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Robert Laurence Binyon - Tristram’s End
Work rating: Low

I
 Tristram lies sick to death;
 Dulled is his kingly eye,
 Listless his famed right arm: earth--weary breath
 Hath force alone to sigh
 The one name that re--kindles life`s low flame,
 Isoult!--And thou, fair moon of Tristram`s eve,
 Who with that many--memoried name didst take
 A glory for the sake
 Of her who shone the sole light of his days and deeds,
 Thou canst no more relieve
 This heart that inly bleeds
 With all thy love, with all thy tender lore,
 No, nor thy white hands soothe him any more.
 Still, the day long, she hears
 Kind words that are more sharp to her than spears.
 Ah, loved he more, he had not been so kind!
 And still with pricking tears
 She watches him, and still must seem resigned;
 Though well she knows what face his eyes require,
 And jealous pangs, like coiled snakes in her mind,
 Cling tighter, as that voice more earnestly
 Asks heavy with desire
 From out that passionate past which is not hers,
 ``Sweet wife, is there no sail upon the sea?``

 Tenderest hearts by pain grow oft the bitterest,
 And haste to wound the thing they love the best.
 At evening, at sun--set, to Tristram`s bed
 News on her lips she brings!
 She comes with eyes bright in divining dread,
 Hardening her anguished heart she bends above his head.
 ``O Tristram!``--How her low voice strangely rings!--
 ``There comes a ship, ah, rise not, turn not pale.
 I know not what this means, it is a sail
 Black, black as night!`` She shot her word, and fled.
 But Tristram cried
 With a great cry, and rose upon his side.
 ``It cannot be, it cannot, shall not be!
 I will not die until mine own eyes see.``
 Despair, more strong than hope, lifts his weak limbs;
 He stands and draws deep effort from his breath,
 He trembles, his gaze swims,
 He gropes his steps in pain,
 Nigh fainting, till he gain
 Salt air and brightness from the outer door
 That opens on the cliff--built bastion floor
 And the wide ocean gleaming far beneath.
 He gazes, his lips part,
 And all the blood pours back upon his heart.

 Close thine eyes, Tristram, lest joy blind thee quite!
 So swift a splendour burns away thy doubt.
 Nay, Tristram, gaze, gaze, lest bright Truth go out
 Ere she hath briefly shone.
 White, dazzling white,
 A sail swells onward, filling all his sight
 With snowy light!
 As on a gull`s sure wing the ship comes on;
 She towers upon the wave, she speeds for home.
 Tristram on either doorpost must sustain
 His arms for strength to gaze his fill again.
 She shivers off the wind; the shining foam
 Bursts from her pitching prow,
 The sail drops as she nears,
 Poised on the joyous swell; and Tristram sees
 The mariners upon the deck; he hears
 Their eager cries: the breeze
 Blows a blue cloak; and now
 Like magic brought to his divining ears,
 A voice, that empties all the earth and sky,
 Comes clear across the water, ``It is I!``

 Isoult is come! Victorious saints above,
 Who suffered anguish ere to bliss you died,
 Have pity on him whom Love so sore hath tried,
 Who sinned yet greatly suffered for his love.
 That dear renouncèd love when now he sees,
 Heavy with joy, he sinks upon his knees.
 O had she wings to lift her to his side!
 But she is far below
 Where the spray breaks upon the rusted rail
 And rock--hewn steps, and there
 Stands gazing up, and lo!
 Tristram, how faint and pale!
 A pity overcomes her like despair.
 How shall her strength avail
 To conquer that steep stair,
 Dark, terrible, and ignorant as Time,
 Up which her feet must climb
 To Tristram? His outstretching arms are fain
 To help her, yet are helpless; and his pain
 Is hers, and her pain Tristram`s; with long sighs
 She mounts, then halts again,
 Till she have drawn strength from his love--dimmed eyes:
 But when that wasted face anew she sees,
 Despair anew subdues her knees:
 She fails, yet still she mounts by sad degrees,
 With all her soul into her gaze upcast,
 Until at last, at last...
 What tears are like the wondering tears
 Of that entranced embrace,
 When out of desolate and divided years
 Face meets belovèd face?
 What cry most exquisite of grief or bliss
 The too full heart shall tell,
 When the new--recovered kiss
 Is the kiss of last farewell?


II
Isoult 
 O Tristram, is this true?
 Is it thou I see
 With my own eyes, clasp in my arms? I knew,
 I knew that this must be.
 Thou couldst not suffer so,
 And I not feel the smart,
 Far, far away. But oh,
 How pale, my love, thou art!

Tristram 
 `Tis I, Isoult, `tis I
 That thee enfold.
 I have seen thee, my own life, and yet I die.
 O for my strength of old!
 O that thy love could heal
 This wound that conquers me!
 But the night is come, I feel,
 And the last sun set for me.

Isoult 
 Tristram, `twas I that healed thy hurt,
 That old, fierce wound of Morolt`s poisoned sword.
 Stricken to death, pale, pale as now thou wert:
 Yet was thy strength restored.
 Have I forgot my skill?
 This wound shall yet be healed.
 Love shall be master still,
 And Death again shall yield!

Tristram 
 Isoult, if Time could bring me back
 That eve, that first eve, and that Irish shore,
 Then should I fear not, no nor nothing lack,
 And life were mine once more.
 But now too late thou art come;
 Too long we have dwelt apart;
 I have pined in an alien home:
 This new joy bursts my heart.

Isoult
 Hark, Tristram, to the breaking sea!
 So sounded the dim waves, at such an hour
 On such an eve, when thy voice came to me
 First in my father`s tower.
 I heard thy sad harp from the shore beneath,
 It stirred my soul from sleep.
 Then it was bliss to breathe;
 But now, but now, I weep.

Tristram 
 Shipwrecked, without hope, without friend, alone
 On a strange shore, stricken with pang on pang,
 I stood sad--hearted by that tower unknown,
 Yet soon for joy I sang.
 For could I see thee and on death believe?
 Ah, glad would I die to attain
 The beat of my heart, that eve,
 And the song in my mouth again!

Isoult 
 Young was I then and fair,
 Thou too wast fair and young;
 How comely the brown hair
 Down on thy shoulder hung!
 O Tristram, all grows dark as then it grew,
 But still I see thee on that surge--beat shore;
 Thou camest, and all was new
 And changed for evermore.

Tristram 
 Isoult, dost thou regret?
 Behold my wasted cheek.
 With salt tears it is wet,
 My arms how faint, how weak!
 And thou, since that far day, what hast thou seen
 Save strife, and tears, and failure, and dismay?
 Had that hour never been,
 Peace had been thine, this day.

Isoult
  Look, Tristram, in my eyes!
 My own love, I could feed
 Life well with miseries
 So thou wert mine indeed.
 Proud were the tears I wept;
 That day, that hour I bless,
 Nor would for peace accept
 One single pain the less.

Tristram 
 Isoult, my heart is rent.
 What pangs our bliss hath bought!
 Only joy we meant,
 Yet woe and wrong we have wrought.
 I vowed a vow in the dark,
 And thee, who wert mine, I gave
 For a word`s sake, to King Mark!
 Words, words have digged our grave.

Isoult
 Tristram, despite thy love,
 King Mark had yet thine oath.
 Ah, surely thy heart strove
 How to be true to both.
 Blame not thyself! for woe
 `Twixt us was doomed to be.
 One only thing I know;
 Thou hast been true to me.

Tristram 
 Accurst be still that day,
 When lightly I vowed the king
 Whatever he might pray
 Home to his hands I`d bring!
 Thee, thee he asked! And I
 Who never feared man`s sword,
 Yielded my life to a lie,
 To save the truth of a word.

Isoult 
 Think not of that day, think
 Of the day when our lips desired,
 Unknowing, that cup to drink!
 The cup with a charm was fired
 From thee to beguile my love:
 But now in my soul it shall burn
 For ever, nor turn, nor remove,
 Till the sun in his course shall turn.

Tristram
 Or ever that draught we drank,
 Thy heart, Isoult, was mine,
 My heart was thine. I thank
 God`s grace, no wizard wine,
 No stealth of a drop distilled
 By a spell in the night, no art,
 No charm, could have ever filled
 With aught but thee my heart.

Isoult 
 When last we said farewell,
 Remember how we dreamed
 Wild love to have learned to quell;
 Our hearts grown wise we deemed.
 Tender, parted friends
 We vowed to be; but the will
 Of Love meant other ends.
 Words fool us, Tristram, still.

Tristram 
 Not now, Isoult, not now!
 I am thine while I have breath.
 Words part us not, nor vow--
 No, nor King Mark, but death.
 I hold thee to my breast.
 Our sins, our woes are past;
 Thy lips were the first I prest,
 Thou art mine, thou art mine at the last!

Isoult
  O Tristram, all grows old,
 Enfold me closer yet!
 The night grows vast and cold,
 And the dew on thy hair falls wet.
 And never shall Time rebuild
 The places of our delight;
 Those towers and gardens are filled
 With emptiness now, and night!

Tristram 
 Isoult, let it all be a dream,
 The days and the deeds, let them be
 As the bough that I cast on the stream
 And that lived but to bring thee to me;
 As the leaves that I broke from the bough
 To float by thy window, and say
 That I waited thy coming--O now
 Thou art come, let the world be as they!

Isoult 
 How dark is the strong waves` sound!
 Tristram, they fill me with fear!
 We two are but spent waves, drowned
 In the coming of year upon year.
 Long dead are our friends and our foes,
 Old Rual, Brangian, all
 That helped us, or wrought us woes;
 And we, the last, we fall.

Tristram 
 God and his great saints guard
 True friends that loved us well,
 And all false foes be barred
 In the fiery gates of hell.
 But broken be all those towers,
 And sunken be all those ships!
 Shut out those old, dead hours;
 Life, life, is on thy lips!

Isoult
  Tristram, my soul is afraid!

Tristram 
 Isoult, Isoult, thy kiss!
 To sorrow though I was made,
 I die in bliss, in bliss.

Isoult 
 Tristram, my heart must break.
 O leave me not in the grave
 Of the dark world! Me too take!
 Save me, O Tristram, save!


III
 Calm, calm the moving waters all the night
 On to that shore roll slow,
 Fade into foam against the cliff`s dim height,
 And fall in a soft thunder, and upsurge
 For ever out of unexhausted might,
 Lifting their voice below
 Tuned to no human dirge;
 Nor from their majesty of music bend
 To wail for beauty`s end
 Or towering spirit`s most fiery overthrow;
 Nor tarrieth the dawn, though she unveil
 To weeping eyes their woe,
 The dawn that doth not know
 What the dark night hath wrought,
 And over the far wave comes pacing pale,
 Of all that she reveals regarding nought.--
 But ere the dawn there comes a faltering tread;
 Isoult, the young wife, stealing from her bed,
 Sleepless with dread,
 Creeps by still wall and blinded corridor,
 Till from afar the salt scent of the air
 Blows on her brow; and now
 In that pale space beyond the open door
 What mute, clasped shadow dulls her to despair
 By keen degrees aware
 That with the dawn her widowhood is there?

 Is it wild envy or remorseful fear
 Transfixes her young heart, unused to woe,
 Crying to meet wrath, hatred, any foe,
 Not silence drear!
 Not to be vanquished so
 By silence on the lips that were so dear!
 Ah, sharpest stab! it is another face
 That leans to Tristram`s piteous embrace,
 Another face she knows not, yet knows well,
 Whose hands are clasped about his helpless head,
 Propping it where it fell
 In a vain tenderness,
 But dead,--her great dream--hated rival dead,
 Invulnerably dead,
 Dead as her love, and cold,
 And on her heart a grief heavy as stone is rolled.
 She bows down, stricken in accusing pain,
 And love, long--baffled, surges back again
 Over her heart; she wails a shuddering cry,
 While the tears blindly rain,
 ``I, I have killed him, I that loved him, I
 That for his dear sake had been glad to die.
 I loved him not enough, I could not keep
 His heart, and yet I loved him, O how deep!
 I cannot touch him. Will none set him free
 From those, those other arms and give him me?
 Alas, I may not vex him from that sleep.
 He is thine in the end, thou proud one, he is thine,
 Not mine, not mine!
 I loved him not enough, I could not hold
 My tongue from stabbing, and forsook him there.
 I had not any care
 To keep him from the darkness and the cold.
 O all my wretched servants, where were ye?
 Hath none in my house tended him but she?
 Where are ye now? Can ye not hear my call?
 Come hither, laggards all!
 Nay, hush not so affrighted, nor so stare
 Upon your lord; `tis he!
 Put out your torches, for the dawn grows clear.
 And set me out within the hall a bier,
 And wedding robes, the costliest that are
 In all my house, prepare,
 And lay upon the silks these princely dead,
 And bid the sailors take that funeral bed
 And set it in the ship, and put to sea,
 And north to Cornwall steer.
 Farewell, my lord, thy home is far from here.
 Farewell, my great love, dead and doubly dear!
 Carry him hence, proud queen, for he is thine,
 Not mine, not mine, not mine!``

 Within Tintagel walls King Mark awaits his queen.
 The south wind blows, surely she comes to--day!
 No light hath his eye seen
 Since she is gone, no pleasure; he grows gray;
 His knights apart make merry and wassail,
 With dice and chessboard, hound at knee, they play;
 But he sits solitary all the day,
 Thinking of what hath been.
 And now through all the castle rings a wail;
 The king arises; all his knights are dumb;
 The queen, the queen is come.
 Not as she came of old,
 Sweeping with gesture proud
 To meet her wronged lord, royally arrayed,
 And music ushered her, and tongues were stayed,
 And all hearts beat, her beauty to behold;
 But mute she comes and cold,
 Borne on a bier, apparelled in a shroud,
 Daisies about her sprinkled; and now bowed
 Is her lord`s head; and hushing upon all
 Thoughts of sorrow fall,
 As the snow softly, without any word;
 And every breast is stirred
 With wonder in its weeping;
 For by her sleeping side,
 In that long sleep no morning shall divide,
 Is Tristram sleeping;
 Tristram who wept farewell, and fled, and swore
 That he would clasp his dear love never more,
 And sailed far over sea
 Far from his bliss and shame,
 And dreamed to die at peace in Brittany
 And to uncloud at last the glory of his name.
 Yet lo, with fingers clasping both are come,
 Come again home
 In all men`s sight, as when of old they came,
 And Tristram led Isoult, another`s bride,
 True to his vow, but to his heart untrue,
 And silver trumpets blew
 To greet them stepping o`er the flower--strewn floor,
 And King Mark smiled upon them, and men cried
 On Tristram`s name anew,
 Tristram, the king`s strong champion and great pride.

 Silently gazing long
 On them that wrought him wrong,
 Still stands the stricken king, and to his eyes
 Such tears as old men weep, yet shed not, rise:
 Lifting his head at last, as from a trance, he sighs.
 ``Beautiful ever, O Isoult, wast thou,
 And beautiful art thou now,
 Though never again shall I, reproaching thee,
 Make thy proud head more beautiful to me;
 But this is the last reproach, and this the last
 Forgiveness that thou hast.
 Lost is the lost, Isoult, and past the past!
 O Tristram, no more shalt thou need to hide
 Thy thought from my thought, sitting at my side,
 Nor need to wrestle sore
 With thy great love and with thy fixèd oath,
 For now Death leaves thee loyal unto both,
 Even as thou wouldst have been, for evermore.
 Now, after all thy pain, thy brow looks glad;
 But I lack all things that I ever had,
 My wife, my friend, yea, even my jealous rage;
 And empty is the house of my old age.
 Behold, I have laboured all my days to part
 These two, that were the dearest to my heart.
 Isoult, I would have fenced thee from men`s sight,
 My treasure, that I found so very fair,
 The treasure I had taken with a snare:
 To keep thee mine, this was my life`s delight.
 And now the end is come, alone I stand,
 And the hand that lies in thine is not my hand.``
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