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 shore.)
ALL THE MEN (waving their hats). Hail to King Mark!
All hail!
ISOLDA (bewildered). What is't, Brangæna?
What are those cries?
BRANGÆNA. Isolda—mistress!
Compose thyself!
ISOLDA. Where am I! living?
What was that draught?
BRANGÆNA (despairingly). The love-potion!
ISOLDA (staring with horror at TRISTAN). Tristan!
TRISTAN. Isolda!
ISOLDA. Must I live, then?
(Falls fainting upon his breast.)
BRANGÆNA (to the women). Look to your lady!
TRISTAN. O rapture fraught with cunning!
O fraud with bliss o'er-running!
ALL THE MEN (in a general burst of acclamation).
Hail to King Mark!
Cornwall, hail!
[People have clambered over the ship's side, others have extended a bridge, and the aspect of all indicates the immediate arrival of the expected ones, as the curtain falls.]
ACT II
[A Garden before ISOLDA'S Chamber which lies at one side and is approached by steps. Bright and pleasant summer night. At the open door a burning torch is fixed. Sounds of hunting heard.]
SCENE I
[BRANGÆNA, on the steps leading to the chamber, is watching the retreat of the still audible hunters. She looks anxiously back into the chamber as ISOLDA emerges thence in ardent animation.]
ISOLDA. Yet do you hear?
I lost the sound some time.
BRANGÆNA (listening). Still do they stay:
clearly rings the horns.
ISOLDA (listening). Fear but deludes
thy anxious ear;
by sounds of rustling
leaves thou'rt deceived,
aroused by laughter of winds.
BRANGÆNA. Deceived by wild
desire art thou,
and but hear'st as would thy will:—
I still hear the sound of horns.
ISOLDA (listens). No sound of horns
were so sweet:
yon fountain's soft
murmuring current
moves so quietly hence.
If horns yet brayed,
how could I hear that?
In still night alone
it laughs on mine ear.
My lov'd one hides
in darkness unseen:
wouldst thou hold from my side my dearest?
deeming that horns thou hearest?
BRANGÆNA. Thy lov'd one hid—
oh heed my warning!—
for him a spy waits by night.
Listening oft
I light upon him:
he lays a secret snare.
Of Melot oh beware!
ISOLDA. Mean you Sir Melot?
O, how you mistake!
Is he not Tristan's
trustiest friend?
May my true love not meet me,
with none but Melot he stays.
BRANGÆNA. What moves me to fear him
makes thee his friend then?