LORD TENNYSON

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 glittered 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.

�� �