ISOLDA.  But when you bade him hither?

BRANGAENA.  When I had straightway bid him come, where’er he stood, he said to me, he truly served but thee, the pearl of womanhood; if he unheeded left the helm how could he pilot the ship in surety to King Mark?

ISOLDA (bitterly). 
“How could he pilot the ship
in surety to King Mark!”
And wait on him with were-gild
from Ireland’s island won!

BRANGAENA. 
As I gave out the message
and in thy very words,
thus spoke his henchman Kurvenal—­

ISOLDA. 
Heard I not ev’ry sentence?
it all has reached my ear. 
If thou hast learnt my disgrace
now hear too whence it has grown. 
    How scoffingly
    they sing about me! 
Quickly could I requite them! 
    What of the boat
    so bare and frail,
that floated by our shore? 
    What of the broken
    stricken man,
feebly extended there? 
    Isolda’s art
    he gladly owned;
    with herbs, simples
    and healing salves
the wounds from which he suffered
she nursed in skilful wise. 
    Though “Tantris”
The name that he took unto him,
    as “Tristan”
anon Isolda knew him,
when in the sick man’s keen blade
she perceived a notch had been made,
    wherein did fit
    a splinter broken
in Morold’s head,
the mangled token
sent home in hatred rare: 
this hand did find it there. 
I heard a voice
from distance dim;
with the sword in hand
I came to him. 
Full well I willed to slay him,
for Morold’s death to pay him. 
But from his sick bed
he looked up
not at the sword,
not at my arm—­
his eyes on mine were fastened,
and his feebleness
softened my heart: 
the sword—­dropped from my fingers. 
Though Morold’s steel had maimed him
to health again I reclaimed him!
when he hath homeward wended
my emotion then might be ended.

BRANGAENA. 
O wondrous!  Why could I not see this? 
The guest I sometime
helped to nurse—?

ISOLDA. 
His praise briskly they sing now:—­
“Bravo, our brave Tristan!”—­
he was that distressful man. 
A thousand protestations
of truth and love he prated. 
Hear how a knight
fealty knows!—­
When as Tantris
unforbidden he’d left me,
as Tristan
boldly back he came,
in stately ship
from which in pride
Ireland’s heiress
in marriage he asked
for Mark, the Cornish monarch,
his kinsman worn and old. 
In Morold’s lifetime
dared any have dreamed
to offer us such an insult? 
For the tax-paying
Cornish prince
to presume to court Ireland’s princess! 
Ah, woe is me! 
I it was
who for myself
did shape this shame!
with death-dealing sword
should I have stabbed him;
weakly it escaped me:—­
now serfdom I have shaped me. 
Curse him, the villain! 
Curse on his head! 
Vengeance!  Death! 
Death for me too!