ISOLDA on a couch, her face buried in the cushions.— BRANGÆNA holding open a curtain, looks over the side of the vessel.
THE VOICE OF A YOUNG SAILOR (from above as if at the mast-head).
ISOLDA (starting up suddenly).
What wight dares insult me?
(She looks round in agitation.)
Brangæna, ho!
Say, where sail we?
BRANGÆNA (at the opening).
Bluish stripes
are stretching along the west:
swiftly sails
the ship to shore;
if restful the sea by eve
we shall readily set foot on land.
ISOLDA. What land?
BRANGÆNA. Cornwall's verdant strand.
ISOLDA. Never more!
To-day nor to-morrow!