in! 275

_Tristram_. All round the forest sweeps off, black in shade,
But it is moonlight in the open glade;
And in the bottom of the glade shine clear
The forest-chapel and the fountain near.
--I think, I have a fever in my blood; 280
Come, let me leave the shadow of this wood,
Ride down, and bathe my hot brow in the flood.
--Mild shines the cold spring in the moon's clear light;
God! 'tis _her_ face plays in the waters bright.
"Fair love," she says, "canst thou forget so soon, 285
At this soft hour under this sweet moon?"--
Iseult!...

* * * * *

Ah, poor soul! if this be so,
Only death can balm thy woe.
The solitudes of the green wood 290
Had no medicine for thy mood;
The rushing battle clear'd thy blood
As little as did solitude.
--Ah! his eyelids slowly break
Their hot seals, and let him wake; 295
What new change shall we now see?
A happier? Worse it cannot be.

_Tristram_. Is my page here? Come, turn me to the fire!
Upon the window-panes the moon shines bright;
The wind is down--but she'll not come to-night. 300
Ah no! she is asleep in Cornwall now,
Far hence; her dreams are fair--smooth is her brow
Of me she recks not, deg. nor my vain desire. deg.303

--I have had dreams, I have had dreams, my page,
Would take a score years from a strong man's age; 305
And with a blood like mine, will leave, I fear,
Scant leisure for a second messenger.

--My princess, art thou there? Sweet, do not wait!
To bed, and sleep! my fever is gone by;
To-night my page shall keep me company. 310
Where do the children sleep? kiss them for me!
Poor child, thou art almost as pale as I;
This comes of nursing long and watching late.
To bed--good night! deg. deg.314

* * * * *

She left the gleam-lit fireplace, 315
She came to the bed-side;
She took his hands in hers--her tears
Down on his wasted fingers rain'd.
She raised her eyes upon his face--
Not with a look of wounded pride, 320
A look as if the heart complained--
Her look was like a sad embrace;
The gaze of