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
Praisèd 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 lovèd 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 seemèd 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 praisèd 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, painèd 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,
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.
Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Algernon Charles Swinburne (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series) Page 153
