ISOLDA. Have I repulsed thee?
TRISTAN. Fraudulent magic,
framing deceit!
BOTH. Languishing passion,
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 shore which is now seen to be quite near, with castle-crowned cliffs. Tristan and Isolda remain absorbed in mutual contemplation, perceiving nothing that is passing.]
BRANGÆNA (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!