Thro' the wave that runs for ever By the island in the river Flowing down to Camelot. Four gray walls, and four gray towers, 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 Down to tower'd Camelot : And by the moon the reaper weary, Lady of Shalott." PART II. THERE she weaves by night and day 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, 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 And music, went to Camelot : Or when the moon was overhead, Came two young lovers lately wed; The Lady of Shalott. PART III. A BOW-SHOT from her bower-eaves, 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, His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd; (u burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode ; |