Part One
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding -- Riding -- Riding
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.
He's a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doeskin:
They fitted with never a wringkel his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred:
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
And dark in the dark in the old inn-yard a stable wicket creaked
Where Tim, the ostler, listened; his face was white and peaked,
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like modly hay;
But he loved the landlord's daughter.
The landlord's red-lipped daughter;
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say--
"One kiss, my bonny sweatheart, I'm after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light.
Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by the moonlight,
Watch for me by the moonlight:
I'll come to thee by the moonlight, though Hell should bar the way."
He rose upright in the stirrups, he scarce could reach her hand;
But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlihgt,
(Oh, sweet black waves in the moonlight)
Then he tugged at his reins in the moonlight, and galloped away to the West.
Part Two
He did not come inthe dawning; he did not come at noon;
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troup came marching -- Marching -- Marching
King Georges's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.
They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead;
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at the side!
There was death at every window;
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.
They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest:
They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say --Look for me by the moonlight;
Watch for me by the moonlight;
I'll come to thee by the moonlight, though Hell should bar the way!
She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with weat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years;
Till, now on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest!
Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneather her breast,
She would not risk their hearing: she would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight,
Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her Lover's refrain.
Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear --
Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding, Riding, riding!
The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up straight and still
Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her case was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him -- with her death.
He turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, and his face grew gray to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her Love in the moonlight; and died in the darkness there.
Back he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him, and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were he spurs in the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat;
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.
And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding -- Riding -- Riding
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard;
And he taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred:
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.
Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,
Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,
One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne,
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie,
One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,
One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.
Part One
On either side of the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And through the filed the road runs by
To many-towered Camelot;
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,
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,
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
By slow horses; and unhail'd
The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd
Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave lier hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
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
From the river winding clearly,
Down to tower'd Camelot:
Piling sheaves in uplands airy, Listening, whispers "Tis the fairy
Lady of Shalott" Part Two 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 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 And moving thro' a mirror clear
That hands before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear. There she sees the highway near Winding down to Camelot: There the river eddy whirls, And there the curly village-churls, And the red cloaks of market girls,
Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd lad, Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad,
Goes by to towered Camelot; And sometimes thro' the mirror blue 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,
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; "I am half sick of shadows" said
The Lady of Shalott. Part Three A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley-sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
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,
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
As he rode down to Camelot: And from his blazon'd baldric slung
A mightly silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armour rung,
Beside remote Shalott. 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.
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; 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 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, She saw the water-lily bloom, She saw the helmet and the plume,
She looked down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide; The mirror crack'd from side to side; "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, 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 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 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. Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right --
The leaves upon her falling light --
Through the noises of the night She floated down to Camelot: 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,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly, Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darkened wholly,
Turned to tower'd Camelot.
For ere she reach'd upon the tide 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, 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, 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;
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,
The Lady of Shalott."
Back Main