As she known in all the land, The Lady of Shalott? Only reapers, reaping early Down to tower'd Camelot : And by the moon the reaper weary, Piling sheaves in uplands airy, Listening, whispers, ""T is the fairy Lady of Shalott." 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 Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, But in her web she still delights And music, went to Camelot : PART III. A BOW-SHOT from her bower-eaves. A redcross knight forever kneeled The gemmy bridle glitter'd free, Like to some branch of stars we see IN the stormy east-wind straining, Over tower'd Camelot ; And down the river's dim expanse- Did she look to Can.elot. And at the closing of the day Lving, robed in snowy white She floated down to Camelot : Heard a carol, mournful, holy, Under tower and balcony, A gleaming shape she floated by, Out upon the wharfs they came, Who is this? and what is here? The Lady of Shalott." MARIANA IN THE SOUTH. With one black shadow at its feet, The house thro' all the level shines, But "Ave Mary," made she moan, She, as her carol sadder grew, From brow and bosom slowly down Her streaming curls of deepest brown 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, Before Our Lady murmur'd she; Complaining, "Mother, give me grace "Is this the form," she made her moan, 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; Dreaming, she knew it was a dream: She whisper'd, with a stifled moan More inward than at night or morn, "Sweet Mother, let me not here alone 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 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 To live forgotten, and love forlorn." 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 through 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, ELEÄNORE. I. THY dark eyes open'd not, Nor first reveal'd themselves to English air, For there is nothing here, Which, from the outward to the inward brought, Moulded thy baby thought. Far off from human neighborhood, Thou wert born, on a summer morn, With breezes from our oaken glades, But thou wert nursed in some delicious land Of lavish lights, and floating shades: And flattering thy childish thought The oriental fairy brought, At the moment of thy birth, And shadow'd coves on a sunny shore, Is nothing sudden, nothing single: From one censer, in one shrine, To an unheard melody, 5. 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 rapt in ecstasies, 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; In thee all passion becomes passionless, Touch'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: His bow-string slacken'd, languid Love, Leaning his cheek upon his hand, Troops both his wings, regarding thee, And so would languish evermore, Serene, imperial Eleänore. 8. But when I see thee roam, with tresses unconfined, While the amorous, odorous wind Breathes low between the sunset and the moon; Or, in a shadowy saloon, I watch thy grace; and in its place my Thro' veins to all my frame, Dissolvingly and slowly soon From thy rose-red lips My name Floweth; and then, as in a swoon, 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; 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, Three fingers round the old silver cur 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? I least should breathe a thought of pain. 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 mineIt seems in after-dinner talk Across the walnuts and the wine 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 dreamStill hither thither idly sway'd Like those long mosses in the stream. Or from the bridge I lean'd to hear 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, A love-song I had somewhere read, 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, you And there a vision caught my eye; The reflex of a beauteous form, A glowing arm, a gleaming neck, As when a sunbeam wavers warm Within the dark and dimpled beck. For had set, remember, you That morning, on the casement's edge A long green box of mignonette, And you were leaning from the ledge: And when I raised my eyes, above They met with two so full and bright Such eyes! I swear to you, my love, That these have never lost their light. |