ISOLDA. Betrayed e'en here?

I must halve it!--

(_She wrests the cup from his hand_.)

Betrayer, I drink to thee!

[_She drinks, and then throws away the cup. Both, seized with shuddering, gaze with deepest emotion, but immovable demeanor, into one another's eyes, in which the expression of defiance to death fades and melts into the glow of pa.s.sion. Trembling seizes them, they convulsively clutch their hearts and pa.s.s their hands over their brows. Their glances again seek to meet, sink in confusion, and once more turn with growing longing upon one another_.]

ISOLDA (_with trembling voice_). Tristan!

TRISTAN (_overpowered_). Isolda!

ISOLDA (_sinking upon his breast_). Traitor beloved!

TRISTAN. Woman divine!

(_He embraces her with ardor. They remain in a silent embrace_.)

ALL THE MEN (_without_). Hail! Hail!

Hail our monarch!

Hail to Mark, the king!

BRANGaeNA (_who, filled with confusion and horror, has leaned over the side with averted face, now turns to behold the pair locked in their close embrace, and rushes to the front, wringing her hands in despair_). Woe's me! Woe's me!

Endless mis'ry I have wrought instead of death!

Dire the deed of my dull fond heart: it cries aloud to heav'n!

(_They start from their embrace_.)

TRISTAN (_bewildered_). What troubled dream of Tristan's honor?

ISOLDA. What troubled dream Of Isolda's shame?

TRISTAN. Have I then lost thee?

ISOLDA. Have I repulsed thee?

TRISTAN. Fraudulent magic, framing deceit!

BOTH. Languishing pa.s.sion, longing and growing, love ever yearning, loftiest glowing!

Rapture confess'd rides in each breast!

Isolda! Tristan!

Tristan! Isolda!

World, I can shun thee my love is won me!

Thou'rt my thought, all above: highest delight of love!

SCENE VII.

[_The curtains are now drawn wide apart; the whole ship is covered with knights and sailors, who, with shouts of joy, make signs over towards the sh.o.r.e which is now seen to be quite near, with castle-crowned cliffs. Tristan and Isolda remain absorbed in mutual contemplation, perceiving nothing that is pa.s.sing_.]

BRANGaeNA (_to the women, who at her bidding ascend from below_).

Quick--the mantle!

the royal robe!--

(_Rushing between_ TRISTAN _and_ ISOLDA.)

Up, hapless ones!

See where we are!

(_She places the royal mantle on_ ISOLDA, _who notices nothing_.)

ALL THE MEN. Hail! Hail!

Hail our monarch!

Hail to Mark the king!

KURVENAL (_advancing gaily_). Hail, Tristan, knight of good hap!

Behold King Mark approaching, in a bark with brave attendance.

Gladly he stems the tide, coming to seek his bride.

TRISTAN (_looking up in bewilderment_). Who comes?

KURVENAL. The king 'tis.

TRISTAN. What king mean you?

(KURVENAL _points over the side_. TRISTAN _gazes stupefied at the sh.o.r.e_.)

ALL THE MEN (_waving their hats_). Hail to King Mark!

All hail!

ISOLDA (_bewildered_). What is't, Brangaena?

What are those cries?

BRANGaeNA. Isolda--mistress!

Compose thyself!

ISOLDA. Where am I! living?

What was that draught?

BRANGaeNA (_despairingly_). The love-potion!

ISOLDA (_staring with horror at_ TRISTAN). Tristan!

TRISTAN. Isolda!

ISOLDA. Must I live, then?

(_Falls fainting upon his breast_.)