Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.
Alfred Tennyson, Lord Tennyson. 18091892700. The Lady of Shalott
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 island of Shalott. | |
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 isle imbowers | |
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.’ | |
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. | |
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. | |
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.’ |