Robert Laurence Binyon - Tristram's End lyrics

I Tristram lies sick to d**h; 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 pa**ionate 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 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 d**h, pale, pale as now thou wert: Yet was thy strength restored. Have I forgot my sk**? This wound shall yet be healed. Love shall be master still, And d**h 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 are 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 d**h 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 has 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 d**h. 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 k**ed 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 to 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 wa**ail, 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 d**h 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."