PART III. A BOW-SHOT from her bower-eaves, A redcross knight forever kneeled The gemmy bridle glitter'd free, As he rode down to Camelot : 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 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, Heavily the low sky raining Over tower'd Camelot; Down she came and found a boat And down the river's dim expanse- Did she look to Camelot. The broad stream bore her far away, Lying, robed in snowy white 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, Out upon the wharfs they came, name, The Lady of Shalott. Who is this? and what is here? MARIANA IN THE SOUTH. With one black shadow at its feet, morn, She, as her carol sadder grew, Her streaming curls of deepest brown And "Ah," she sang, "to be all To live forgotten, and love for Till all the crimson changed, and past Before Our Lady murmur'd she; "Is this the form," she made her "That won his praises night and 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, 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 A mile beneath the cedar-wood. [land How may full-sail'd verse express, Of thy swan-like stateliness, The luxuriant symmetry But thou wert nursed in some delicious Of thy floating gracefulness, Of lavish lights,and floating shades: Eleänore? 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 And draw itself to what it was be- 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: And the self-same influence With dinning sound my ears are rife, I die with my delight, before I hear what I would hear from Yet tell my name again to me, 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, My own sweet Alice, we must die; Have I not found a happy earth? To be the long and listless boy Late-left an orphan of the squire, Have lived and loved alone so long, 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 Were glistening to the breezy blue; I least should breathe a thought of The phantom of a silent song, With weary sameness in the rhymes, Would God renew me from my birth Across the walnuts and the wine That went and came a thousand Then leapt a trout. In lazy mood |