University of Virginia Library

Scene III

Tintagel. The King's Hall; gloaming
A harp is heard; gradually by the uncertain light the faces are discerned
A crowd gathers at the open doorway as Tristan sings
Tristan.
Helen of Troy, Helen of Troy!
And the dead men on the plain;
They wrap them in their winding sheets,
They cover up the slain;
But none may bury the lovely face
That hath wrought men all their pain—
Helen of Troy, Helen of Troy,
We would look on you again!

Mark.
To have you and once more to have your harp,
Tristan, beloved!

Tristan.
Once more to have my harp.

Mark.
You set my heart a-bleeding with your music.
It is my penitence.

Tristan.
No, no, it is the music . . .
I listen to it deeper than you all:
It is the silence that it leaves behind.
[Iseult steals in at the back of the hall, deeply hooded.
(Very softly.)
Helen of Troy, Helen of Troy,
We would look on you again!

Iseult
(low to Melot).
I stole up from my sick-bed to this music;
But music is the enemy of love,
And tears it from its bonds.

Melot
(restraining her).
Atune, atune!

[She vanishes.