Tristan and Isolda

which of joy and woe are wove?

she worketh hate into love.

The work of death

I took into my own hands;

Love's goddess saw

and gave her good commands

The death-condemned

she claimed as her prey,

planning our fate

in her own way.

How she may bend it,

how she may end it,

what she may make me,

wheresoe'er take me,

still hers am I solely;-

so let me obey her wholly.

BRANGAENA. And if by the artful

love-potion's lures

thy light of reason is ravished,

if thou art reckless

when I would warn thee,

this once, oh, wait

and weigh my pleading!

I implore, leave it alight!-

The torch! the torch!

O put it not out this night!

ISOLDA. She who causes thus

my bosom's throes,

whose eager fire

within me glows,

whose light upon

my spirit flows,

Love's goddess needs

that night should close;

that brightly she may reign

and shun the torchlight vain.

(She goes up to the door and takes down the torch.)

Go watch without-

keep wary guard!

The signal!-

and were it my spirit's spark,

smiling

I'd destroy it and hail the dark!

[She throws the torch to the ground where it slowly dies out.

BRANGAENA turns away, disturbed, and mounts an outer flight of steps

leading to the roof, where she slowly disappears. ISOLDA listens and

peers, at first shyly, towards an avenue. Urged, by rising impatience,

she then approaches the avenue and looks more boldly. She signs with

her handkerchief, first slightly, then more plainly, waving it quicker

as her impatience increases. A gesture of sudden delight shows that

she has perceived her lover in the distance. She stretches herself

higher and higher, and then, to look better over the intervening

space, hastens back to the steps, from the top of which she signals

again to the on-comer. As he enters, she springs to meet him.]

SCENE II.

TRISTAN (rushing in). Isolda! Beloved!

ISOLDA. Tristan! Beloved one!

(Passionate embrace, with which they come down to the front.)

BOTH. Art thou mine?

Do I behold thee?

Do I embrace thee?

Can I believe it?

At last! At last!

Here on my breast!

Do I then clasp thee!

Is it thy own self?

Are these thine eyes?

These thy lips?

Here thy hand?

Here thy heart?

Is't I?-Is't thou,

held in my arms?

Am I not duped?

Is it no dream?

O rapture of spirit!

O sweetest, highest,

fairest, strongest,

holiest bliss?

Endless pleasure!

Boundless treasure!

Ne'er to sever!

Never! Never!

Unconceived,

unbelieved,

overpowering

exaltation!

Joy-proclaiming,

bliss-outpouring,

high in heaven,

earth ignoring!

Tristan mine!

Isolda mine!

Tristan!

Isolda!

Mine alone!

Thine alone!

Ever all my own!

TRISTAN. The light! The light!

O but this light,