Tristram of Lyonesse - IV - The Maiden Marriage

Spring watched her last moon burn and fade with May     While the days deepened toward a bridal day.     And on her snowbright hand the ring was set     While in the maidens ear the songs word yet     Hovered, that hailed as loves own queen by name     Iseult: and in her heart the word was flame;     A pulse of light, a breath of tender fire,     Too dear for doubt, too driftless for desire.     Between her fathers hand and brothers led     From hall to shrine, from shrine to marriage-bed,     She saw not how by hap at home-coming     Fell from her new lords hand a royal ring,     Whereon he looked, and felt the pulse astart     Speak passion in his faith-forsaken heart.     For this was given him of the hand wherein     That hearts pledge lay for ever: so the sin     That should be done if truly he should take     This maid to wife for strange loves faithless sake     Struck all his mounting spirit abashed, and fear     Fell cold for shames sake on his changing cheer.     Yea, shames own fire that burned upon his brow     To bear the brand there of a broken vow     Was frozen again for very fear thereof     That wrung his heart with keener pangs than love.     And all things rose upon him, all things past     Ere last they parted, cloven in twain at last,     Iseult from Tristram, Tristram from the queen;     And how men found them in the wild woods green     Sleeping, but sundered by the sword between,     Dividing breast from amorous breast a span,     But scarce in heart the woman from the man     As far as hope from joy or sleep from truth,     And Mark that saw them held for sacred sooth     These were no fleshly lovers, by that sign     That severed them, still slumbering; so divine     He deemed it: how at waking they beheld     The kings folk round the king, and uncompelled     Were fain to follow and fare among them home     Back to the towers washed round with rolling foam     And storied halls wherethrough sea-music rang:     And how report thereafter swelled and sprang,     A full-mouthed serpent, hissing in mens ears     Word of their loves: and one of all his peers     That most he trusted, being his kinsman born,     A man base-moulded for the stamp of scorn,     Whose heart with hate was keen and cold and dark,     Gave note by midnight whisper to King Mark     Where he might take them sleeping; how ere day     Had seen the grim next morning all away     Fast bound they brought him down a weary way     With forty knights about him, and their chief     That traitor who for trust had given him grief,     To the old hoar chapel, like a strait stone tomb     Sheer on the sea-rocks, there to take his doom:     How, seeing he needs must die, he bade them yet     Bethink them if they durst for shame forget     What deeds for Cornwall had he done, and wrought     For all their sake what rescue, when he fought     Against the fierce foul Irish foe that came     To take of them for tribute in their shame     Three hundred heads of children; whom in fight     His hand redeeming slew Moraunt the knight     That none durst lift his eyes against, not one     Had heart but he, who now had help of none,     To take the battle; whence great shame it were     To knighthood, yea, foul shame on all men there,     To see him die so shamefully: nor durst     One man look up, nor one make answer first,     Save even the very traitor, who defied     And would have slain him naked in his pride,     But he, that saw the sword plucked forth to slay,     Looked on his hands, and wrenched their bonds away,     Haling those twain that he went bound between     Suddenly to him, and kindling in his mien     Shone lion-fashion forth with eyes alight,     And lion-wise leapt on that kinsman knight     And wrung forth of his felon hands with might     The sword that should have slain him weaponless,     And smote him sheer down: then came all the press     All raging in upon him; but he wrought     So well for his deliverance as they fought     That ten strong knights rejoicingly he slew,     And took no wound, nor wearied: then the crew     Waxed greater, and their cry on him; but he     Had won the chapel now above the sea     That chafed right under: then the heart in him     Sprang, seeing the low cliff clear to leap, and swim     Right out by the old blithe way the sea-mew takes     Across the bounding billow-belt that breaks     For ever, but the loud bright chain it makes     To bind the bridal bosom of the land     Time shall unlink not ever, till his hand     Fall by its own last blow dead: thence again     Might he win forth into the green great main     Far on beyond, and there yield up his breath     At least, with Gods will, by no shameful death,     Or haply save himself, and come anew     Some long day later, ere sweet life were through.     And as the sea-gull hovers high, and turns     With eyes wherein the keen heart glittering yearns     Down toward the sweet green sea whereon the broad noon burns,     And suddenly, soul-stricken with delight,     Drops, and the glad wave gladdens, and the light     Sees wing and wave confuse their fluttering white,     So Tristram one brief breathing-space apart     Hung, and gazed down; then with exulting heart     Plunged: and the fleet foam round a joyous head     Flashed, that shot under, and ere a shaft had sped     Rose again radiant, a rejoicing star,     And high along the water-ways afar     Triumphed: and all they deemed he needs must die;     But Gouvernayle his squire, that watched hard by,     Sought where perchance a man might win ashore,     Striving, with strong limbs labouring long and sore,     And there abode an hour: till as from fight     Crowned with hard conquest won by mastering might,     Hardly, but happier for the imperious toil,     Swam the knight in forth of the close waves coil,     Sea-satiate, bruised with buffets of the brine,     Laughing, and flushed as one afire with wine:     All this came hard upon him in a breath;     And how he marvelled in his heart that death     Should be no bitterer than it seemed to be     There, in the strenuous impulse of the sea     Borne as to battle deathward: and at last     How all his after seasons overpast     Had brought him darkling to this dark sweet hour,     Where his foot faltered nigh the bridal bower.     And harder seemed the passage now to pass,     Though smoother-seeming than the still seas glass,     More fit for very manhoods heart to fear,     Than all straits past of peril. Hardly here     Might aught of all things hearten him save one,     Faith: and as mens eyes quail before the sun     So quailed his heart before the star whose light     Put out the torches of his bridal night,     So quailed and shrank with sense of faiths keen star     That burned as fire beheld by night afar     Deep in the darkness of his dreams; for all     The bride-house now seemed hung with heavier pall     Than clothes the house of mourning. Yet at last,     Soul-sick with trembling at the heart, he passed     Into the sweet light of the maiden bower     Where lay the lonely lily-featured flower     That, lying within his hand to gather, yet     Might not be gathered of it. Fierce regret     And bitter loyalty strove hard at strife     With amorous pity toward the tender wife     That wife indeed might never be, to wear     The very crown of wedlock; never bear     Children, to watch and worship her white hair     When time should change, with hand more soft than snow,     The fashion of its glory; never know     The loveliness of laughing love that lives     On little lips of children: all that gives     Glory and grace and reverence and delight     To wedded woman by her bridal right,     All praise and pride that flowers too fair to fall,     Love that should give had stripped her of them all     And left her bare for ever. So his thought     Consumed him, as a fire within that wrought     Visibly, ravening till its wrath were spent:     So pale he stood, so bowed and passion-rent,     Before the blithe-faced bride-folk, ere he went     Within the chamber, heavy-eyed: and there     Gleamed the white hands and glowed the glimmering hair     That might but move his memory more of one more fair,     More fair than all this beauty: but in sooth     So fair she too shone in her flower of youth     That scarcely might mans heart hold fast its truth,     Though strong, who gazed upon her: for her eyes     Were emerald-soft as evening-coloured skies,     And a smile in them like the light therein     Slept, or shone out in joy that knew not sin,     Clear as a childs own laughter: and her mouth,     Albeit no rose full-hearted from the south     And passion-coloured for the perfect kiss     That signs the soul for love and stamps it his,     Was soft and bright as any bud new-blown;     And through her cheek the gentler lifebloom shone     Of mild wild roses nigh the northward sea.     So in her bride-bed lay the bride: and he     Drew nigh, and all the high sad heart in him     Yearned on her, seeing the twilight meek and dim     Through all the soft alcove tremblingly lit     With hovering silver, as a heart in it     Beating, that burned from one deep lamp above,     Fainter than fire of torches, as the love     Within him fainter than a bridegrooms fire,     No marriage-torch red with the hearts desire,     But silver-soft, a flameless light that glowed     Starlike along nights dark and starry road     Wherein his soul was traveller. And he sighed,     Seeing, and with eyes set sadly toward his bride     Laid him down by her, and spake not: but within     His heart spake, saying how sore should be the sin     To break toward her, that of all womankind     Was faithfullest, faith plighted, or unbind     The bond first linked between them when they drank     The love-draught: and his quick blood sprang and sank,     Remembering in the pulse of all his veins     That red swift rapture, all its fiery pains     And all its fierier pleasures: and he spake     Aloud, one burning word for loves keen sake     Iseult; and full of love and lovelier fear     A virgin voice gave answerI am here.     And a pang rent his heart at root: but still,     For spirit and flesh were vassals to his will,     Strong faith held mastery on them: and the breath     Felt on his face did not his will to death,     Nor glance nor lute-like voice nor flower-soft touch     Might so prevail upon it overmuch     That constancy might less prevail than they,     For all he looked and loved her as she lay     Smiling; and soft as bird alights on bough     He kissed her maiden mouth and blameless brow,     Once, and again his heart within him sighed:     But all his young bloods yearning toward his bride,     How hard soeer it held his life awake     For passion, and sweet natures unforbidden sake,     And will that strove unwillingly with will it might not break,     Fell silent as a wind abashed, whose breath     Dies out of heaven, suddenly done to death,     When in between them on the dumb dusk air     Floated the bright shade of a face more fair     Than hers that hard beside him shrank and smiled     And wist of all no more than might a child.     So had she all her hearts will, all she would,     For loves sake that sufficed her, glad and good,     All night safe sleeping in her maidenhood.