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;
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 redcross
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 seër 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,
A corse
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."
