A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd That sparkled on the yellow field, The gemmy bridle glitter'd free, 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 As often thro' the purple night, Below the starry clusters bright, His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd; 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 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, Over tower'd Camelot; Down she came and found a boat Beneath a willow left afloat, And round about the prow she wrote And down the river's dim expanse Like some bold seër in a trance, Did she look to Camelot. And at the closing of the day She loosed the chain and down she lay; Lying, loosely robed in snowy white She floated down to Camelot : And as the boat-head wound along Heard a carol, mournful, holy, Turn'd to tower'd Camelot ; The Lady of Shalott. Under tower and balcony, A gleaming shape she floated by, Out upon the wharfs they came, And round the prow they read her name, Who is this? and what is here? Died the sound of royal cheer; And they cross'd themselves for fear, But Lancelot mused a little space; III.-THE LOTOS-EATERS. OURAGE!" he said, and pointed toward the land, "COURA "This mounting wave will roll us shoreward soon." In the afternoon they came unto a land In which it seemed always afternoon. All round the coast the languid air did swoon, A land of streams! some, like a downward smoke, They saw the gleaming river seaward flow From the inner land: far off, three mountain-tops, Three silent pinnacles of aged snow, Stood sunset-flush'd: and, dew'd with showery drops, Up-clomb the shadowy pine above the woven copse. The charmed sunset linger'd low adown In the red West: thro' mountain clefts the dale A land where all things always seem'd the same! The mild-eyed melancholy Lotos-eaters came. Branches they bore of that enchanted stem, They sat them down upon the yellow sand, CHORIC SONG. I. There is sweet music here that softer falls Than tir'd eyelids upon tir'd eyes; Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies. Here are cool mosses deep, And thro' the moss the ivies creep, And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep, And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep. |