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of men

No man hath walked about our roads with Might he not also hear one word amiss, step

Spoken from so far off, even from OlymSo active, so inquiring eye, or tongue So varied in discourse. But warmer The father placed his cheek upon her climes

head, Give brighter plumage, stronger wing: the And tears dropped down it, but the king breeze

15 Of Alpine heights thou playest with, Replied not. Then the maiden spake once borne on

more. Beyond Sorrento and Amalfi, where “O father! sayst thou nothing? Hear'st The Siren waits thee, singing song for song.

thou not Me, whom thou ever hast, until this hour,

Listened to fondly, and awakened me ON THE HELLENICS

To hear my voice amid the voice of birds, 20

When it was inarticulate as theirs, Come back, ye wandering Muses, come And the down deadened it within the back home,

nest?” Ye seem to have forgotten where it lies: He moved her gently from him, silent still, Come, let us walk upon the silent sands And this, and this alone, brought tears Of Simois, where deep footmarks show

from her, long strides;

Although she saw fate nearer: then with Thence we may mount, perhaps, to higher sighs,

25 ground,

5 “I thought to have laid down my hair Where Aphrodite from Athenè won

before The golden apple, and from Herè too, Benignant Artemis, and not have dimmed And happy Ares shouted far below.

Her polished altar with my virgin blood; Or would ye rather choose the grassy I thought to have selected the white vale

flowers Where flows Anapos through anemones, 10 To please the Nymphs, and to have asked Hyacinths, and narcissuses, that bend

of each

30 To show their rival beauty in the stream? By name, and with no sorrowful regret, Bring with you each her lyre, and each Whether, since both my parents willed the in turn

change, Temper a graver with a lighter song. I might at Hymen's feet bend my clipped


And (after those who mind us girls the IPHIGENEIA AND AGAMEMNON most)

Adore our own Athena, that she would

35 Iphigeneia, when she heard her doom Regard me mildly with her azure eyes. At Aulis, and when all beside the King But father! to see you no more, and see Had gone away, took his right hand, and Your love, O father! go ere I am gone” said,

Gently he moved her off, and drew her “O father! I am young and very happy. back, I do not think the pious Calchas heard Bending his lofty head far over hers,

40 Distinctly what the goddess spake. Old And the dark depths of nature heaved and age

burst. Obscures the senses. If my nurse, who He turned away; not far, but silent still. knew

She now first shuddered; for in him, so My voice so well, sometimes misunder- nigh, stood

So long a silence seemed the approach of While I was resting on her knee both arms death, And hitting it to make her mind my words, And like it. Once again she raised her And looking in her face, and she in voice.

45 mine,

“O father! if the ships are now detained,




And all your vows move not the Gods above, I was indocile at an age
When the knife strikes me there will be one When better boys were taught,

But thou at length hast made me sage,
The less to them: and purer can there be If I am sage in aught.
Any, or more fervent than the daughter's


Little I know from other men,
For her dear father's safety and success?' Too little they from me,
A groan that shook him shook not his But thou hast pointed well the pen

That. writes these lines to thee.
An aged man now entered, and without
One word, stepped slowly on, and took the Thanks for expelling Fear and Hope,

One vile, the other vain; Of the pale maiden. She looked up and One's scourge, the other's telescope, 15


I shall not see again;
The fillet of the priest and calm cold eyes.
Then turned she where her parent stood, Rather what lies before my feet
and cried

My notice shall engage “O father! grieve no more: the ships can He who hath braved Youth's dizzy heat sail.”

Dreads not the frost of Age.



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A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley-sheaves,
The sun

came dazzling through the leaves,

75 And flamed upon the brazen greaves

Of bold Sir Lancelot. A red-cross knight for ever kneeled, To a lady in his shield, That sparkled on the yellow field, 80

Beside remote Shalott.

Only reapers, reaping early
In among the bearded barley,
Hear a song that echoes cheerly 30
From the river winding clearly,

Down to towered Camelot;
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers “ 'Tis the fairy

35 Lady of Shalott.”

There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colors 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.

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And moving through 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.

All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jeweled shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burned like one burning flame together,

As he rode down to Camelot; 95
As often through the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, trailing light,
Moves over still Shalott.



His broad clear brow in sunlight glowed; On burnished hooves his war-horse trode;




I 20

From underneath his helmet flowed

For ere she reached upon the tide 150 His coal-black curls as on he rode,

The first house by the water-side, As he rode down to Camelot. Singing in her song she died, From the bank and from the river


The Lady of Shalott.
He flashed into the crystal mirror,
“Tirra lirra," by the river

Under tower and balcony,
Sang Sir Lancelot.
By garden-wall and gallery,


A gleaming shape she floated by, She left the web, she left the loom,

Dead-pale between the houses high, She made three paces through the room, Silent into Camelot. She saw the water-lily bloom,

Out upon the wharfs they came, She saw the helmet and the plume, Knight and burgher, lord and dame,

She looked down to Camelot. And round the prow they read her name, Out flew the web and floated wide;

The Lady of Shalott.
The mirror cracked from side to side; 115
“The curse is come upon me,” cried Who is this? and what is here?
The Lady of Shalott.

And in the lighted palace near

Died the sound of royal cheer;

And they crossed themselves for fear, In the stormy east-wind straining,

All the knights at Camelot; The pale yellow woods were waning, But Lancelot mused a little space; The broad stream in his banks complain. He said, “She has a lovely face; ing,

God in his mercy lend her grace, 170 Heavily the low sky raining

The Lady of Shalott."
Over towered Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,

And round about the prow she wrote 125
The Lady of Shalott.

There lies a vale in Ida, lovelier
And down the river's dim expanse

Than all the valleys of Ionian hills. Like some bold seër in a trance,

The swimming vapor slopes athwart the Seeing all his own' mischance

glen, Puts

forth an arm, and creeps from pine With a glassy countenance

130 Did she look to Camelot.

to pine, And at the closing of the day

And loiters, slowly drawn. On either hand She loosed the chain, and down she lay;

The lawns and meadow-ledges midway down

6 The broad stream bore her far away, The Lady of Shalott.

Hang rich in flowers, and far below them

135 Lying robed in snowy white

The long brook falling through the cloven That loosely flew to left and right

ravine The leaves upon her falling light

In cataract after cataract to the sea. Through the noises of the night

Behind the valley topmost Gargarus 10 She floated down to Camelot;


Stands up and takes the morning; but in And as the boat-head wound along

front The willowy hills and fields among,

The gorges, opening wide apart, reveal They heard her singing her last song,

Troas and Ilion's columned citadel,
The Lady of Shalott.

The crown of Troas.

Hither came at noon Heard a carol, mournful, holy,

145 Mournful Enone, wandering forlorn 15 Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,

Of Paris, once her playmate on the hills. Till her blood was frozen slowly,

Her cheek had lost the rose, and round And her eyes were darkened wholly,

her neck Turned to towered Camelot.

Floated her hair or seemed to float in rest.



upper cliff.

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She, leaning on a fragment twined with Clustered about his temples like a God's; vine,

And his cheek brightened as the foamSang to the stillness, till the mountain- bow brightens

60 shade

When the wind blows the foam, and all my Sloped downward to her seat from the heart

Went forth to embrace him coming ere

he came. "O mother Ida, many fountained Ida, Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die.

"Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. For now the noonday quiet holds the hill; He smiled, and opening out his milkThe grasshopper is silent in the grass; 25

white palm The lizard, with his shadow on the stone, Disclosed a fruit of pure Hesperian gold, 65 Rests like a shadow, and the winds are That smelled ambrosially, and while I dead.

looked The purple flower droops, the golden bee And listened, the full-flowing river of Is lily-cradled: I alone awake.

29 speech My eyes are full of tears, my heart of love,

Came down upon my

heart: My heart is breaking and my eyes are dim,

‘My own Enone, And I am all aweary of my life.

Beautiful-browed Enone, my own soul,

Behold this fruit, whose gleaming rind in"O mother Ida, many-fountained Ida, graven Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. For the most fair, would seem to award it Hear me, O earth, hear me, 0 hills, O thine, caves


As lovelier than whatever Oread haunt That house the cold crowned snake! O The knolls of Ida, loveliest in all grace mountain brooks,

Of movement, and the charm of married I am the daughter of a River-God,

brows.' Hear me, for I will speak, and build up all My sorrow with my song, as yonder walls “Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. 75 Rose slowly to a music slowly breathed, He pressed the blossom of his lips to mine, A cloud that gathered shape; for it may be And added, “This was cast upon the board, That, while I speak of it, a little while When all the full-faced presence of the My heart may wander from its deeper woe. Gods

Ranged in the halls of Peleus; whereupon "O mother Ida, many-fountained Ida, Rose feud, with question unto whom 'twere Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. 45 due;

80 I waited underneath the dawning hills; But light-foot Iris brought it yester-eve, Aloft the mountain-lawn was dewy-dark, Delivering, that to me, by common voice And dewy-dark aloft the mountain-pine. Elected umpire, Herè comes to-day, Beautiful Paris, evil-hearted Paris,

Pallas and Aphrodite, claiming each Leading a jet-black goat, white-horned, This meed of fairest. Thou, within the white-hooved, 50

85 Came up from reedy Simois all alone. Behind yon whispering tuft of oldest pine,

Mayst well behold them unbeheld, unheard “O mother Ida, harken ere I die. Hear all, and see thy Paris judge of Gods.' Far off the torrent called me from the cleft; Far up the solitary morning smote

“Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. The streaks of virgin snow. With down- It was the deep midnoon; one silvery cloud dropped eyes


Had lost his way between the piny sides 91 I sat alone; white-breasted like a star Of this long glen. Then to the bower they Fronting the dawn he moved; a leopard came, skin

Naked they came to that smooth-swarded Drooped from his shoulder, but his sunny bower, hair

And at their feet the crocus brake like fire,



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