III

ISEULT OF BRITTANY deg.

A year had flown, and o’er the sea away,
In Cornwall, Tristram and Queen Iseult lay;
In King Marc’s chapel, in Tyntagel old—­
There in a ship they bore those lovers cold.

The young surviving Iseult, one bright day, 5
Had wander’d forth.  Her children were at play
In a green circular hollow in the heath
Which borders the sea-shore—­a country path
Creeps over it from the till’d fields behind. 
The hollow’s grassy banks are soft-inclined, 10
And to one standing on them, far and near
The lone unbroken view spreads bright and clear
Over the waste.  This cirque deg. of open ground deg.13
Is light and green; the heather, which all round
Creeps thickly, grows not here; but the pale grass 15
Is strewn with rocks, and many a shiver’d mass
Of vein’d white-gleaming quartz, and here and there
Dotted with holly-trees and juniper. deg. deg.18
In the smooth centre of the opening stood
Three hollies side by side, and made a screen, 20
Warm with the winter-sun, of burnish’d green
With scarlet berries gemm’d, the fell-fare’s deg. food. deg.22
Under the glittering hollies Iseult stands,
Watching her children play; their little hands
Are busy gathering spars of quartz, and streams 25
Of stagshorn deg. for their hats; anon, with screams deg.26
Of mad delight they drop their spoils, and bound
Among the holly-clumps and broken ground,
Racing full speed, and startling in their rush
The fell-fares and the speckled missel-thrush 30
Out of their glossy coverts;—­but when now
Their cheeks were flush’d, and over each hot brow,
Under the feather’d hats of the sweet pair,
In blinding masses shower’d the golden hair—­
Then Iseult call’d them to her, and the three 35
Cluster’d under the holly-screen, and she
Told them an old-world Breton history. deg. deg.37

Warm in their mantles wrapt the three stood there,
Under the hollies, in the clear still air—­
Mantles with those rich furs deep glistering 40
Which Venice ships do from swart Egypt bring. 
Long they stay’d still—­then, pacing at their ease,
Moved up and down under the glossy trees. 
But still, as they pursued their warm dry road,
From Iseult’s lips the unbroken story flow’d, 45
And still the children listen’d, their blue eyes
Fix’d on their mother’s face in wide surprise;
Nor did their looks stray once to the sea-side,
Nor to the brown heaths round them, bright and wide,
Nor to the snow, which, though ’twas all away