Another Narrative Poem: The Lady of Shalott
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Author: Britney B.
Released 29 January 2004
As I continue to hear how many of you enjoy the poetry articles, here’s another favorite of mine and some information about its famous author.
The Lady of Shalott
Tate Gallery,London
Photo by John William Waterhouse
"The Lady of Shalott" is one of Alfred Lord Tennyson’s best-loved works and the inspiration behind many Victorian works of art. It is thought to be based on the story of Elaine, a fair maiden who was in love with Sir Lancelot of Arthurian legend. Lancelot was, of course, in love with Arthur’s Queen, Guinevere, so Elaine’s love was unrequited. Legend has it that Elaine was a very beautiful woman who lived alone in a tower on an island in the river that flowed down to Camelot. She was held in her room by a curse that did not allow her to go out or even look out the window. Instead she was only allowed to see what was happening in the outside world through a mirror. She spent her time weaving, using the scenes of Camelot she saw in her mirror as the subject for her tapestries. Undoubtedly she was very sad that she could not be a part of the life she saw outside her window through her mirror. When the handsome knight Sir Lancelot passed by one day she was overwhelmed with love for him and, forgetting the curse, looked out the window to see him directly. When she did the mirror broke and the threads of her tapestry came undone. She went down to the riverside, untied a boat and lay down in it, and as she floated down the river toward Camelot the curse worked it's evil magic and she died. The boat landed on the shore and the people of Camelot came out to see what had occurred. In the crowd was Sir Lancelot.
One of eleven children, Alfred Tennyson was born on 5th August 1809, and began writing poetry when he was eight years old. He was educated at Cambridge where he met his future wife, Emily Sellwood. Emily’s father was against the marriage because his other daughter Louisa was very unhappily married to Alfred’s older brother Charles, who was an opium addict. Therefore, Alfred and Emily suffered many separations, during which times Alfred wrote poetry and traveled extensively, becoming proficient in several languages including Persian and Hebrew. By 1842, he had had some luck in the publication of his poems and found himself quite famous. He and Emily were secretly married and eventually accepted by Emily’s family.
Tennyson was made Poet Laureate to the court of Queen Victoria after the death of William Wordsworth. The Idylls of the King, his epic story of King Arthur and Camelot, was published in 1859. Prince Albert was a great lover of Alfred’s poems and when he died in 1861 the whole work was dedicated to the Prince. Alfred adored being Poet Laureate and during this time Emily presented him with two sons, Hallam and Lionel. In later life Alfred’s eyesight became very bad and Emily acted as his secretary, a job his son Hallam took over in 1874 due to his mother's failing health. Alfred accepted a baronetcy in 1884 and became Lord Tennyson. His poem “Locksley Hall Sixty Years After” was written around that time and is a scathing satire of Victorian England and the horrible conditions of the poor. He died in 1892, apparently of gout, after being ill for some months.
The Lady of Shalott
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,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Thro' the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four gray walls, and four gray 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
By slow horses; and unhail'd
The shallop flitteth 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 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 Camelot:
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers " 'Tis the fairy
Lady of Shalott."
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,
"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 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."
Aramco ExPat, Malcolm Poole, sent us an e-mail saying: "This poem has been put to music by Lorena McKennet on her The Visitor album. I find this format far more enjoyable than the written format. Lorena McKennet has also put the famous The Highwayman poem to music too. It is well worth listening to."