By slow horses; and unhail'd Skimming down to Camelot: Only reapers, reaping early Down to tower'd Camelot: PART II. THERE she weaves by night and day To look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be, The Lady of Shalott. And moving thro' a mirror clear Winding down to Camelot: Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, But in her web she still delights 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, A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd The gemmy bridle glitter'd free, As he rode down to Camelot. All in the blue unclouded weather His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd; As he rode down to Camelot. He flash'd into the caystal mirror, Sang Sir Lancelot. The pale yellow woods were waning, Over tower'd Camelot; Down she came and found a boat And down the river's dim expanse - Did she look to Camelot. And at the closing of the day She loosed the chain, and down she lay; Lying, robed in snowy white She floated down to Camelot : Heard a carol, mournful, holy, The Lady of Shalott. Under tower and balcony, Out upon the wharfs they came, Who is this? and what is here? MARIANA IN THE SOUTH. WITH one black shadow at its feet, The house thro' all the level shines, Close-latticed to the brooding heat, And silent in its dusty vines: A faint-blue ridge upon the right, An empty river-bed before, And shallows on a distant shore, In glaring sand and inlets bright. But Ave Mary," made she moan, And Ave Mary," night and morn, And,,Ah," she sang,,,to be all alone, To live forgotten, and love forlorn." She, as her carol sadder grew, From brow and bosom slowly down Her streaming curls of deepest brown And,,Ave Mary," was her moan, "Madonna, sad is night and morn:" And "Ah," she sang,,,to be all alone, To live forgotten and love forlorn." 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,,Ali," she said, but I wake alone, I sleep forgotten, I wake forlorn." Nor bird would sing, nor lamb would bleat, And seem'd knee-deep in mountain grass, She breathed in sleep a lower moan, And murmuring, as at night and morn, She thought,,,My spirit is here alone, Walks forgotten, and is forlorn." Dreaming, she knew it was a dream: She felt he was and was not there. She woke: the babble of the stream Fell, and, without, the steady glare She whisper'd, with a stifled moan More inward than at night or morn, "Sweet Mother, let me not here alone Live forgotten and die forlorn." And, rising, from her bosom drew Old letters, breathing of her worth, O cruel heart," she changed her tone, Is this the end to be left alone, To live forgotten, and die forlorn!" But sometimes in the falling day An image seem'd to pass the door, To look into her eyes and say, But thou shalt be alone no more." And flaming downward over all From heat to heat the day decreased, And slowly rounded to the east The one black shadow from the wall. ,,The day to night," she made her moan, The day to night, "the night to morn, And day and night I am left alone To live forgotten, and love forlorn." At eve a dry cicala sung, There came a sound as of the sea; Backward the lattice-blind she flung, And lean'd upon the balcony. There all in spaces rosy-bright Large Hesper glitter'd on her tears, And deepening thro' the silent spheres, Heaven over heaven rose the night. And weeping then she made her moan, The night comes on that knows not morn, When I shall cease to be all alone, To live forgotten, and love forlorn." ELEANORE. I. THY dark eyes open'd not. Nor first reveal'd themselves to English air, For there is nothing here, Which, from the outward to the inward (brought, Moulded thy baby thought. Far off from human neighbourhood, Thou wert born, on a summer morn, A mile beneath the cedar-wood. Thy bounteous forehead was not fann'd With breezes from our oaken glades, But thou wert nursed in some delicious land Of lavish lights, and floating shades: And flattering thy childish thought The oriental fairy brought, At the moment of thy birth, And shadow'd coves on a sunny shore, That stays upon thee? For in thee To an unheard melody, Which lives about thee, and a sweep V. I stand before thee, Eleanore; I see thy beauty gradually unfold, Daily and hourly, more and more. I muse, as in a trance, the while Slowly, as from a cloud of gold Comes out thy deep ambrosial smile. I muse, as in a trance, whene'er The languors of the love-deep eyes Float on to me. I would I were So tranced, so rapt in ecstacies, To stand apart, and to adore, Gazing on thee for evermore, Serene, imperial Eleänore! VI. Sometimes, with most intensity Thought folded over thought, smiling asleep As tho' a star, in immost heaven set, Should slowly round his orb,and slowly grow And draw itself to what it was before; VII. As thunder-clouds that, hung on high, In thee all passion becomes passionless, Falling into a still delight, And luxury of contemplation: But when I see thee roam, with tresses (unconfined, While the amorous, odorous wind Breathes low between the sunset and (the moon Or, in a shadowy saloon, On silken cushions half-reclined; I watch thy grace; and in its place Thro' my veins to all my frame, From thy rose-red lips MY name I die with my delight, before I hear what I would hear from thee; THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. I SEE the wealthy miller yet, His double chin, his portly size, Three fingers round the old silver cup -- I see his gray eyes twinkle yet At his own jest -gray eyes lit up With summer lightnings of a soul So full of summer warmth, so glad, My own sweet Alice, we must die.. I least should breathe a thought of pain. Would God renew me from my birth I'd almost live my life again. Across the walnuts and the wine Late-left an orphan of the squire, Where this old mansion mounted high Looks down upon the village spire: For even here, where I and you Have lived and loved alone so long, Each morn my sleep was broken thro' By some wild skylark's matin song. And oft I heard the tender dove In firry woodlands making moan; I had no motion of my own. Like those long mosses in the stream. The milldam rushing down with noise, And see the minnows everywhere In crystal eddies glance and poise, The tall flag-flowers when they sprung Below the range of stepping stones, Or those three chestnuts near, that hung In masses thick with milky cones. But, Alice, what an hour was that, When after roving in the woods ('Twas April then), I came and sat Below the chestnuts, when their buds Were glistening to the breezy blue; And on the slope, an absent fool, I cast me down, nor thought of you, From some old corner of the brain. That went and came a thousand times. A glowing arm, a gleaming neck, As when a sunbeam wavers warm Within the dark and dimpled beck. For you remember, you had set, That morning, on the casement-edge A long green box of mignonette, And you were leaning from the ledge: And when I raised my eyes, above They met with two so full and bright Such eyes! I swear to you, my love, That these have never lost their light. I loved, and love dispell'd the fear That I should die an early death: And with the certain step of man. The pool beneath it never still, Made misty with the floating meal. And full at heart of trembling hope, |