song, and as this harper touched the strings of his harp, Tristan who
sat at the King’s feet, spoke thus to him:

“Oh master, that is the first of songs! The Bretons of old wove it
once to chant the loves of Graëlent. And the melody is rare and rare
are the words: master, your voice is subtle: harp us that well.”

But when the Welshman had sung, he answered:

“Boy, what do you know of the craft of music? If the burgesses of
Lyonesse teach their sons harp—play also, and rotes and viols too,
rise, and take this harp and show your skill.”

Then Tristan took the harp and sang so well that the barons softened
as they heard, and King Mark marvelled at the harper from Lyonesse
whither so long ago Rivalen had taken Blanchefleur away.

When the song ended, the King was silent a long space, but he said at
last:

“Son, blessed be the master that taught thee, and blessed be thou of
God: for God loves good singers. Their voices and the voice of the
harp enter the souls of men and wake dear memories and cause them to
forget many a mourning and many a sin. For our joy did you come to
this roof, stay near us a long time, friend.”

And Tristan answered:

“Very willingly will I serve you, sire, as your harper, your huntsman
and your liege.”