BY ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON
Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-1892): An English poet, who was for more than thirty years poetlaureate. He wrote "The Princess," "Maud," "In Memoriam," "Idylls of the King," several dramatie poems, and many shorter poems.
PART ⅠOn either side the river lie Long fields of barley and of rye,That clothe the wold1 and meet the sky;And through the field the road runs by To many-towered Camelot;And up and down the people go,1 Wold: plain; low hill.
Gazing where the lilies blow Round an island there below,The island of Shalott. Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiverThrough the wave that runs forever By the island in the riverFlowing down to Camelot.
Four gray walls and four gray towers Overlook a space of flowers,And the silent isle embowers The Lady of Shalott.
By the margin, willow-veiled, Slide the heavy barges trailed By slow horses; and unhailedThe shallop1 flitteth silken-sailedSkimming 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,1 Shallop: boat.
Hear a song that echoes cheerly1
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 fairyLady of Shalott."PART ⅡThere 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 stayTo 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 through a mirror clear That hangs before her all the year, Shadows of the world appear. There she sees the highway nearWinding down to Camelot: There the river eddy whirls1 Cheerly: cheerily.
And there the surly village churls1, And the red cloaks of market girls,Pass onward from Shalott. Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, An abbot on an ambling pad2, 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," saidThe Lady of Shalott.
PART Ⅲ
A bowshot from her bower eaves,
1 Churls: rough, ill-bred men; laborers. 2 Pad: an easy-paced horse.
He rode between the barley sheaves,
The sun came dazzling through the leaves And flamed upon the brazen greaves1Of bold Sir Lancelot2.
A red-cross knight3 forever kneeled To a lady in his shield,That sparkled on the yellow field, Beside remote Shalott.
The gemmy4 bridle glittered free, Like to some branch of stars we see Hung in the golden Galaxy5.
The bridle bells rang merrily
As he rode down to Camelot6: