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PART II

There she weaves by night and day A magic web with colours gay. She has heard a whisper say, A curse is on her if she stay             To look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be, And so she weaveth steadily, And little other care hath she,             The Lady of Shalott. And moving thro’ a mirror clear That hangs before her all the year Shadows of the world appear. There she sees the highway near             Winding down to Camelot: There the river eddy whirls And there the surly village-churls, And the red cloaks of market girls             Pass onward from Shalott. Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, An abbot on an ambling pad, Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad, Or long-hair’d page in crimson clad,             Goes by to tower’d Camelot; And sometimes thro’ the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two: She hath no loyal knight and true,             The Lady of Shalott. But in her web she still delights To weave the mirror’s magic sights, For often thro’ the silent nights A funeral, with plumes and lights             And music, went to Camelot: Or when the moon was overhead, Came two young lovers lately wed. ‘I am half-sick of shadows,’ said             The Lady of Shalott.

PART III

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, He rode between the barley-sheaves, The sun came dazzling thro’ the leaves, And flamed upon the brazen greaves             Of bold Sir Lancelot. A red-cross knight for ever kneel’d To a lady in his shield That sparkled on the yellow field,             Beside remote Shalott. The gemmy bridle glitter’d free, Like to some branch of stars we see Hung in the golden Galaxy. The bridle-bells rang merrily             As he rode down to Camelot: And from his blazon’d baldric slung A mighty silver bugle hung, And as he rode his armour rung,             Beside remote Shalott. All in the blue unclouded weather Thick-jewell’d shone the saddle-leather, The helmet and the helmet-feather Burn’d 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; On burnish’d hooves his war-horse trode; 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, ʽTirra lirra,’ by the river             Sang Sir Lancelot. She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces thro’ the room, She saw the water-lily bloom, She saw the helmet and the plume,             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.