Tristan and Isolda. Рихард Вагнер

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!

      TRISTAN (starting). What is't?—Isolda?—

      (He quickly regains his composure as BRANGÆNA approaches and curtsies to him.)

      What would my lady?

      I her liegeman,

      fain will listen

      while her loyal

      woman tells her will.

      BRANGÆNA. My lord, Sir Tristan,

      Dame Isolda

      would have speech

      with you at once.

      TRISTAN. Is she with travel worn?

      The end is near:

      nay, ere the set of sun

      sight we the land.

      All that your mistress commands me,

      trust me, I shall mind.

      BRANGÆNA. That you, Sir Tristan,

      go to her,–

      this is my lady's wish.

      TRISTAN. Where yonder verdant meadows

      in distance dim are mounting,

      waits my sov'reign

      for his mate:

      to lead her to his presence

      I'll wait upon the princess:

      'tis an honor

      all my own.

      BRANGÆNA. My lord, Sir Tristan,

      list to me:

      this one thing

      my lady wills,

      that thou at once attend her,

      there where she waits for thee.

      TRISTAN. In any station

      where I stand

      I truly serve but her,

      the pearl of womanhood.

      If I unheeding

      left the helm,

      how might I pilot her ship

      in surety to King Mark?

      BRANGÆNA. Tristan, my master,

      why mock me thus?

      Seemeth my saying

      obscure to you?

      list to my lady's words:

      thus, look you, she hath spoken:

      "Go order him,

      and understand it,

      I—Isolda—

      do command it."

      KURVENAL (springing up). May I an answer make her?

      TRISTAN. What wouldst thou wish to reply?

      KURVENAL. This should she say

      to Dame Isold':

      "Though Cornwall's crown

      and England's isle

      for Ireland's child he chose,

      his own by choice

      she may not be;

      he brings the king his bride.

      A hero-knight

      Tristan is hight!

      I've said, nor care to measure

      your lady's high displeasure."

      [While TRISTAN seeks to stop him, and the offended BRANGÆNA turns to depart, KURVENAL sings after her at the top of his voice, as she lingeringly withdraws.]

      "Sir Morold toiled

      o'er mighty wave

      the Cornish tax to levy;

      In desert isle

      was dug his grave,

      he died of wounds so heavy.

      His head now hangs

      in Irish lands,

      Sole were-gild won

      at English hands.

      Bravo, our brave Tristan!

      Let his tax take who can!"

      [KURVENAL, driven away by TRISTAN'S chidings, descends into the cabin. BRANGÆNA returns in discomposure to ISOLDA, closing the curtains behind her, while all the men take up the chorus and are heard without.]

      KNIGHTS AND ATTENDANTS.

      "His head now hangs

      in Irish lands,

      sole were-gild won

      at English hands.

      Bravo, our brave Tristan!

      Let his tax