One thing only there possessed me: blank, unending, all-oblivion.-- How faded all forebodings!

O wistful goadings!-- Thus I call the thoughts that all t'ward light of day have press'd me.

What only yet doth rest me, the love-pains that possess'd me, from blissful death's affright now drive me toward the light, which, deceitful, bright and golden, round thee, Isolda, shines.

Accursed day with cruel glow!

Must thou ever wake my woe?

Must thy light be burning ever, e'en by night our hearts to sever?

Ah, my fairest, sweetest, rarest!

When wilt thou-- when, ah, when-- let the torchlight dwindle, that so my bliss may kindle?

The light, how long it glows!

When will the house repose?

(_His voice has grown fainter and he sinks back gently, exhausted_.)

KURVENAL (_who has been deeply distressed, now quickly rousts himself from his dejection_).

I once defied, through faith in thee, the one for whom now with thee I'm yearning.

Trust in my words, thou soon shalt see her face to face.

My tongue that comfort giveth,-- if on the earth still she liveth.

TRISTAN (_very feebly_). Yet burns the beacon's spark: yet is the house not dark, Isolda lives and wakes: her voice through darkness breaks.

KURVENAL. Lives she still, then let new hope delight thee.

If foolish and dull you hold me, this day you must not scold me.

As dead lay'st thou since the day when that accursed Melot so foully wounded thee.

Thy wound was heavy: how to heal it?

Thy simple servant there bethought that she who once closed Morold's wound with ease the hurt could heal thee that Melot's sword did deal thee.

I found the best of leeches there, to Cornwall have I sent for her: a trusty serf sails o'er the sea, bringing Isold' to thee.

TRISTAN (_transported_). Isolda comes!

Isolda nears! (_He struggles for words_.) O friendship! high and holy friendship!

(_Draws_ KURVENAL _to him and embraces him_.)

O Kurvenal, thou trusty heart, my truest friend I rank thee!

Howe'er can Tristan thank thee?

My shelter and shield in fight and strife; in weal or woe thou'rt mine for life.

Those whom I hate thou hatest too; those whom I love thou lovest too.

When good King Mark I followed of old, thou wert to him truer than gold.

When I was false to my n.o.ble friend, to betray too thou didst descend.

Thou art selfless, solely mine; thou feel'st for me when I suffer.

But--what I suffer, thou canst not feel for me!

this terrible yearning in my heart, this feverish burning's cruel smart,-- did I but show it, couldst thou but know it, no time here wouldst thou tarry, to watch from tow'r thou wouldst hurry; with all devotion viewing the ocean, with eyes impatiently spying, there, where her ship's sails are flying.

Before the wind she drives to find me; on the wings of love she neareth,-- Isolda hither steereth!-- she nears, she nears, so boldly and fast!

It waves, it waves, the flag from the mast!

Hurra! Hurra!

she reaches the bar!

Dost thou not see?

Kurvenal, dost thou not see?

(_As_ KURNEVAL _hesitates to leave_ TRISTAN, _who is gazing at him in mute expectation, the mournful tune of the shepherd is heard, as before_.)

KURVENAL (_dejectedly_). Still is no ship in sight.

TRISTAN (_has listened with waning excitement and now recommences with growing melancholy_).

Is this the meaning then, thou old pathetic ditty, of all thy sighing sound?-- On evening's breeze it sadly rang when, as a child, my father's death-news chill'd me; through morning's mist it stole more sadly, when the son his mother's fate was taught, when they who gave me breath both felt the hand of death to them came also through their pain the ancient ditty's yearning strain, which asked me once and asks me now which was the fate before me to which my mother bore me?-- What was the fate?-- The strain so plaintive now repeats it:-- for yearning--and dying!

(_He falls back senseless_.)

KURVENAL (_who has been vainly striving to calm_ TRISTAN, _cries out in terror_).

My master! Tristan!-- Frightful enchantment!-- O love's deceit!

O pa.s.sion's pow'r!

Most sweet dream 'neath the sun, see the work thou hast done!-- Here lies he now, the n.o.blest of knights, with his pa.s.sion all others above: behold! what reward his ardor requites; the one sure reward of love!

(_with sobbing voice_.)

Art thou then dead?

Liv'st thou not?

Hast to the curse succ.u.mbed?--

(_He listens for_ TRISTAN'S _breath_.)

O rapture! No!

He still moves! He lives!

and gently his lips are stirr'd.

TRISTAN (_very faintly_). The ship--is't yet in sight?

KURVENAL. The ship? Be sure t'will come to-day: it cannot tarry longer.

TRISTAN. On board Isolda,-- see, she smiles-- with the cup that reconciles.

Dost thou see?

Dost thou see her now?

Full of grace and loving mildness, floating o'er the ocean's wildness?

By billows of flowers lightly lifted, gently toward the land she's drifted.

Her look brings ease and sweet repose; her hand one last relief bestows.

Isolda! Ah, Isolda!

How fair, how sweet art thou!-- And Kurvenal, why!-- what ails thy sight?

Away, and watch for her, foolish I see so well and plainly, let not thine eye seek vainly Dost thou not hear?

Away, with speed!

Haste to the watch-tow'r!

Wilt thou not heed?

The ship, the ship!

Isolda's ship!-- Thou must discern it, must perceive it!

The ship--dost thou see it?--

(_Whilst_ KURVENAL, _still hesitating, opposes_ TRISTAN, _the Shepherd's pipe is heard without, playing a joyous strain_.)

KURVENAL (_springing joyously up_).

O rapture! Transport!

(_He rushes to the watch-tower and looks out_.)