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;
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 her 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:
And
by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling
sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening,
whispers " 'Tis the fairy
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
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
hangs 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 surly village-churls,
And
the red cloaks of market girls,
Pass
onward from Shalott.
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 tower'd 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
III
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 mighty
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
look'd 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.
PART
IV
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--
Thro'
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 darken'd wholly,
Turn'd
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."
