Clear Love would pierce and cleave, if | And over his left shoulder laugh'd at Fresh-water springs come up through | And all at once a pleasant truth I learn'd, By slow horses; and unhail'd Skimming down to Camelot : Only reapers, reaping early Down to tower'd Camelot : PART II. THERE she weaves by night and day To look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be, The Lady of Shalott. And moving thro' a mirror clear Winding down to Camelot : Pass onward from Shalott. Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, Goes by to tower'd Camelot ; But in her web she still delights For often thro' the silent nights And music, went to Camelot : PART III. A BOW-SHOT from her bower-eaves, The gemmy bridle glitter'd free, As he rode down to Camelot : All in the blue unclouded weather His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd; As he rode down to Camelot. Sang Sir Lancelot. She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces thro' the room, She saw the water-lily bloom, Out flew the web and floated wide; PART IV. IN the stormy east-wind straining, Heavily the low sky raining Over tower'd Camelot ; Down she came and found a boat The Lady of Shalott. And down the river's dim expanse Did she look to Camelot. She loosed the chain, and down she lay; 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, The Lady of Shalott. Under tower and balcony, Out upon the wharfs they came, Who is this? and what is here? MARIANA IN THE SOUTH. WITH one black shadow at its feet, 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.' 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 melancholy 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, To live forgotten, and love forlorn.' Till all the crimson changed, and past Into deep orange o'er the sea, Low on her knees herself she cast, 'Is this the form,' she made her 'That won his praises night and morn?' And 'Ah,' she said, but I wake alone, I sleep forgotten, I wake forlorn.' 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, She breathed in sleep a lower moan, 'Ocruel heart,' she changed her tone, 'And cruel love, whose end is scorn, Is this the end to be left alone, To live forgotten, and die forlorn?' But sometimes in the falling day An image seem'd to pass the door, To look into her eyes and say, 'But thou shalt be alone no more.' And flaming downward over all From heat to heat the day decreased, And slowly rounded to the east The one black shadow from the wall. 'The day to night,' she made her moan, 'The day to night, the night to morn, And day and night I am left alone At eve a dry cicala sung, There came a sound as of the sea; Backward the lattice-blind she flung, And lean'd upon the balcony. There all in spaces rosy-bright Large Hesper glitter'd on her tears, And deepening thro' the silent spheres Heaven over Heaven rose the night. And weeping then she made her moan, 'The night comes on that knows not morn, When I shall cease to be all alone, THE TWO VOICES. A STILL small voice spake unto me, 'Thou art so full of misery, Were it not better not to be?' Then to the still small voice I said; 'Let me not cast in endless shade What is so wonderfully made.' To which the voice did urge reply; 'To-day I saw the dragon-fly Come from the wells where he did lic. 'An inner impulse rent the veil Of his old husk from head to tail Came out clear plates of sapphire mail. |