ON either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky,
And through the field the roads run 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
Through 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-veiled,
Slide the heavy barges, trailed
By slow horses; and, unhailed,
The shallop flitteth, silken-sailed,
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 reaper weary, Piling sheaves in uplands airy, Listening, whispers, ""Tis the fairy Lady of Shalott."
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
Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad-
Sometimes a 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 loyal knight and true-
The lady of Shalott.
But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's 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.
A bow-shot from her bower-eaves
He rode between the barley-sheaves;
The sun came dazzling through the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneeled
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.
The gemmy bridle glittered 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 blazoned baldric slung,
A mighty silver bugle hung;
And as he rode his armor rung,
Beside remote Shalott.
All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewelled shone the saddle-leather;
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burned like one burning flame 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 hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flowed
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flashed into the crystal mirror:
"Tirra lirra," by the river,
Sang Sir 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!" 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 towered 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 songThe 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 towered Camelot;
For ere she reached, 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 royal palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they crossed 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!"
The attendant SPIRIT, afterwards in the habit of THYRSIS.
First BROTHER.
Second BROTHER.
SABRINA, the Nymph.
THE FIRST SCENE DISCOVERS A WILD WOOD. The attendant SPIRIT descends or enters. BEFORE the starry threshold of Jove's court My mansion is, where those immortal shapes Of bright aerial spirits live insphered In regions mild of calm and serene air, Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot, Which men call earth, and, with low-thoughted
Confined, and pestered in this pinfold here,
Strive to keep up a frail and feverish being,
Unmindful of the crown that virtue gives,
After this mortal change to her true servants,
Amongst the enthroned gods on sainted seats.
Yet some there be that by due steps aspire
To lay their just hands on that golden key
That opes the palace of eternity.
To such my errand is; and, but for such,
I would not soil these pure ambrosial weeds
With the rank vapors of this sin-worn mould.
But to my task: Neptune, besides the sway
Of every salt flood and each ebbing stream,
Took in, by lot 'twixt high and nether Jove,
Imperial rule of all the sea-girt isles,
That like to rich and various gems inlay
The unadorned bosom of the deep;
Which he, to grace his tributary gods,
By course commits to several government,
And gives them leave to wear their sapphire
And wield their little tridents. But this isle,
The greatest and the best of all the main,
He quarters to his blue-haired deities;
And all this tract, that fronts the falling sun,
A noble peer of mickle trust and power
Has in his charge, with tempered awe to guide
An old and haughty nation, proud in arms;
Where his fair offspring, nursed in princely lore,
Are coming to attend their father's state,
And new-intrusted sceptre; but their way
Lies through the perplexed paths of this drear
wood,
The nodding horror of whose shady brows
Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger.
And here their tender age might suffer peril,
But that, by quick command from sovereign Jove,
I was despatched for their defence and guard;
And listen why - for I will tell you now
What never yet was heard in tale or song,
From old or modern bard, in hall or bower.
Bacchus, that first from out the purple grape
Crushed the sweet poison of misused wine,
After the Tuscan mariners transformed,
Coasting the Tyrrhene shore as the winds listed,
On Circe's island fell. Who knows not Circe,
The daughter of the sun, whose charmed cup
Whoever tasted lost his upright shape,
And downward fell into a grovelling swine?
This nymph, that gazed upon his clustering locks,
With ivy-berries wreathed, and his blithe youth,
Had by him, ere he parted thence, a son
Much like his father, but his mother more;
Whom therefore she brought up, and Comus
named;
Who ripe, and frolic of his full-grown age,
Roving the Celtic and Iberian fields,
At last betakes him to this ominous wood,
And, in thick shelter of black shades imbowered,
Excels his mother at her mighty art,
Offering to every weary traveller
His orient liquor in a crystal glass,
To quench the drouth of Phoebus; which as they taste,
(For most do taste through fond intemp❜rate thirst) Soon as the potion works, their human counte
The express resemblance of the gods, is changed
Into some brutish form, of wolf, or bear,
Or ounce, or tiger, hog, or bearded goat-
All other parts remaining as they were;
And they, so perfect is their misery,
Not once perceive their foul disfigurement,
But boast themselves more comely than before;
And all their friends and native home forget,
To roll with pleasure in a sensual sty.
Therefore, when any favored of high Jove
Chances to pass through this adventurous glade,
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