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, For ere she reach'd upon the tide Under tower and balcony, A gleaming shape she floated by, Out upon the wharfs they came, Who is this? and what is here? CENONE* Hither came at noon 140 Mournful Enone, wandering forlorn Of Paris, once her playmate on the hills. "O mother Ida, many fountain'd Ida, My eyes are full of tears, my heart of love, 30 "O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, 170 There lies a vale in Ida, lovelier And loiters, slowly drawn. On either hand 10 eyes Stands up and takes the morning; but in front I sat alone; white-breasted like a star The gorges, opening wide apart, reveal Troas and Ilion's column'd citadel, The crown of Troas. Fronting the dawn he moved; a leopard skin * Enone, a nymph of Mt. Ida in the Troad, early And his cheek brighten'd as the foam-bow the beloved of the shepherd Paris, mourns his desertion of her, and relates the story of the famous "Judgment of Paris" which led to the Trojan war. brightens 60 According to a legend in Ovid. the walls of Troy rose to the music of Apollo's lyre. When the wind blows the foam. and all my | And o'er him flow'd a golden cloud, and lean'd "Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. He smiled, and opening out his milk-white palm Disclosed a fruit of pure Hesperian gold, That smelt ambrosially, and while I look 'd And listen 'd, the full-flowing river of speech Came down upon my heart: 'My own Enone, Beautiful-brow'd (Enone, my own soul, Behold this fruit, whose gleaming rind graven And river-sunder'd champaign clothed with corn, in- Or labour'd mine undrainable of ore. 70 Honour,' "For the most fair," would seem to award it From many an inland town and haven large, thine, As lovelier than whatever Oread1 haunt Of movement, and the charm of married brows.' "Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. He prest the blossom of his lips to mine, And added, "This was cast upon the board, When all the full-faced presence of the Gods Ranged in the halls of Peleus; 2 whereupon Rose feud, with question unto whom 'twere due; But light-foot Iris3 brought it yester-eve, This meed of fairest. Thou, within the cave 80 'Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. "Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. It was the deep midnoon; one silvery cloud 90 She ceased, and Paris held the costly fruit Had lost his way between the piny sides Out at arm's-length, so much the thought of power Flatter'd his spirit; but Pallas where she stood Somewhat apart, her clear and bared limbs O'erthwarted with the brazen-headed spear Upon her pearly shoulder leaning cold, The while, above, her full and earnest eye Over her snow-cold breast and angry cheek 140 Kept watch, waiting decision, made reply: 'Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control, These three alone lead life to sovereign power. Yet not for power (power of herself Would come uncall'd for) but to live by law, Acting the law we live by without fear; And, because right is right, to follow right Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence.' * Paris was the son of Priam of Troy: he had been left exposed on the mountain-side be cause of the propheey that he would bring ruin to Troy. If gazing on divinity disrobed "Here she ceas'd, "O mother, hear me yet before I die. I wish that somewhere in the ruin'd folds, Among the fragments tumbled from the glens, Or the dry thickets, I could meet with her The Abominable, that uninvited came Into the fair Peleïan banquet-hall, And cast the golden fruit upon the board, 180 And bred this change; that I might speak my mind, "Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. She with a subtle smile in her mild eyes, The herald of her triumph, drawing nigh Half-whisper'd in his ear, I promise thee The fairest and most loving wife in Greece.' She spoke and laugh'd; I shut my sight for fear; But when I look'd, Paris had raised his arm, "Yet, mother Ida, harken ere I die. Fairest-why fairest wife? am I not fair? 190 And tell her to her face how much I hate Her presence, hated both of Gods and men. "O mother, hear me yet before I die. Hath he not sworn his love a thousand times, In this green valley, under this green hill, Even on this hand, and sitting on this stone? Seal'd it with kisses? water'd it with tears? 230 O happy tears, and how unlike to these! O happy heaven, how canst thou see my face? O happy earth, how canst thou bear my weight? O death, death, death, thou ever-floating cloud, There are enough unhappy on this earth, Pass by the happy souls, that love to live; I pray thee, pass before my light of life, And shadow all my soul, that I may die. Thou weighest heavy on the heart within, Weigh heavy on my eyelids; let me die. 240 6 Eris, or "Strife" whence the apple was called the "Apple of Discord." "O mother, hear me yet before I die. I will not die alone, for fiery thoughts Do shape themselves within me, more and more, They saw the gleaming river seaward flow Three silent pinnacles of aged snow, Dead sounds at night come from the inmost Stood sunset-flush'd; and, dew'd with showery "O, mother, hear me yet before I die. THE LOTOS-EATERS* 260 "Courage!" he said, and pointed toward the land, Branches they bore of that enchanted stem, "This mounting wave will roll us shoreward They sat them down upon the yellow sand, soon.'' A land of streams! some, like a downward smoke, Slow-dropping veils of thinnest lawn, did go; And some thro' wavering lights and shadows broke, Rolling a slumbrous sheet of foam below. 7 The Death of Enone, a late poem of Tennyson's. 8 Sister of Paris, and a prophetess. getfulness of home. These five Spenserian stanzas, which are followed in the original by a long "Choric Song." contain some distinct echoes of Thomson's Castle of Indolence, which see (p. 344). 36 Between the sun and moon upon the shore; As these white robes are soil'd and dark, To yonder shining ground; As this pale taper's earthly spark, To yonder argent round; So shows my soul before the Lamb, My spirit before Thee; So in mine earthly house I am, To that I hope to be. Break up the heavens, O Lord! and far, He lifts me to the golden doors; For me the Heavenly Bridegroom waits, One Sabbath deep and wide- SIR GALAHAD* My good blade carves the casques of men, The shattering trumpet shrilleth high, And when the tide of combat stands, How sweet are looks that ladies bend To save from shame and thrall; But all my heart is drawn above, A maiden knight-to me is given I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven I muse on joy that will not cease, My knees are bow'd in crypt and shrine; And, stricken by an angel's hand, I never felt the kiss of love, Nor maiden's hand in mine. More bounteous aspects on me beam, When down the stormy crescent goes, A light before me swims, 1 vault, cell * See Malory's account on pages 100, 105-108. 20 60 This mortal armour that I wear, This weight and size, this heart and eyes, Are touch'd, are turn'd to finest air. 70 The clouds are broken in the sky, A rolling organ-harmony Swells up and shakes and falls. Then move the trees, the copses nod, Wings flutter, voices hover clear: 2 Cp. Hamlet, I, 1, 158. |