Thus truth was multiplied on truth, the world

Like one great garden show'd,

And thro' the wreaths of floating dark upcurl'd,

Rare sunrise flow'd.

And Freedom rear'd in that august sunrise Her beautiful bold brow,

When rites and forms before his burning eyes

Melted like snow.

There was no blood upon her maiden robes

Sunn'd by those orient skies;

But round about the circles of the globes Of her keen eyes

And in her raiment's hem was traced in flame

WISDOM, a name to shake

All evil dreams of power- - a sacred name. And when she spake,

Her words did gather thunder as they ran, And as the lightning to the thunder Which follows it, riving the spirit of man, Making earth wonder,

So was their meaning to her words. No sword

Of wrath her right arm whirl'd,

But one poor poet's scroll, and with his word

She shook the world.

THE LADY OF SHALOTT

[1832. Revised 1842.]
PART I

natural scene

ON either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And thro' the field the road runs by
To many-tower'd Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,

The island of Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver, scientific
Little breezes dusk and shiver serval
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 imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.

By the margin, willow-veil'd,
Slide the heavy barges trail'd

But who hath seen her wave her
Or at the casement seen her stan
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?

Only reapers, reaping early
In among the bearded barley,
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly,

Down to tower'd Camelo And by the moon the reaper wear Piling sheaves in uplands airy, Listening, whispers 'Tis the fairy Lady of Shalott.'

THERE she weaves by night and d
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 ma
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 g 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 cla Goes by to tower'd Camelo And sometimes thro' the mirror b The knights come riding two and She hath no loyal knight and true,

The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights To weave the mirror's magic sig For often thro' the silent nights A funeral, with plumes and lights, And music, went to Camel

Or when the moon was overhead, Came two young lovers lately wed 'I am half sick of shadows,' sai The Lady of Shalott.

PART III effec

A BOW-SHOT from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley-sheaves
The sun came dazzling thro' the 1
And flamed upon the brazen greav
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for AWAY 111

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,
'Tirra 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.

PART 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 seër 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 :

Naline

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.'

menolig

QENONE

[1832. Revised 1842]

THERE iesa vale in Ida, lovelier
Than all the valleys of Ionian hills.
The swimming vapour slopes athwart the
glen,

Puts forth an arm, and creeps from pine to pine,

And loiters, slowly drawn, On either hand The lawns and meadow-ledges midway down

Hang rich in flowers, and far below them

roars

The long brook falling thro' the clov'n ravine

In cataract after cataract to the sea.
Behind the valley topmost Gargarus
Stands up and takes the morning but in
front

The gorges, opening wide apart, reveal
Troas and Ilion's column'd citadel,
The crown of Troas.

Hither came at noon
Mournful Oenone, wandering forlorn
Of Paris, once her playmate on the hills.
Her cheek had lost the rose, and round
her neck

louch

in power

Only, are likest gods, who have attain'd Rest in a happy place and quiet seats Above the thunder, with undying bliss In knowledge of their own supremacy."

'Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. She ceased, and Paris held the costly fruit Out at arm's-length, so much the thought of power

Flatter'd his spirit; but Pallas where she stood

Somewhat apart, her clear and bared limbs
O'erthwarted with the brazen-headed spear
Upon her pearly shoulder leaning cold,
The while, above, her full and earnest eye
Over her snow-cold breast and angry cheek
Kept watch, waiting decision, made reply.
Pulao Preis moral cre
"Self-reverence, self-knowledge, — self-
control.

These three alone lead life to sovereign

power.

Yet not for power (power of herself Would come uncall'd for), but to live by law,

Acting the law we live by without fear; And, because right is right, to follow right Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence."

'Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. Again she said: "I woo thee not with gifts.

Sequel of guerdon could not alter me
To fairer. Judge thou me by what I am,
So shalt thou find me fairest.

On this craight Jennyon aro pabriskie poimo:

anded Engrans

Yet indeed,

If gazing on divinity disrobed
Thy mortal eyes are frail to judge of fair,
Unbiass'd by self-profit, oh! rest thee sure
That I shall love thee well and cleave to
thee,

So that my vigour, wedded to thy blood,
Shall strike within thy pulses, like a God's,
To push thee forward thro' a life of shocks,
Dangers, and deeds, until endurance grow
Sinew'd with action, and the full-grown
will,

Circled thro' all experiences, pure law,
Commeasure perfect freedom."

'Here she ceased, And Paris ponder'd, and I cried, "O Paris, Give it to Pallas!" but he heard me not, Or hearing would not hear me, woe is me!

'O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. Idalian Aphrodite beautiful,

Fresh as the foam, new-bathed in Paphian wells,

With rosy slender fingers backward drew From her warm brows and bosom her deep hair

Ambrosial, golden round her lucid throat And shoulder: from the violets her light foot

Shone rosy-white, and o'er her rounded form

Between the shadows of the vine-bunches Floated the glowing sunlights, as she moved.

'Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. She with a subtle smile in her mild eyes, The herald of her triumph, drawing nigh Half-whisper'd in his ear, "I promise thee The fairest and most loving wife in Greece,"

She spoke and laugh'd: I shut my sight for fear:

But when I look'd, Paris had raised his arm, onussi

puss And I beheld great Here's angry eyes, As she withdrew into the golden cloud, And I was left alone within the bower; And from that time to this I am alone, And I shall be alone until I die.

'Yet, mother Ida, hearken ere I die. Fairest why fairest wife? am I not fair? My love hath told me so a thousand times. Methinks I must be fair, for yesterday, When I past by, a wild and wanton pard, Eyed like the evening star, with playful tail Crouch'd fawning in the weed. Most loving is she?

Ah me, my mountain shepherd, that my

arms