Oldalképek
PDF
ePub

PART III.

A BOW-SHOT from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley-sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.

A redcross knight forever kneeled
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 armor rung,

Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather

Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather. The helmet and the helmet-feather Burned 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, Moves over still Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd; [trode; On burnish'd hooves his war-horse From underneath his helmet flow'd His coal-black curls as on he rode,

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 made three paces thro' the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
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,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks com-
plaining,

Heavily the low sky raining

Over tower'd 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-
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.

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
Lalone,
And "Ah," she sang, "to be all
To live forgotten, and love for-
lorn."

morn,

She, as her carol sadder grew,
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 mel. ncholy eyes divine,
The home of woe without a tear.
And "Ave Mary," was her moan,
"Madonna, sad is night and
morn";

And "Ah," she sang, "to be all
alone,
[lorn."

To live forgotten, and love for

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.

"Is this the form," she made her
moan,
[morn?"

"That won his praises night and
And "Ah," she said, "but I wake
alone,
[lorn."

I sleep forgotten, I wake forNor 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 [morn, And murmuring, as at night and She thought, "My spirit is here alone,

moan,

Walks forgotten, and is forlorn." Dreaming, she knew it was a dream: She felt he was and was not there. She woke: the babble of the stream Fell, and without the steady glare Shrank one sick willow sere and small. The river-bed was dusty-white; And all the furnace of the light Struck up against the blinding wall. She whisper'd, with a stifled moan More inward than at night or morn, Jalone "Sweet Mother, let me not here Live forgotten and die forlorn." And, rising, from her bosom drew Old letters breathing of her worth, For "Love," they said, must needs be true,

[ocr errors]

To what is loveliest upon earth." An image seem'd to pass the door, To look at her with slight, and say, "But now thy beauty flows away, So be alone forevermore."

"O cruel heart," she changed her
tone,
[scorn,
"And cruel love, whose end is
Is this the end to be left alone,
To live forgotten, and die for-
lorn!"

[blocks in formation]

A mile beneath the cedar-wood.
Thy bounteous forehead was not fann'd
With breezes from our oaken
glades,

[land

[blocks in formation]

How may full-sail'd verse express,
How may measured words adore
The full-flowing harmony

Of thy swan-like stateliness,
Eleänore?

The luxuriant symmetry

But thou wert nursed in some delicious Of thy floating gracefulness, Of lavish lights,and floating shades:

Eleänore?

[blocks in formation]

I stand before thee, Eleänore;

I see thy beauty gradually unfold, Daily and hourly, more and more. I muse, as in a trance, the while

Slowly, as from a cloud of gold, Comes out thy deep ambrosial smile. I muse, as in a trance, whene'er

The languors of thy love-deep eyes Float on to me. I would I were

So tranced, so wrapt in ecstasies, To stand apart, and to adore, Gazing on thee forevermore, Serene, imperial Eleänore!

6.

[asleep,

Sometimes, with most intensity
Gazing, I seem to see
Thought folded over thought, smiling
Slowly awaken'd, grow so full and
deep
[quite,
In thy large eyes, that, overpower'd
I cannot veil, or droop my sight,
But am as nothing in its light:
As tho' a star, in inmost heaven set,
Ev'n while we gaze on it, [slowly grow
Should slowly round his orb, and
To a full face, there like a sun remain
Fix'd-then as slowly fade again,

And draw itself to what it was be-
fore;

So full, so deep, so slow,

Thought seems to come and go In thy large eyes, imperial Eleä

nore.

7.

As thunder-clouds that, hung on high, Roof'd the world with doubt and

fear, Floating thro' an evening atmosphere, Grow golden all about the sky; less, In thee all passion becomes passionTouch'd by thy spirit's mellowness, Losing his fire and active might In a silent meditation, Falling into a still delight,

And luxury of contemplation: As waves that up a quiet cove

Rolling slide, and lying still

Shadow forth the banks at will:
Or sometimes they swell and move,
Pressing up against the land,
With motions of the outer sea:

And the self-same influence
Controlleth all the soul and

[blocks in formation]

With dinning sound my ears are rife,
My tremulous tongue faltereth,
I lose my color, I lose my breath,
I drink the cup of a costly death,
Brimm'd with delirious draughts of
warmest life.

I die with my delight, before

I hear what I would hear from
thee;

Yet tell my name again to me,
I would be dying evermore,
So dying ever, Eleänore.

THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER.

I SEE the wealthy miller yet,

His double chin, his portly size, And who that knew him could forget The busy wrinkles round his eyes? The slow wise smile that, round about His dusty forehead dryly curl'd, Seem'd half-within and half-without,

And full of dealings with the world?

In yonder chair I see him sit,

[cup; Three fingers round the old silver I see his gray eyes twinkle yet

At his own jest-gray eyes lit up With summer lightnings of a soul

So full of summer warmth, so glad,
So healthy, sound, and clear and whole,
His memory scarce can make me sad.
Yet fill my glass: give me one kiss :

My own sweet Alice, we must die;
There's somewhat in this world amiss
Shall be unriddled by and by.
There's somewhat flows to us in life,
But more is taken quite away.
Pray, Alice, pray, my darling wife,
That we may die the self-same day.

Have I not found a happy earth?

To be the long and listless boy

Late-left an orphan of the squire,
Where this old mansion mounted high
Looks down upon the village spire:
For even here, where I and you

Have lived and loved alone so long,
Each morn my sleep was broken thro'
By some wild skylark's matin song.
And oft I heard the tender dove
In firry woodlands making moan;
But ere I saw your eyes, my love,
I had no motion of my own.
For scarce my life with fancy play'd
Before I dream'd that pleasant
dream-

Still hither, thither idly sway'd

Like those long mosses in the stream.

Or from the bridge I lean'd to hear

The milldam rushing down with noise, And see the minnows everywhere

In crystal eddies glance and poise, The tall flag-flowers when they sprung Below the range of stepping-stones, Or those three chestnuts near, that hung

In masses thick with milky cones.

But, Alice, what an hour was that,

When after roving in the woods ('Twas April then), I came and sat

Below the chestnuts, when their
buds

Were glistening to the breezy blue;
And on the slope, an absent fool,
I cast me down, nor thought of you,
But angled in the higher pool.
A love-song I had somewhere read,
An echo from a measured strain,
Beat time to nothing in my head
From some odd corner of the brain.
It haunted me, the morning long,

I least should breathe a thought of The phantom of a silent song,
pain.

With weary sameness in the rhymes,

Would God renew me from

my birth
I'd almost live my life again.
So sweet it seems with thee to walk,
And once again to woo thee mine--
It seems in after-dinner talk

Across the walnuts and the wine

That went and came a thousand
times.

Then leapt a trout. In lazy mood
I watch'd the little circles die;
They past into the level flood,
And there a vision caught my eye :

« ElőzőTovább »