drives to find me;
on the wings of love she neareth,--
Isolda hither steereth!--
she nears, she nears,
so boldly and fast!
It waves, it waves,
the flag from the mast!
Hurra! Hurra!
she reaches the bar!
Dost thou not see?
Kurvenal, dost thou not see?

(_As_ KURNEVAL _hesitates to leave_ TRISTAN, _who is
gazing at him in mute expectation, the mournful tune of the shepherd
is heard, as before_.)

KURVENAL (_dejectedly_). Still is no ship in sight.

TRISTAN (_has listened with waning excitement and now
recommences with growing melancholy_).
Is this the meaning then,
thou old pathetic ditty,
of all thy sighing sound?--
On evening's breeze
it sadly rang
when, as a child,
my father's death-news chill'd me;
through morning's mist
it stole more sadly,
when the son