Page:Tristram of Lyonesse and other poems (IA tristramoflyonesswinrich).pdf/145

 And scrip wherein close memory hoarded yet Things holier held than death might well forget; The last time ere the travel were begun Whose goal is unbeholden of the sun, The last wherewith love's eyes might yet be lit, Came, and they could but dream they knew not it. For Tristram parting from her wist at heart How well she wist they might not choose but part, And he pass forth a pilgrim, when there came A sound of summons in the high king's name For succour toward his vassal Triamour, King in wild Wales, now spoiled of all his power, As Tristram's father ere his fair son's birth, By one the strongest of the sons of earth, Urgan, an iron bulk of giant mould: And Iseult in Tintagel as of old Sat crowned with state and sorrow: for her lord At Arthur's hand required her back restored, And willingly compelled against her will She yielded, saying within her own soul still Some season yet of soft or stormier breath Should haply give her life again or death: For now nor quick nor dead nor bright nor dark Were all her nights and days wherein King Mark Held haggard watch upon her, and his eyes Were cloudier than the gradual wintering skies That closed about the wan wild land and sea. And bitter toward him waxed her heart: but he Was rent in twain betwixt harsh love and hate With pain and passion half compassionate