the ocean's wildness?
By billows of flowers
lightly lifted,
gently toward
the land she's drifted.
Her look brings ease
and sweet repose;
her hand one last
relief bestows.
Isolda! Ah, Isolda!
How fair, how sweet art thou!--
And Kurvenal, why!--
what ails thy sight?
Away, and watch for her,
foolish I see so well and plainly,
let not thine eye seek vainly
Dost thou not hear?
Away, with speed!
Haste to the watch-tow'r!
Wilt thou not heed?
The ship, the ship!
Isolda's ship!--
Thou must discern it,
must perceive it!
The ship--dost thou see it?--

(_Whilst_ KURVENAL, _still hesitating, opposes_ TRISTAN,
_the Shepherd's pipe is heard without, playing a joyous strain_.)

KURVENAL (_springing joyously up_).