And moving thro' a mirror clear Winding down to Camelot; There the river eddy whirls, Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, But in her web she still delights 298 THE THE FIFTH READER III A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, A red-cross knight for ever kneeled That sparkled on the yellow field, The gemmy bridle glittered free, The bridle bells rang merrily As he rode down to Camelot; All in the blue unclouded weather Burned like one burning flame together, As often thro' the purple night, His broad clear brow in sunlight glowed; Sang Sir Lancelot. She left the web, she left the loom, IV In the stormy east-wind straining, Over towered Camelot; Down she came and found a boat And round about the prow she wrote And down the river's dim expanse Did she look to Camelot. And at the closing of the day She loosed the chain, and down she lay; Lying, robed in snowy white That loosely flew to left and right- She floated down to Camelot; |