THE LADY OF SHALOTT
PART
I
On
either side the river lie
Long
fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And
thro' the field the road runs by
To many-tower'd
Camelot; 5
And
up and down the people go,
Gazing
where the lilies blow
Round
an island there below,
The
Willows
whiten, aspens quiver, 10
Little
breezes dusk and shiver
Thro'
the wave that runs for ever
By
the island in the river
Flowing down to
Camelot.
Four
gray walls, and four gray towers, 15
Overlook
a space of flowers,
And
the silent
The Lady of Shalott.
By
the margin, willow-veil'd,
Slide
the heavy barges trail'd 20
By
slow horses; and unhail'd
The
shallop flitteth silken-sail'd
Skimming down to Camelot:
But
who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or
at the casement seen her stand? 25
Or
is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?
Only
reapers, reaping early
In
among the bearded barley,
Hear
a song that echoes cheerly 30
From
the river winding clearly,
Down to tower'd
Camelot:
And
by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling
sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening,
whispers ''Tis the fairy 35
Lady of Shalott.'
PART
II
There
she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She
has heard a whisper say,
A
curse is on her if she stay 40
To look down to
Camelot.
She
knows not what the curse may be,
And
so she weaveth steadily,
And
little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott. 45
And
moving thro' a mirror clear
That
hangs before her all the year,
Shadows
of the world appear.
There
she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot: 50
There
the river eddy whirls,
And
there the surly village-churls,
And
the red cloaks of market girls,
Pass onward from Shalott.
Sometimes
a troop of damsels glad, 55
An
abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes
a curly shepherd-lad,
Or
long-hair'd page in crimson clad,
Goes by to tower'd
Camelot;
And
sometimes thro' the mirror blue 60
The
knights come riding two and two:
She
hath no loyal knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.
But
in her web she still delights
To
weave the mirror's magic sights, 65
For
often thro' the silent nights
A
funeral, with plumes and lights,
And music,
went to Camelot:
Or
when the moon was overhead,
Came
two young lovers lately wed; 70
'I
am half sick of shadows,' said
The Lady of Shalott.
PART
III
A
bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He
rode between the barley-sheaves,
The
sun came dazzling thro' the leaves, 75
And
flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A
red-cross knight for ever kneel'd
To
a lady in his shield,
That
sparkled on the yellow field, 80
Beside remote Shalott.
The
gemmy bridle glitter'd free,
Like
to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The
bridle bells rang merrily 85
As he rode down to Camelot:
And
from his blazon'd baldric slung
A
mighty silver bugle hung,
And
as he rode his armour rung,
Beside remote Shalott. 90
All
in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,
The
helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn'd like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to
Camelot. 95
As
often thro' the purple night,
Below
the starry clusters bright,
Some
bearded meteor, trailing light,
Moves over still Shalott.
His
broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd; 100
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
From
underneath his helmet flow'd
His
coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to
Camelot.
From
the bank and from the river 105
He flash'd into the crystal mirror,
'Tirra lirra,' by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.
She
left the web, she left the loom,
She
made three paces thro' the room, 110
She
saw the water-lily bloom,
She
saw the helmet and the plume,
She look'd
down to Camelot.
Out
flew the web and floated wide;
The
mirror crack'd from side to side; 115
'The
curse is come upon me!' cried
The Lady of Shalott.
PART
IV
In
the stormy east-wind straining,
The
pale yellow woods were waning,
The
broad stream in his banks complaining, 120
Heavily
the low sky raining
Over tower'd
Camelot;
Down
she came and found a boat
Beneath
a willow left afloat,
And
round about the prow she wrote 125
The Lady of Shalott.
And
down the river's dim expanse—
Like
some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing
all his own mischance—
With
a glassy countenance 130
Did she look to Camelot.
And
at the closing of the day
She
loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The
broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott. 135
Lying,
robed in snowy white
That
loosely flew to left and right—
The
leaves upon her falling light—
Thro'
the noises of the night
She floated down to Camelot: 140
And
as the boat-head wound along
The
willowy hills and fields among,
They
heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott.
Heard
a carol, mournful, holy, 145
Chanted
loudly, chanted lowly,
Till
her blood was frozen slowly,
And
her eyes were darken'd wholly,
Turn'd to tower'd Camelot;
For
ere she reach'd upon the tide 150
The
first house by the water-side,
Singing
in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.
Under
tower and balcony,
By
garden-wall and gallery, 155
A
gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale
between the houses high,
Silent into
Camelot.
Out
upon the wharfs they came,
Knight
and burgher, lord and dame, 160
And
round the prow they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.
Who
is this? and what is here?
And
in the lighted palace near
Died
the sound of royal cheer; 165
And
they cross'd themselves for fear,
All the knights at Camelot:
But
Lancelot mused a little space;
He
said, 'She has a lovely face;
God
in His mercy lend her grace, 170
The Lady of
Shalott.'
Lord Alfred Tensión. The Lady of Shalott. 1833.
Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The