The poem describes the Lady of Shalott who lives alone on an island in a river near Camelot. She is under a curse that prevents her from looking directly at the outside world, so she sees reflections of it in a magic mirror as she weaves. When she sees Sir Lancelot ride by and breaks the rule to look outside, the mirror cracks, bringing the curse upon her. She writes her name on a boat and drifts down the river singing, dying before reaching Camelot. The people there find her body and are puzzled by her strange fate.
The poem describes the Lady of Shalott who lives alone on an island in a river near Camelot. She is under a curse that prevents her from looking directly at the outside world, so she sees reflections of it in a magic mirror as she weaves. When she sees Sir Lancelot ride by and breaks the rule to look outside, the mirror cracks, bringing the curse upon her. She writes her name on a boat and drifts down the river singing, dying before reaching Camelot. The people there find her body and are puzzled by her strange fate.
The poem describes the Lady of Shalott who lives alone on an island in a river near Camelot. She is under a curse that prevents her from looking directly at the outside world, so she sees reflections of it in a magic mirror as she weaves. When she sees Sir Lancelot ride by and breaks the rule to look outside, the mirror cracks, bringing the curse upon her. She writes her name on a boat and drifts down the river singing, dying before reaching Camelot. The people there find her body and are puzzled by her strange fate.
Part I She sees the surly village churls, On either side the river lie And the red cloaks of market girls Long fields of barley and of rye, Pass onward from Shalott. That clothe the wold and meet the sky; And thro' the field the road runs by Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, To many-tower'd Camelot; An abbot on an ambling pad, The yellow-leaved waterlily Sometimes a curly shepherd lad, The green-sheathed daffodilly Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad, Tremble in the water chilly Goes by to tower'd Camelot: Round about Shalott. And sometimes thro' the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two: Willows whiten, aspens shiver. She hath no loyal knight and true, The sunbeam showers break and quiver The Lady of Shalott. In the stream that runneth ever By the island in the river But in her web she still delights Flowing down to Camelot. To weave the mirror's magic sights, Four gray walls, and four gray towers For often thro' the silent nights Overlook a space of flowers, A funeral, with plumes and lights And the silent isle imbowers And music, came from Camelot: The Lady of Shalott. Or when the moon was overhead Came two young lovers lately wed; Underneath the bearded barley, 'I am half sick of shadows,' said The reaper, reaping late and early, The Lady of Shalott. Hears her ever chanting cheerly, Like an angel, singing clearly, Part III O'er the stream of Camelot. A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, Piling the sheaves in furrows airy, He rode between the barley-sheaves, Beneath the moon, the reaper weary The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves, Listening whispers, ' 'Tis the fairy, And flam'd upon the brazen greaves Lady of Shalott.' Of bold Sir Lancelot. A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd The little isle is all inrail'd To a lady in his shield, With a rose-fence, and overtrail'd That sparkled on the yellow field, With roses: by the marge unhail'd Beside remote Shalott. The shallop flitteth silken sail'd, Skimming down to Camelot. The gemmy bridle glitter'd free, A pearl garland winds her head: Like to some branch of stars we see She leaneth on a velvet bed, Hung in the golden Galaxy. Full royally apparelled, The bridle bells rang merrily The Lady of Shalott. As he rode down from Camelot: And from his blazon'd baldric slung Part II A mighty silver bugle hung, No time hath she to sport and play: And as he rode his armour rung, A charmed web she weaves alway. Beside remote Shalott. A curse is on her, if she stay Her weaving, either night or day, All in the blue unclouded weather To look down to Camelot. Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather, She knows not what the curse may be; The helmet and the helmet-feather Therefore she weaveth steadily, Burn'd like one burning flame together, Therefore no other care hath she, As he rode down from Camelot. The Lady of Shalott. As often thro' the purple night, Below the starry clusters bright, She lives with little joy or fear. Some bearded meteor, trailing light, Over the water, running near, Moves over green Shalott. The sheepbell tinkles in her ear. Before her hangs a mirror clear, His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd; Reflecting tower'd Camelot. On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode; And as the mazy web she whirls, From underneath his helmet flow'd His coal-black curls as on he rode, As he rode down from Camelot. From the bank and from the river She chanted loudly, chanted lowly, He flash'd into the crystal mirror, Till her eyes were darken'd wholly, 'Tirra lirra, tirra lirra:' And her smooth face sharpen'd slowly, Sang Sir Lancelot. Turn'd to tower'd Camelot: For ere she reach'd upon the tide She left the web, she left the loom The first house by the water-side, She made three paces thro' the room Singing in her song she died, She saw the water-flower bloom, The Lady of Shalott. She saw the helmet and the plume, She look'd down to Camelot. Under tower and balcony, Out flew the web and floated wide; By garden wall and gallery, The mirror crack'd from side to side; A pale, pale corpse she floated by, 'The curse is come upon me,' cried Deadcold, between the houses high, The Lady of Shalott. Dead into tower'd Camelot. Knight and burgher, lord and dame, Part IV To the planked wharfage came: In the stormy east-wind straining, Below the stern they read her name, The pale yellow woods were waning, The Lady of Shalott. The broad stream in his banks complaining, Heavily the low sky raining They cross'd themselves, their stars they blest, Over tower'd Camelot; Knight, minstrel, abbot, squire, and guest. Outside the isle a shallow boat There lay a parchment on her breast, Beneath a willow lay afloat, That puzzled more than all the rest, Below the carven stern she wrote, The wellfed wits at Camelot. The Lady of Shalott. 'The web was woven curiously, The charm is broken utterly, A cloudwhite crown of pearl she dight, Draw near and fear not,—this is I, All raimented in snowy white The Lady of Shalott.' That loosely flew (her zone in sight Clasp'd with one blinding diamond bright) Her wide eyes fix'd on Camelot, Though the squally east-wind keenly Blew, with folded arms serenely By the water stood the queenly Lady of Shalott.
With a steady stony glance—
Like some bold seer in a trance, Beholding all his own mischance, Mute, with a glassy countenance— She look'd down to Camelot. It was the closing of the day: She loos'd the chain, and down she lay; The broad stream bore her far away, The Lady of Shalott.
As when to sailors while they roam,
By creeks and outfalls far from home, Rising and dropping with the foam, From dying swans wild warblings come, Blown shoreward; so to Camelot Still as the boathead wound along The willowy hills and fields among, They heard her chanting her deathsong, The Lady of Shalott.
A longdrawn carol, mournful, holy,
Part 1: The poem opens with a description of a field by a river. There's a road running through the field that apparently leads to Camelot, the legendary castle of King Arthur. From the road you can see an island in the middle of the river called the Island of Shalott. On that island there is a little castle, which is the home of the mysterious Lady of Shalott. People pass by the island all the time, on boats and barges and on foot, but they never see the Lady. Occasionally, people working in the fields around the island will hear her singing an eerie song.
Part 2: Now we actually move inside the castle
on the island, and Tennyson describes the Lady herself. First we learn that she spends her days weaving a magic web, and that she has been cursed, forbidden to look outside. So instead she watches the world go by in a magic mirror. She sees shadows of the men and women who pass on the road, and she weaves the things she sees into her web. We also learn that she is "half sick" of this life of watching and weaving.
Part 3: Now the big event: One day the studly
Sir Lancelot rides by the island, covered in jewels and shining armor. Most of this chunk of the poem is spent describing Lancelot. When his image appears in the mirror, the Lady is so completely captivated that she breaks the rule and looks out her window on the real world. When she does this and catches a glimpse of Lancelot and Camelot, the magic mirror cracks, and she knows she's in trouble.
Part 4: Knowing that it's game over, the Lady
finds a boat by the side of the river and writes her name on it. After looking at Camelot for a while she lies down in the boat and lets it slip downstream. She drifts down the river, singing her final song, and dies before she gets to Camelot. The people of Camelot come out to see the body of the Lady and her boat, and are afraid. Lancelot also trots out, decides that she's pretty, and says a little prayer for her.
THOMAS HARDY Ultimate Collection: 15 Novels, 53 Short Stories & 650+ Poems (Illustrated Edition): Including Essays & Plays: Far from the Madding Crowd, Tess of the d'Urbervilles, Jude the Obscure, Life's Little Ironies, A Group of Noble Dames, The Dynasts, Moments of Vision, Wessex Tales & Poems…
The Complete Poetry of O. Henry (Including a Biography of the Author): From the American writer, a master of short stories, known for The Gift of the Magi, Cabbages and Kings, The Cop and the Anthem, Options, Roads of Destiny, The Four Million…