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.

IV

In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining,
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,
Dead-pale 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."

66

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

T

THOMAS THE RHYMER

RUE Thomas lay on Huntlie bank;
A ferlie he spied wi' his e'e;

And there he saw a ladye bright

Come riding down by the Eildon Tree.

Her skirt was o' the grass-green silk,
Her mantle o' the velvet fyne;

At ilka tett o' her horse's mane,
Hung fifty siller bells and nine.

True Thomas he pu'd aff his cap,
And louted low down on his knee:
"Hail to thee, Mary, Queen of Heaven!
For thy peer on earth could never be."

"O no, O no, Thomas," she said,

"That name does not belang to me; I'm but the Queen o' fair Elfland, That am hither come to visit thee.

"Harp and carp, Thomas," she said; Harp and carp along wi' me;

66

And if ye dare to kiss my lips
Sure of your bodie I will be."

"Betide me weal, betide me woe,
That weird shall never daunten me."
Syne he has kissed her rosy lips,
All underneath the Eildon Tree.

"Now ye maun go wi' me," she said,
“True Thomas, ye maun go wi' me;

And ye maun serve me seven years,
Thro' weal or woe as may chance to be."

She's mounted on her milk-white steed,
She's ta'en true Thomas up behind;
And aye, whene'er her bridle rang,
Her steed gaed swifter than the wind.

O they rade on, and farther on,

The steed gaed swifter than the wind;
Until they reach'd a desert wide,
And living land was left behind.

"Light down, light down now, true Thomas,
And lean your head upon my knee;
Abide ye there a little space,

And I will show you ferlies three.

"O see ye not yon narrow road,

So thick beset wi' thorns and briers?
That is the Path of Righteousness,
Though after it but few inquires.

"And see ye not yon braid, braid road,
That lies across the lily leven?
That is the Path of Wickedness,
Though some call it the Road to Heaven.

"And see ye not yon bonny road

That winds about the fernie brae? That is the Road to fair Elfland, Where you and I this night maun gae.

"But, Thomas, ye sall haud your tongue, Whatever ye may hear or see;

For speak ye word in Elflyn-land,

Ye'll ne'er win back to your ain countrie."

O, they rade on, and farther on,

And they waded rivers abune the knee;
And they saw neither sun nor moon,
But they heard the roaring of the sea.

It was mirk, mirk night, there was nae starlight,
They waded thro red blude to the knee;
For a' the blude that's shed on the earth
Rins through the springs o' that countrie.

Syne they came to a garden green,
And she pu'd an apple frae a tree:
"Take this for thy wages, true Thomas;

It will give thee the tongue that can never lee."

"My tongue is my ain," true Thomas he said; "A gudely gift ye wad gie to me! I neither dought to buy or sell

At fair or tryst where I might be.

"I dought neither speak to prince or peer, Nor ask of grace from fair ladye!"

"Now haud thy peace, Thomas," she said, For as I say, so must it be."

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He has gotten a coat of the even cloth,
And a pair o' shoon of the velvet green;
And till seven years were gane and past,
True Thomas on earth was never seen.

Anonymous

LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI

WHAT can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?

The sedge has wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
So haggard and so woe-begone?

The squirrel's granary is full,

And the harvest's done.

I see a lily on thy brow

With anguish moist and fever dew,
And on thy cheeks a fading rose

Fast withereth too.

I met a lady in the meads.

Full beautiful

a faery's child,

Her hair was long, her foot was light,

And her eyes were wild.