nd 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. 10
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-- 15
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. 20

_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! 25
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; 30
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 35
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! 40

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-- 45
That was bliss to make my sorrows flee!
Silken courtiers whispering honied nothings deg.--
Those were friends to make me false to thee!

Ah, on which, if both our lots were balanced,
Was indeed the heaviest burden thrown-- 50
Thee, a pining exile in thy forest,
Me, a smiling queen upon my throne?

Vain and strange debate, wh