The Lady of Shalott
Part I.
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 redcross 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 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:
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,
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;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott."
An Explication
The
Lady of Shalott is a poem of a woman, (the Lady of Shalott) who spends her
days viewing her mirror, which faces the outside world, and she weaves what she
sees in the mirror. The woman
lives on the island of Shalott, and island that lies in the middle of a river
upstream from Camelot. In her
mirror, she often sees the knights and people of Camelot riding or walking
by. The farmers hear her singing,
and are drawn to her, although they can never see her. The lady is, by curse, forbidden to
look out her window directly to the outside world. While weaving one day, she catches a glimpse of Sir Lancelot
and turns to look directly at him.
The mirror shatters, and she feels the weight of her curse upon
her. She leaves her tower and
carves her name into a boat and gets in to float down the river while singing
her death song.
Although
the speaker is not identified, nor does he/she seem to be addressing anyone in
particular, the poem opens with a depiction of the situation, and the view of
the island of Shalott from the unidentified passerby’s perspective. The people mentioned are unnamed, and
bear no actual significance, other than they are what the Lady of Shalott sees
in her mirror every day.
In
lines 10-18, there is a great contrast shown in the scenery between the dark
grey walls of Camelot and the whitening willows, and the flowers. The movement and freedom of the aspens
and willows shows the beauty of nature in the poem and also the freedom and
movement, which is then contrasted with the hard, still walls and towers of
Camelot. In line 16, the flowers
are not described by their movement, color, or beauty, but rather by their
being “overlooked” by the “four gray walls, four gray towers”(15) The river is
described as “silent” as it “imbowers/The Lady of Shalott.”(17-18) The imagery
of being trapped by silence all around in contrast to the freedom and beauty of
nature, as well as society gives a true feeling of loneliness and entrapment to
the reader, which greatly impacts Tennyson’s introduction to the Lady of
Shalott in line 18.
In
lines 19-27, the speaker focuses on the freedom and human activity occurring
all around the island of Shalott.
There are the large barges carrying heavy loads, “trail’d/By slow
horses.”(20-21) The beauty of nature is once again stressed when the speaker
describes “the margin, willow veil’d.”(19) In contrast to all of the activity
surrounding the island of Shalott, the speaker asks, “who hath seen her wave
her hand?”(25) implying that nobody has every seen the Lady of Shalott, giving
the very accurate impression that she is mysterious being. The only people who have ever heard the
Lady of Shalott, (which is the most indication that anyone has ever gotten of a
person living in the tower) are the farmers who do their work so early in the
morning that the moon is still out.
Because nobody has ever seen her, but only heard her singing, the
farmers believe that she is a spirit, or a fairy.
In
most stories which a maiden is trapped in a tower, the woman seems very unhappy
and longs for her prince to come and rescue her. In The Lady of Shalott,
the woman is quite content being locked in her tower and using her weaving as a
substitute for human interaction, although she does not know why she must not
look directly at Camelot. In line
55, the opinion of the woman changes, as she speaks for the first time,
declaring that she is unhappy with the situation. The reason she is so suddenly unhappy is due to the events
such as a wedding and a funeral which passed by her window. These events made her realize how
lonely she was, not being able to participate and interact with other humans.
Sir
Lancelot is introduced into the poem in lines 73-81, and the imagery used in
his description is very significant in the poem. Nearly all of the words used to describe Lancelot have some
reference to a bright light, or flame.
The end of the fifth stanza in Part III of this poem is the best example
for the reader, as the speaker uses the words “burned like one burning flame
together” to describe all of Lancelot’s attire and riding material.
The
irony that the woman brought the curse upon her to look at Lancelot, only to
see his helmet and the feather on it is in a way, pushed to the side by all the
mystical things that occur next.
The curse aforementioned in line 40 is real, her mirror shatters, and
the tapestry unravels itself. The
Lady of Shalott begins her journey to die as she leaves her tower and climbs
into a boat that she carves her name into. The woman floats down the river singing her death song,
“till her blood was frozen slowly.”(147) The irony previously mentioned is
brought back I into the picture with Lancelot’s reaction of indifference to her
death, as he did not know the circumstances. When her body is found, the knights gather around it, and
all Lancelot has to say is “God in his mercy lend her grace.”(170) This would
be a perfectly appropriate thing to say if the woman had just died, but she had
literally given up her entire life just for the chance to look at him, only to
catch a glimpse of his helmet and feather.
