Lying, robed in snowy white

That loosely flew to left and right-
The leaves upon her falling light-
Thro' 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 song, The Lady of Shalott.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy,

Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,

Till her blood was frozen slowly,

And her eyes were darken'd wholly,

Turn'd to tower'd Camelot ;

For ere she reach'd 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 lighted palace near

Died the sound of royal cheer;

And they cross'd 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."

MARIANA IN THE SOUTH.

I.

WITH One black shadow at its feet,

The house thro' all the level shines,
Close-latticed to the brooding heat,
And silent in its dusty vines :
A faint-blue ridge upon the right,
An empty river-bed before,

And shallows on a distant shore,

In glaring sand and inlets bright.

But Ave Mary," made she moan,
And Ave Mary," night and morn,
And "Ah," she sang, "to be all alone,

To live forgotten, and love forlorn."

From brow and bosom slowly down

Thro' rosy taper fingers drew

Her streaming curls of deepest brown

To left and right, and made appear,

Still-lighted in a secret shrine,

Her melancholy eyes divine,

The home of woe without a tear.

And Ave Mary," was her moan,

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Madonna, sad is night and morn ;'

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And "Ah,' she sang, "to be all alone,

To live forgotten, and love forlorn."

III.

Till all the crimson changed, and past
Into deep orange o'er the sea,

Low on her knees herself she cast,

Before Our Lady murmur'd she ; Complaining," Mother, give me grace To help me of my weary load."

And on the liquid mirror glow'd The clear perfection of her face.

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Is this the form," she made her moan, “That won his praises night and morn?” And " Ah," she said, "but I wake alone, I sleep forgotten, I wake forlorn."

IV.

Nor bird would sing, nor lamb would bleat,
Nor any cloud would cross the vault,

But day increased from heat to heat,
On stony drought and steaming salt;

Till now at noon she slept again,

And seem'd knee-deep in mountain grass,
And heard her native breezes pass,

And runlets babbling down the glen.

She breathed in sleep a lower moan,
And murmuring, as at night and morn,
She thought, "My spirit is here alone,
Walks forgotten, and is forlorn."