hip!...
I see it nearing from the north!"--"Did I not know it?" Tristan
exults like a child. "Did I not say so? Did I not say she lived
and knit me still to life? From the world which for me contains
her only, how should Isolde have departed?" His joy is new life
poured into him; his agitation this time produces no exhaustion,
he has strength for the moment to squander. "Hahei! Hahei!" shouts
Kurwenal from his post, "How boldly it steers, how the sails strain
in the wind! How it chases, how it flies!"--"The pennant?... The
pennant?" Tristan holds his breath for the answer. "The bright
pennant of joy floats gaily from the topmast!"--"Cheer! The pennant
of joy!... In the bright light of day, Isolde coming to me! To
me, Isolde!... Do you see her self?"--"The ship has disappeared
behind the reef..." Tristan's joy drops like a shot bird. One seems
to feel his heart stop. "The reef?..." he asks trembling, "Is there
danger in it?... That is where the surf rages, the ships founder....
Who is at the helm?"--"The safest of sea-men."--"Could he betray
me? Might he be a confederate of Melot's?"--"Trust him as you would
myself!"--"But you, wretch, are a traitor too!... Do you see her
again?"--"Not yet!"--"Lost!" wails Tristan--but at Kurwenal's shout
in a moment more that the ship has cleared the rocks and is sailing
up the safe channel into port, springs again to the peaks of joy
and promises Kurwenal the bequest of all his worldly goods. And now
Kurwenal from his outlook communicates that he sees Isolde,--she
is waving,--the keel is in the harbour,--Isolde has sprung ashore.
"Down!" Tristan orders wildly, "Down to the shore! Assist her!
Assist my lady!"--"I will bring her up here in my arms--trust to
them! But you, Tristan," the poor nurse stops on his hurried way
down to enjoin, "stay reliably on the bed!"

Tristan, left alone, falls to tossing and writhing with impatience.
His burning fever is confused to his sense with the heat of the
sun, and this day of joy he calls the sunniest of all days. This
tumult of the blood, this julibant urge to action, this immeasurable
delight, this frenzy of joy, how, how to endure them prostrate
upon the couch? Up, bravely up and away, where hearts are alive
and throbbing! We can see his fever again working itself toward
delirium. It reaches this time complete madness. With the proud
cry: "Tristan, the hero, in jubilant strength has raised himself
up from death!" he in fact lifts himself sudde