The Lady of Shalott.

The Lady of Shalott.
271.1

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By the margin, willow valled, S
lide the heavy barges, trailed
By slow horses; and unhalfed
The shallop filtteth sliken satled,
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 towered Camelot.
And by the moon the reapers weary.
Piling sheuves in uplands airy.
Listening, whisper. “Tts the fairy
Lady of Shalott.”

Part II.

There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colors gay:
She has heard a whisper say.
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Cainelot.
And so she weaveth steadilty.
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 through 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 churts,
And the red cloaks of market girls
Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad.
Sometimes curly shepherd lad
Or long haired page in crimson clad
Goes by to towered Camelot:
And sometimes through the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two- She hath no loval knight and true,
The lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirrored magic sights.
For often through 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 bowshot from her bower eaves,
Ho rode between the harley sheaven,
The sun came dazzling through the leaves.
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red cross knight forever kneeled
To a indy in his shield
That sparkled on the yellow field
Beside remote Bhalott.

The gemmy bridic glittered free,
Like to some branch the stars we see
Hung in the golden galaxу, Hung
The bridle bells rang merrily
As he rode down to Camelot.
And from his biazoned baldric slun
A mighty silver hugle hung.
And as he rode his armor rung
Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue, unclosed weather.
Thick Jeweled shone the saddle leather:
The helmet and the helmet feather
Burned like one burning name together.
As he rode down to Camelot.
As often through the purple night.
Below the starry clusters bright.
Some bearded meteor, trailing light,
Moves over still Shalott.

His broad. clear brow in sunlight glowed
On burnished hoofs his war horse trods;
From underneath his helmet flowed
His coal black curls as on he rode
Down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flashed into the crystal mirror;
Tirra lirra. by the river,
Sang Bir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces through 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 cracked from side to side;
The curse is come upon me,” erled
The lady of Shalott.

Part IV.

If the stormy east wing straining
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his hanks complaining,
Heavily the low sky raining
Over towered Camelot.
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath the willow left afloat.
And round about the prow she wrote,
The lady of Shalott.

And down the river’s dim expanse- Like some hold seer in a trance,
Soeing 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:

Under tower and halcopy.
By garden wall and waiter
A gleaming shape she noted by
A corpse between the houses high, Silent into Camelot
Out upon the wharves they came
Knight and burgher, lord and dama.
And round the prow they read her name,
The lady of Shalott

Who in this, and what is here?
And in the lighted palace pear
Died the sound of royal cheer:
And they crowned themselves for foar,
All the knights at Camelot,
But Lancelot inused a little space:
He said. “She has a lovely face:
God lit bie nerey land ber grace,
The lady of Shalott.”