Lying, robed in snowy white That loosely flew to left and right The leaves upon her falling light- She floated down to Camelot : And as the boat-head wound along 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 Singing in her song she died, Under tower and balcony, By garden-wall and gallery, A gleaming shape she floated by, A corse 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; MARIANA IN THE SOUTH. I. WITH One black shadow at its feet, The house thro' all the level shines, And shallows on a distant shore, In glaring sand and inlets bright. But "Ave Mary," made she moan, To live forgotten, and love forlorn." II. She, as her carol sadder grew, From brow and bosom slowly down Her streaming curls of deepest brown Her melancholy eyes divine, The home of woe without a tear. And " Ave Mary," was her moan, 66 Madonna, sad is night and morn ;" And "Ah," she sang, "to be all alone, To live forgotten, and love forlorn.” III. 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 To help me of my weary load." And on the liquid mirror glow'd The clear perfection of her face. "Is this the form," she made her moan, "That won his praises night and morn?' And "Ah," she said, "but I wake alone, I sleep forgotten, I wake forlorn." IV. Nor bird would sing, nor lamb would bleat, Nor cloud would cross the vault, any But day increased from heat to heat, On stony drought and steaming salt; Till now at noon she slept again, And seem'd knee-deep in mountain grass, And runlets babbling down the glen. |