by green shores,

Sloped about with great grey moors.

And when days were full of spring

Tristram prayed her well to sing

In their ears some happy thing.

So the lady sang to them,

And all faces grew aflame,

And on all great glory came.

So the lady sang alway,

And the men rose up to pray,

For her face shone bright as day.

So her song the lady kept,

And their souls to Godwards leapt,

And with pride the meanest wept.

When Queen Yseult's song had end,

All they bowed with head and hand,

Speaking soft in whispers bland.

But with all the summer heat

That about them burned and beat

Sore athirst was Yseult sweet.

For she sang so loud and long

To the rowers rowing strong

That she thirsted in her song.

Than bade Tristram bring her wine

In her chalice carven fine,

Rich with many a tender line.

So the chaliced wine was brought,

And the drink of power that wrought

Change in face and change in thought.

And the wine was fierce and sweet,

But the lady, drinking it,

Shuddered to her hands and feet.

But the drink her mother gave

In the carven chalice brave

Like warm gold did float and wave.

And Sir Tristram, courteous-wise,

With a smile about his eyes

Pledged the queen in knightly guise.

As they drank in love and truth,

Lo, there grew in heart and mouth

As a hot and bitter drouth.

Then he bent towards her there,

And he knew that she was fair,

And he stooped and kissed her hair.

And Queen Yseult, paind sore

For the love that him she bore,

As she kissed him, trembled more.

At their hearts it stirred and crept,

Round their hearts it grew and leapt,

Till they kissed again and wept.

So was their great love begun,

Sitting silent in the sun,

Such a little thing was done.

And Queen Yseult, weeping still,

Tristram had to do his will

That his list she should fulfil.

Tristram had her body fair,

And her golden corn-ripe hair,

And her golden ring to wear.

So he took the golden ring

That was of Sir Mark the king,

As to serve her in each thing.

And his mother's Yseult had

To keep wisely as he bade;

So they sware it, low and glad.

So they slept the night long there,

And above their faces bare

Flowed and glowed the golden hair.

So to Cornwall did they come

All across the flowing foam,

So was brought Queen Yseult home.

So King Mark his bride hath got

That he little knew, I wot,

When his heart with wine was hot.

And men said, "Great pity is

He such queen should ever kiss,

Little were his need, I wis."

But they knew not what had been,

And with smiles and moans between

On Sir Tristram looked the Queen.

So they brought her by his hold

To the king so lean and cold,

Yseult queen, the hair of gold.

Canto 3

\" How Sir Tristram and Queen Yseult loved each other by the space of three years"

All that night and all thro' day

Many minstrels bade men play

That the king's great praise they say.

So they sang in court and hall,

But it only grieved them all

Such a bride should him befall.

For none wist what had been done,

Yseult's maidens all but one

Said their queen a bride were gone.

Many days this love grew old,

While abode the hair of gold

By the king so lean and cold.

And such love their love did bless

They had much of happiness

And their hope grew never less.

And at morning when she leant

From her lattice in content

Over him her face was bent.

And on kingly summer eves

When much light is in the leaves,

Had they joy of all that lives.

Sometimes in the garden place,

When much light was in her face,

Would he sing of her great grace.

So she leant to hear his song,

Heard him in the leaves among

Singing in the sweet French tongue.

"This was love 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.

"Now this Yseult ever knew

That such love about her grew

As kept all men pure like dew.

"And this Yseult had but one

To love well beneath the sun

Till her very love were done."

And he praised her as he can

For the love that him began

That she loved none other man.

And he praised her without fear,

Like a songbird singing clear,

Lady Yseult white and dear.

Singing where he saw her stand,

"Is none like her in the land,

Golden hair and arrow hand."

And such praises would he sing,

Harping high before the king,

And of many a happy thing.

And men praised him by his name,

But her brows were all aflame

That she from the banquet came.

And she walked alone and said,

"Of such knight was never read."

So that summer they were glad.

But when snows were thick about

Yseult sent for Tristram out

Soft dry leaves of melilote.

That was for a sign to stand

That he came to take her hand

In the happy garden land.

For he sent her words to see,

"Yseult, of thy courtesy,

Have now pity as of me,

"For my love is barren here."

To him came an answer clear

Of the lady white and dear.

So that when his love had got

Those dry leaves of melilote,

He the pain remembered not.

But he saw not where to go,

Lest his feet some man should know,

For the ways were marred with snow.

So his bitter doubt he wrote,

And she sent him for his doubt

The same leaves of melilote.

And he marvelled; but he said,

"Tho' I die, her rede be read."

And for help of Love he prayed.

And it seemd 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

Seemd 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 laughd 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 pearld 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 the 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.

He lay down and dreamed: but she

Lay and looked towards the sea;

And a bitter dream dreamt he.

But he stood away and said:

"Lo, an evil rede were read

If I had her maidenhead.

"One that I love more than her

Dwells across the water fair,

Yseult of the golden hair.

"And for love that she has worn

Men will smite her face with scorn,

Shame that such a queen were born!

"Lo, to both much ill were done,

For this Yseult, loving one,

Loves but him below the sun.

"And great shame will overtake

All her beauty for my sake

If her maidenhood I break.

"And this thing shall never be

That for maiden love for me

Men should shame her as they see.

"For some men will say, 'Behold,

Yseult queen, the hair of gold

Was his paramour of old.'

"And for love I loved before

Shall they call her paramour."

So he musd long and sore.

And the maiden in his sight

Lay beside him, very bright,

Like a sleeper, straight and white.

Then he thought him, lying there,

Of Queen Yseult's golden hair

And the brows of Guinevere.

Spake the snow-hand maidenly,

"Tristram, for thy courtesy

Think thou no scorn to kiss me."

A great tremble took his heart,

Many memories made him start,

Listening as he lay apart.

Sidelong to him crept she close,

Pale as any winter rose

When the air is grey with snows.

For she heard him start and stir,

And drew ever near and near

Lest his heart were wrath with her.

But his eyes grew very dim,

And a tremble went thro' him

Shuddering over heart and limb.

For pure love of her he wept

As in fear she crept and crept

Slowly, lest perchance he slept.

Soft as lighteth bird on bough

Thrice he kissed her, breathing low,

Kissed her mouth and maiden brow.

And in under breath said he

When his face she could not see,

"Christ look over her and me."

Low sweet words of love she said

With her face against his head

On the pillows of the bed.

Then a pleasure bright and mild

Smoothed her sweet face, and she smiled,

Sleeping as a maiden child.

And his hands for love of her

From the throat and shoulders bare

Parted off the ruffling hair.

Then he kissed her hair and head

For the sweet words she had said;

And in kissing her he prayed.

Praying in his heart he spake,

That for Mary's maiden sake

Christ would keep his faith awake.

And the sweet saints knew aright

That he bore him well in fight,

Warring ever in their sight.

And the Mother pitied him,

For he shook in heart and limb,

Lying in the chamber dim.

And he bowed his body fair

Down athwart the window there,

Weeping for the golden hair.

It was wonderful to see

That he wept so bitterly

With his face to the blown sea.

As he turned and softly stept,

Lest perchance she had not slept,

Bitterly he wept and wept.

She lay out before him there,

All her body white and bare

Overswept with waves of hair.

There she rested, breathing low,

Purer than the naked snow,

Beautiful to see and know.

In her sleep she spake and prayed;

And for those dear words she said,

He came softly to the bed.

And in love he would not hide,

Praying between pain and pride,

Laid him softly at her side.

So from evening till the day

At her side in love he lay;

Slept no child as pure as they.

So her love had all it would,

All night sleeping as she could,

Sleeping in her maidenhood.

Canto 6

\" How Queen Yseult kept her ring"

Days are come and days are gone

Over Cornwall many a one,

Since her ordeal was done.

Mark was tender with his fear,

Lest some worse thing he should hear,

And bade all men honour her.

So Queen Yseult's days were fair,

And her maidens, waiting bare,

Combed and crowned the golden hair.

But King Mark would keep apart,

Lest her eyes should make him start,

Full of envy was his heart.

And his face grew long and lean

And his lips more pale, I ween,

Hiding harsh words of the queen.

And in bitter speech he said,

When much wine had filled his head,

A bad prayer that she were dead.

So the court began to stir,

And the maidens gathered near,

Whispered secret things of her.

And most bitter pain she had,

Paind thro' her speeches glad,

Till her heart grew faint or mad.

In the pleasure that she made

At the revels the king bade,

Wild and wandering words she said.

And at night when all the room

Spread about her black and dumb,

She lay gazing thro' the gloom.

All old comfort she forgot,

And her throat and lips grew hot,

And her large eyes moistened not.

Then she thought the grave were cold,

And spake soft her name of old,

"Yseult, queen, the hair of gold."

And she wept for that one thing,

For she looked upon the king,

And drew forth her golden ring.

Slept King Mark upon the bed,

Thick hot wine had filled his head,

Some fierce word in sleep he said.

She had thought long since to hear

Speech of Tristram spoken clear,

That his life was kept for her.

And when any knight came nigh

To her place for courtesy,

Saw she Tristram standing by.

And when songs of her were sung,

Heard his voice the leaves among

Singing in the sweet French tongue.

And when harpers harped anew,

Very pale and faint she grew

Like a lily dead in dew.

So she held him dead and lain

Out beyond the water-plain,

Naked under sun and rain.

In the dark she rose to weep,

"Long wet tendrils clasp and creep

Where the good knight lies asleep."

No one heard the words she said

On the pillows of the bed,

Praise and prayer for Tristram dead.

No one saw her girdle slip,

Saw her loosen it to weep,

Thinking how he touched her lip.

Heavily her robe sank white,

Heavily her hair sank bright,

Rustling down in the dead night.

And her breast was loosened so

From the hunger of its woe,

Where the samite rustled low.

Clothd queenlike sate she there,

Sate she in the moonlight bare,

Golden light and golden hair.

To much evil was she brought,

Very bitter things she thought

Thro' her quiet lips said naught.

And the sweet saints pitied her

As they saw the weeping hair,

And the face so very fair.

At her side no queen might stand,

Was none like her in the land,

Golden hair and arrow hand.

Then she prayed, if any heard,

And the air about her stirr'd

As the motions of a bird.

And she thought an angel came,

Poised his wings of painted flame,

And spoke bitterly her name.

For she bowed before his look,

And her heart such trembling took,

That her limbs with weeping shook.

Then she rose and did not pray,

Far off sounds she heard at play

Blown about a windy bay.

Down athwart the window bright

Leant she into the dead light,

Wept for Tristram the good knight.

The deep sky and sharp grey crag,

Black with many a jut and jag,

The pale stream where stirred the flag,

All the long white lines of sea,

All the long white slope of lea,

In the moonlight watch

And a sorrow vexed her wit,

Ever turning over it.

And her pride was made most weak,

And a shadow blind and meek

Took her brows and altered cheek.

And old thoughts about her came

When the dais was all aflame

With large lights, each day the same.

And she wist not what to say

Could not move her lips to pray

For the heart that beat alway.

And she paused before her glass,

For so tight the girdle was

By her breast, she could not pass.

And she thought, "If he should come

Back across the grey salt foam

I were altered in his doom.

"Nay," she said, "for love were there,

And the corn-ripe golden hair,

Tho' the face should be less fair."

Then she smiled, and faintlier

Came the silken courtly stir;

But the king's eyes hated her.

And their straight cold look she knew,

And again more faint she grew

Than a lily dead in dew.

So she saw days go and come,

And at night in the old room

Lay she gazing thro' the gloom.