Nor care to sit beside her where she sits- X. IF I were loved, as I desire to be, What is there in the great sphere of the earth, And range of evil between death and birth, That I should fear,—if I were loved by thee? All the inner, all the outer world of pain Clear Love would pierce and cleave, if thou wert mine, As I have heard that, somewhere in the main, Fresh-water springs come up through bitter brine. 'Twere joy, not fear, claspt hand-in-hand with thee, To wait for death-mute-careless of all ills, Apart upon a mountain, tho' the surge Of some new deluge from a thousand hills Flung leagues of roaring foam into the gorge Below us, as far on as eye could see. XI. THE BRIDESMAID. O BRIDESMAID, ere the happy knot was tied, Thine eyes so wept that they could hardly see; Thy sister smiled and said, 'No tears for me! A happy bridesmaid makes a happy bride.' And then, the couple standing side by side, Love lighted down between them full of glee, And over his left shoulder laugh'd at thee, O happy bridesmaid, make a happy bride.' And all at once a pleasant truth I learn'd, For while the tender service made thee weep, I loved thee for the tear thou couldst not hide, And prest thy hand, and knew the press return'd, And thought, 'My life is sick of single sleep : O happy bridesmaid, make a happy bride!' 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 : Pass onward from Shalott. Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, But in her web she still delights To weave the mirror's magic sights, For often thro' the silent nights And music, went to Camelot : 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; Sang Sir Lancelot. She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces thro' the room, She saw the water-lily bloom, Out flew the web and floated wide; PART IV. IN the stormy east-wind straining, Heavily the low sky raining Over tower'd Camelot ; Down she came and found a boat The Lady of Shalott. 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 : 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, The Lady of Shalott. Under tower and balcony, Out upon the wharfs they came, Who is this? and what is here? The Lady of Shalott.' MARIANA IN THE SOUTH. WITH One black shadow at its feet, She, as her carol sadder grew, From brow and bosom slowly down Thro' rosy taper fingers drew Her streaming curls of deepest brown Till all the crimson changed, and past B Low on her knees herself she cast, 'Is this the form,' she made her 'That won his praises night and morn ?' And 'Ah,' she said, 'but I wake alone, I sleep forgotten, I wake forlorn.' Nor bird would sing, nor lamb would bleat, Nor any cloud would cross the vault, 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 heard her native breezes pass, And runlets babbling down the glen. 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 : Fell, and, without, the steady glare She whisper'd, with a stifled moan And, rising, from her bosom drew Old letters, breathing of her worth, For 'Love,' they said, 'must needs be true, To what is loveliest upon earth.' An image seem'd to pass the door, To look at her with slight, and say 'But now thy beauty flows away, So be alone for evermore.' 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.' THE TWO VOICES. A STILL Small voice spake unto me, To which the voice did urge reply ; 'An inner impulse rent the veil Of his old husk: from head to tail Came out clear plates of sapphire mail. |