"The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott"
The Lady of Shalott
by Alfred Lord Tennyson
On either side the river lie,
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the world and meet the sky,
And thro' the field the road runs by,
To many-tower'd Camelot.
Up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow,
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.
Willows whiter, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver,
Thro' the wave that runs for ever,
By the island in the river,
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four grey walls and four grey towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle embowers,
The Lady of Shalott.
By the margin willow veil'd
Slide the heavy barges trail'd
By slow horses and unhail'd
The shallop fitteth silken-sail'd
Skimming down to Camelot.
But who hath seen her wave her hand,
Or at the casement seen her stand,
Or is she known is all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?
Only reapers reaping early,
In among the bearded barley,
Hear a song that echos cheerly,
From the river winding clearly,
Down to tower'd Camelot.
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening whispers 'Tis the fairy,
Lady of Shalott.'
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 cures may be,
And So she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.
And moving through 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 the surly village churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls,
Pass onward from Shalott.
Sometime 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 through the mirror blue,
The Knights come riding two by 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 through the silent nights
A funeral with many 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.
A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode beneath 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 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 armor 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 light,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor burning bright,
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 flashed into the crystal mirror,
'Tirra lirra' by the river,
Sang Sir Lancelot.
She left the web she left the loom,
She made three paces through the room,
She law 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 had come upon me' cried,
The Lady of Shalott.
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 the willow left afloat,
And around about the prow she wrote,
The Lady of Shalott.
Down the river's wide 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 falling on her light -
Thro' the noises of the night,
She floated down to Camelot.
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,
'Til her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darkened wholly,
Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.
'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 wharves they came,
Knight and Burgher, Lord and Dame,
And around 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 crossed themselves for fear,
All the Knights at Camelot.
But Lancelot mused a little space,
He said 'She had a lovely face,
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott.'
Well, if you just read that poem and have reached all the way down here you, congratulations! You just read my favourite poem of all time! You deserve a cookie! Here, have one.
Now that you've had your cookie (yum!) let me explain the poem to you. The Lady of Shalott was a character created by Tennyson as a preferred admirer of Sir Lancelot than Queen Guinevere. The Lady of Shalott has been cursed to stay in her tower all her life, seeing the world outside only through a mirror and, if she ever looks outside her window to Camelot, she will die. For most of her time, she in content to weave all she sees in her mirror, only once in the poem saying that she is tired of seeing life this way saying 'I am half sick of shadows'. One day, she sees Sir Lancelot in her mirror, falls in love with him and makes the decision to leave the tower and look to Camelot. The painting below by William Holman Hunt shows his interpretation of this moment.
"Out flew the web and floated wide,
The mirror cracked from side to side,
The curse has come upon me cried,
The Lady of Shalott."
The Lady, now knowing her time is short, leaves her tower and finds a boat moored to a willow tree and gets in before sending it town river towards Camelot. She writes her name around the prow, so that people will know who she is. She sings as she floats along, tiring and eventually lying down as she dies. Eventually, she passes on, a song on her lips. She floats still down river, dead and still, and the people stare and whisper. The Knights of Camelot fear that she may be a spirit or apparition, and look to the Lord for protection, but Sir Lancelot, alone of all the Knights, sees her beauty and prays that she may enter heaven.
I studied this poem in year ten literature, and it was then I fell in love with it, but it wasn't until this year at university that I got to delve a little deeper into it when we studied King Arthur (he was good for something after all). I didn't do one of the Lady of Shalott pictures for my visual analysis (the two I have place here were available for us to use), because I was worried I would have too much to say on the subject and my limit was 500 words. But, on my blog, I don't have a word limit. I am not, however, going to analyse the poem or the paintings, I just wanted to share them with you.
Now, why do I love this poem so much? I think it is the ethereal quality to it. She is described as a fairy by the barley reapers and she must have had some contact with the supernatural in the past for her to have been put in the tower and cursed. There is also a 'What If?' element to the poem because, has she not seen Sir Lancelot ride by, she would have remained in her tower with her weaving and never had to worry about the curse. What if she had never looked to Camelot?
Whatever my reasons, I do so love this poem. Maybe I should share more poetry with you, or maybe not. I don't know, I'll see how I feel next time I blog.
Regards until then,
~ Australian Kiwi
