(laughing unnaturally).
Think'st highly of yon minion?
BRANGÆNA (following her glance).
Whom mean'st thou?
ISOLDA. There, that hero
who from mine eyes
averts his own:
in shrinking shame
my gaze he shuns—
Say, how hold you him?
BRANGÆNA. Mean you Sir Tristan,
lady mine?
Extolled by ev'ry nation,
his happy country's pride,
The hero of creation,—
whose fame so high and wide?
ISOLDA (jeeringly).
In shrinking trepidation
his shame he seeks to hide,
While to the king, his relation,
he brings the corpse-like bride!—
Seems it so senseless
What I say?
Go ask himself,
our gracious host,
dare he approach my side?
No courteous heed
or loyal care
this hero t'wards
his lady turns;
but to meet her his heart is daunted,
this knight so highly vaunted!
Oh! he wots
well the cause!
To the traitor go,
bearing his lady's will!
As my servant bound,
straightway should he approach.
BRANGÆNA. Shall I beseech him
to attend thee?
ISOLDA. Nay, order him:
pray, understand it:—
I, Isolda
do command it!
[At an imperious sign from ISOLDA BRANGÆNA withdraws and timidly walks along the deck towards the stern, past the working sailors. ISOLDA, following her with fixed gaze, sinks back on the couch, where she remains seated during the following, her eyes still turned sternward.]
KURVENAL (observing Brangæna's approach, plucks Tristan by the robe without rising.) Beware, Tristan!
Message from Isolda!