Iseult (singing).
Brachet of safran and em'rald!
Oh, brachet of purple and gold
Once made by the mighty UrgÁn
In Avalun's wondrous wold.

Oh purple, and safran, and gold,
When cast in the dim of the night,
Have magical power to aid
All lovers in sorrowful plight!

Lord Tristram slew mighty UrgÁn,
Lord Tristram the loving, the true,
And pitying sorrowful lovers
He carried away Peticru.
Lord Tristram, the thoughtful and valiant,
Lord Tristram, the noble and high,
Has sent me this wondrous brachet
Lest weeping and grieving I die.

Lord Tristram, my friend, is unfaithful,
And God's wrath on him shall descend;
Though cruelly he has betrayed me,
My love even death cannot end.

Iseult with her hair of spun gold,
Where rubies and emeralds shine,
When the end of her life is at hand,
Round Tristram some charm can entwine.

—When Tristram too shall die....

[Iseult stands up, extinguishes the light,
and, flooded by her hair, steps to the window.
Brangaene opens a chest from which she takes
robes, combs, a mirror, and several small
boxes. She prepares a small dressing table.]

Iseult.
The light begins to filter through the land;
Behold, the trees with storm-bow'd tips drop down
A thousand drops into the moss below
That seem as many sparks, all cold and bright.

Each day is followed by another one,
And then another day, and after each
Comes night. Thus runs my life's long chain of beads,
All black and white, endless, and all the same.

[She turns and throws off her cloak.]

Give me my new white cloak, and comb my hair,
I pray, Brangaene.—O, it aches!

[Brangaene throws a cloak over her shoulders.
Iseult sits down at the dressing table while
Brangaene combs her hair, dividing it into
strands and throwing it, as she combs it,
over Iseult's shoulder.]

Brangaene.
The comb
Slides like a keel. Its narrow teeth can find
No bottom, neither shore in this blond sea.
I never saw thy hair so full, Iseult,
Nor yet so heavy! See the golden gold.

Iseult.
It aches—!

Brangaene.
And here it's damp as though last night
It secretly had dried full many tears.

Iseult.
I wonder if Lord Tristram spent last night
By his new bride—and if he calls her all
Those sweetest names he made for me.
Perhaps
He sat upon her couch and told her tales
Of me that made them laugh—! I wonder too
If she be fair. Lord Tristram's new-wed bride!—