Isoude, who charmed him once when storm
Had blown his ship ashore
On Ireland's coast; Isoude, whose form
Bewitched him more and more,
As mem'ry came, his love to flame,
When hope, alas! was o'er:
Isoude, who sailed with him the sea
Across to Cornwall land,
To marry Mark, whose treachery
Did Tristram's faith command
To win her grace for kingly place,
And his own heart withstand.
On sultry deck becalmed they pine;
Careless, their thirst to ease,
A philter—mixt for bridal wine—
Her lip beguiles, and his:
O subtle draught unconscious quaffed!
They drained it to the lees—
Until in Tristram's knightly form
All joy for her seemed blent;
Until her cheek could only warm
Beneath his gaze intent;
Until her heart sought him apart,
Whoever came or went;
Until the potion did beget
An all-enduring spell;
Albeit Cornwall's king now met
And liked her fairness well,
And claimed her hand, while through the land
Rang sound of marriage bell;
Until, as fragrance from a flower,
True love outbrake control,
And dropped its sweetness as a shower
Of pearls, that threadless roll
To find their rest in some near nest;
Her home, Sir Tristram's soul!
And he, though frequent jousts he won;
Though many a valiant deed
Of prowess made his fame outrun
The claim of knightly creed;
Though maidens oft their glances soft
Bestowed in tenderest meed;
Though Brittany upon him prest
A bride, in gratitude
For service done; and though the quest
Of sacred grail subdued
His full heart-beat of smothered heat—
He loved but Queen Isoude!
And now with holy vows all tossed
Of fever's frantic sway—
As mariner whose bark is crossed
Upon a peaceful way
By winds that lure from purpose pure
And well-meant plans bewray—
He bade a trusty servitor
To Cornwall's queen forthwith.
"Take this," he said, "and show to her
How great my languor, sith
This signet's round will not be found
To bear one hurted lith.