they carried you to the shore.
Now you are at home once more;
your own the land,
your native land;
all loved things now are near you,
unchanged the sun doth cheer you.
The wounds from which you languish
here all shall end their anguish.
(He presses himself toTRISTAN'S breast.)
TRISTAN. Think'st thou thus!
I know 'tis not so,
but this I cannot tell thee.
Where I awoke
ne'er I was,
but where I wandered
I can indeed not tell thee.
The sun I could not see,
nor country fair, nor people;
but what I saw
I can indeed not tell thee.
It was-
the land from which I once came
and whither I return:
the endless realm
of earthly night.
One thing only
there possessed me:
blank, unending,
all-oblivion.-
How faded all forebodings!
O wistful goadings!-
Thus I call
the thoughts that all
t'ward light of day have press'd me.
What only yet doth rest me,
the love-pains that possess'd me,
from blissful death's affright
now drive me toward the light,
which, deceitful, bright and golden,
round thee, Isolda, shines.
Accursed day
with cruel glow!
Must thou ever
wake my woe?
Must thy light
be burning ever,
e'en by night
our hearts to sever?
Ah, my fairest,
sweetest, rarest!
When wilt thou-
when, ah, when-
let the torchlight dwindle,
that so my bliss may kindle?
The light, how long it glows!
When will the house repose?
(His voice has grown fainter and he sinks back gently,
exhausted.)
KURVENAL (who has been deeply distressed, now quickly rousts
himself from his dejection).
I once defied,
through faith in thee,
the one for whom
now with thee I'm yearning.
Trust in my words,
thou soon shalt see her
face to face.
My tongue that comfort giveth,-
if on the earth still she liveth.
TRISTAN (very feebly). Yet burns the beacon's spark:
yet is the house not dark,
Isolda lives and wakes:
her voice through darkness breaks.
KURVENAL. Lives she still,
then let new hope delight thee.
If foolish and dull you hold me,
this day you must not scold me.
As dead lay'st thou
since the day
when that accursed Melot
so foully wounded thee.
Thy wound was heavy:
how to heal it?
Thy simple servant
there bethought
that she who once
closed Morold's wound
with ease the hurt could heal thee
that Melot's sword did deal thee.
I found the best
of leeches there,
to Cornwall have I
sent for her:
a trusty serf
sails o'er the sea,
bringing Isold' to thee.
TRISTAN (transported). Isolda comes!
Isolda nears! (He struggles for words.)
O friendship! high
and holy friendship!
(DrawsKURVENALto him and embraces him.)
O Kurvenal,
thou trusty heart,
my truest friend I rank thee!
Howe'er can Tristan thank thee?
My shelter and shield
in fight and strife;
in weal or woe
thou'rt mine for life.
Those whom I hate
thou hatest too;
those whom I love
thou lovest too.
When good King Mark
I followed of old,
thou wert to him truer than gold.
When I was false
to my noble friend,
to betray too thou didst descend.
Thou art selfless,
solely mine;
thou feel'st for me
when I suffer.
But-what I suffer,
thou canst not feel for me!
this terrible yearning in my heart,
this feverish burning's
cruel smart,-
did I but show it,
couldst thou but know it,
no time here wouldst thou tarry,
to watch from tow'r thou wouldst hurry;
with all devotion
viewing the ocean,
with eyes impatiently spying,
there, where her ship's sails are flying.
Before the wind she
drives to find me;
on the wings of love she neareth,-
Isolda hither steereth!-
she nears, she nears,
so boldly and fast!
It waves, it waves,
the flag from the mast!
Hurra! Hurra!
she reaches the bar!
Dost thou not see?
Kurvenal, dost thou not see?
(As KURNEVAL hesitates to leaveTRISTAN, who is
gazing at him in mute expectation, the mournful tune of the shepherd
is heard, as before.)
KURVENAL (dejectedly). Still is no ship in sight.
TRISTAN (has listened with waning excitement and now
recommences with growing melancholy).
Is this the meaning then,
thou old pathetic ditty,
of all thy sighing sound?-
On evening's breeze
it sadly rang
when, as a child,
my father's death-news chill'd me;
through morning's mist
it stole more sadly,
when the son
his mother's fate was taught,
when they who gave me breath
both felt the hand of death
to them came also
through their pain
the ancient ditty's
yearning strain,
which asked me once
and asks me now
which was the fate before me
to which my mother bore me?-
What was the fate?-
The strain so plaintive
now repeats it:-
for yearning-and dying!
(He falls back senseless.)
KURVENAL (who has been vainly striving to calmTRISTAN, cries
out in terror).
My master! Tristan!-
Frightful enchantment!-
O love's deceit!
O passion's pow'r!
Most sweet dream 'neath the sun,
see the work thou hast done!-
Here lies he now,
the noblest of knights,
with his passion all others above:
behold! what reward
his ardor requites;
the one sure reward of love!
(with sobbing voice.)
Art thou then dead?
Liv'st thou not?
Hast to the curse succumbed?-
(He listens forTRISTAN'S breath.)
O rapture! No!
He still moves! He lives!
and gently his lips are stirr'd.
TRISTAN (very faintly). The ship-is't yet in sight?
KURVENAL. The ship? Be sure
t'will come to-day:
it cannot tarry longer.
TRISTAN. On board Isolda,-
see, she smiles-
with the cup
that reconciles.
Dost thou see?
Dost thou see her now?
Full of grace
and loving mildness,
floating o'er
the ocean's wildness?
By billows of flowers
lightly lifted,
gently toward
the land she's drifted.
Her look brings ease
and sweet repose;
her hand one last
relief bestows.
Isolda! Ah, Isolda!
How fair, how sweet art thou!-
And Kurvenal, why!-
what ails thy sight?
Away, and watch for her,
foolish I see so well and plainly,
let not thine eye seek vainly
Dost thou not hear?
Away, with speed!