Chapter V

"And I'm like her who trims a flame
Of sickly color, bowing low
To balk the wind; in wanton game
One stoops in secret toward her brow
With wind-bulged cheeks, a quick breath sends--
And then the world is blind with gloom,
And filled with phantoms and with fiends,
That strain huge eyes and jibe her doom."
Thus thought Isoud in her despair,
Of Launcelot then thoughts grew on,
And Arthur's lovely queen away
In castled courts of Caerleon,
And all their joy and dalliance gay.
Until she could have thawed the spars
Of her clear-fountained eyes to tears,
And gush wild grief long-seared by wars
Of passionate anguish and great fears:
"Oh Tristram gone! oh death in life!"
Soft down below in the thick dark
A fountain throbbed monotonous foam,
Unseen within the starlit park,
Deep in the tower's shadowed dome.
"And thus my heart drums frigid life
In hateful gloom of fear and woe!
One flood of sorrow, cataract-rife,
My full-flush heart streams come and go
Since Tristram's gone and I'm alone!"

VI.

Then sunk the moon, and far away,
Beside the bickering lake, the towers
Of bandit braves shone tall and gray,
Like specters in her lonely hours.
And 'twixt the nodding grove and lake
A glimmering fawn stalked thro' the night;
And with full brow the musks did take,
Then bowed to drink--she veiled her sight
And moaning said, "Death is but life!
The fawn 'mid lilies from the mere
Sucks genial draughts to dull its thirsts;
O fondest spirit, art thou near?
Draw to thy soul this soul that bursts!
The vivid lilies to the stars
Clasp their white eyes and sink to sleep:
O anguish, to thy burning wars
Lock my sad heart and drag it deep!"--
Albeit she slept, she dreamed in grief.

BELTENEBROS AT MIRAFLORES.