Baba Yaga by Ivan Bilibin

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In Russian folklore there are many stories of Baba Yaga, the fearsome witch with iron teeth.
She is also known as Baba Yaga Boney Legs, because, in spite of a ferocious appetite, she is as thin as a skeleton. In Russian that's: 'Baba Yaga Kostianaya Noga'
In some stories she has two older sisters, who are also called Baba Yaga, just to confuse you!
Her nose is so long that it rattles against the ceiling of her hut when she snores, stretched out in all directions upon her ancient brick oven.
Not being a boringly-conventional witch, she does not wear a hat, and has never been seen on a broomstick. She travels perched in a large mortar with her knees almost touching her chin, and pushes herself across the forest floor with a pestle.
Whenever she appears on the scene, a wild wind begins to blow, the trees around creak and groan and leaves whirl through the air. Shrieking and wailing, a host of spirits often accompany her on her way.
Being a somewhat secretive lady, (in spite of all the din she makes,) she sweeps away all traces of herself with a broom made of silver birch (what are brooms for anyway?).
She can also fly through the air in the same manner.
Here's a picture of her flying across the evening sky by Ivan Bilibin:

Baba Yaga lives in a hut deep in the forest. Her hut seems to have a personality of its own and can move about on its extra-large chicken legs. Usually the hut is either spinning around as it moves through the forest or stands at rest with its back to the visitor. The windows of the hut seem to serve as eyes.

All the while it is spinning round, it emits blood-curdling screeches and will only come to a halt, amid much creaking and groaning, when a secret incantation is said. When it stops, it turns to face the visitor and lowers itself down on its chicken legs, throwing open the door with a loud crash.

The hut is sometimes surrounded by a fence made of bones, which helps to keep out intruders! The fence is topped with skulls whose blazing eye sockets illuminate the darkness.

When a visitor enters her hut, (not too often) Baba Yaga asks them whether they came of their own free will, or whether they were sent. (One answer is the right one!)
Thankfully, she appears to have no power over the pure of heart, such as Vasilisa and those of us who are 'blessed' (protected by the power of love, virtue, or a mother's blessing.)
Baba Yaga rules over the elements. Her faithful servants are the White Horseman, the Red Horseman and the Black Horseman.
When Vasilissa asks her who these mysterious horsemen are, she replies: 'My Bright Dawn, my Red Sun and my Dark Midnight.'
Amongst her other servants, are three bodiless and somewhat menacing pairs of hands, which appear out of thin air to do her bidding. She calls them "my soul friends" or "friends of my bosom" and she is more than a little reticent about discussing them with Vasilisa.
Another strange character who served as a herdsman for Baba Yaga is the sorcerer Koshchey the Deathless. Read all about him here.
And here's a mystery for you: While she is giving instructions to Vasilisa, Baba Yaga mentions that 'someone spiteful' had mixed earth in with her poppy-seeds.
What could she have meant? Could Baba Yaga possibly have an enemy? Would anyone dare to risk incurring her wrath?

Click to see larger pictures

The White Horseman

The Red Horseman

The Black Horseman

(Click on pictures to see full size images)

   

Although she is mostly portrayed as a terrifying old crone, Baba Yaga can also play the role of a helper and wise woman. The Earth Mother, like all forces of nature, though often wild and untamed, can also be kind.
In her guise as wise hag, she sometimes gives advice and magical gifts to heroes and the pure of heart. The hero or heroine of the story often enters the crone's domain searching for wisdom, knowledge and truth. She is all-knowing, all seeing and all-revealing to those who would dare to ask.
She is said to be a guardian spirit of the fountain of the Waters of Life and of Death. 
Baba Yaga is the Arch-Crone, the Goddess of Wisdom and Death, the Bone Mother. Wild and untamable, she is a nature spirit bringing wisdom and death of ego, and through death, rebirth.

Elves - Elf - Elven
Latin - Homo fata alfar

Tolkien's Elvish - Galadriel: "I amar prestar aen, han mathon ne nen, han mathon ne chae, a han noston ned 'wilith." Translation: "The world is changed, I feel it in the water, I feel it in the earth, I smell it in the air."

Elves evolved in the mountains and forests of Scandinavia, where they are known as the alfar of the huldre folk. There are two main types of elf - Dark (svartalfar) and Light (liosalfar) - together with some regional varieties.

 

Dark elves have black hair and black eyes, and sometimes black skin. Light elves are typically Scandinavian-looking, with blond hair, pale skin and blue eyes. They are generally tall and slim, with sharp, delicate features and pointed ears, although some British and German elves can be very tiny, and are often mistaken for fairies.

Elves are the most difficult magickal race to pin down. Mythological sources tell us that the liosalfar or light elves live in Alfheim where Frey is their Lord. However, there has also been the enduring belief in folklore of the elves as faery-folk: beings associated with the natural world. These two conceptions of elves might still be linked, however, as Alfheim is known to be a place of incredible natural beauty, and Frey, their leader, is an agricultural deity. To further confuse this issue, Norse folklore has a strong belief in the Landvaettir, or land spirits who may fit into either or both of these categories. Whether one calls the spirits of the land as the elves, the faeries, or the landvaettir, or uses all of these terms interchangeably, respect is all important.

© Brian Froud	Jessica Galbreth	© Elfquest

Elves are mysterious, mystical beings, wrought from light during the birth of time. They are often arrogant and haughty as a result of their advanced age both as a race, and as individuals. They have seen the dawn of time, the birth of man, the changing of countless seasons, all blurred into a history remembered and revered in stories and songs.

They are the wardens of nature, the children of the gods. Their lives are long and know no sickness or disease. They know much happiness but also carry great sorrow. They feel the joy of mother earth and her children but also feel all her grief, all throughout history. They are one with the Earth, Elfs were made from it and they shall return to it at the end of time.

In nature they find solace; and for the most part are a peaceful people and mean no harm to those who do no harm. But woe be to those who oppose the Elves, for to awaken the anger and fury is to most assuredly bring about your own destruction. Beneath the soft exteriors of the elves, beyond their songs of peace and tranquility lie skilled archers, powerful mages and deadly warriors. There is no more revered friend than an elf, and likewise, there is no more feared foe than an angry elf.

Through the centuries they have learned to read the stars, nature and her animals, coming to an amazing understanding of all things around them. To be sure, one of the hardest things to understand were humans themselves. Many believe the humans were the reason the elfen folk mysteriously disappeared. Are they still there, just beyond our reach of comprehension, or were they wiped out by humans and their lack of understanding?

Interest in Middle Earth Elves?

 

Gandalf's Song of Lórien
In Dwimordene, in Lórien
Seldom have walked the feet of Men,
Few mortal eyes have seen the light
That lies there ever, long and bright.
Galadriel! Galadriel!
Clear is the water of your well;
White is the star in your white hand;
Unmarred, unstained is leaf and land
In Dwimordene, in Lórien
More fair than thoughts of Mortal Men.

The first beings of Middle-Earth were created by Eru the One, or Eru Ilúvatar as the elves later called him. They are beautiful and strong, and immortal. Lúthien alone was the only Elf to have chosen to die from grief and to have left the world, back in the first terrible days of Arda.

There are now but four enclaves of Elves left in Middle-Earth: the kingdom of Thranduil in Northern Mirkwood; the Last Homely House of Elrond in Rivendell; Lothlórien, ruled by Lady Galadriel - the most powerful Elf remaining in Arda; and the Grey Havens of Círdan to the West of the Shire.

Elves usually appear to be both carefree and merry, yet sad and thoughtful. They enjoy song and poetry, their songs lightening the heart of many in grief.

As the third age progresses, many Elves have now left Middle-Earth, returning to their true home in Valinor, no longer concerned with the troubles of their former home.

Mermaid - Siren - Water Nymph

© Jessica Galbreth

 

"The Water-Nymph"
By Alexander Pushkin

In lakeside leafy groves a friar
Escaped the world; out there he passed
His summer days in constant prayer,
Deep studies and eternal fast.
Already with a humble shovel
The elder dug himself a grave;
And calling saints to bless his hovel,
Death, nothing other, did he crave.

So once upon a falling night he
Bowed down beside his droopy shack
And meekly prayed to the Almighty.
The grove was turning slowly black;
Above the lake a mist was lifting;
Through milky clouds across the sky
The ruddy moon was softly drifting,
When water drew the friar's eye...

He looks there, puzzled, full of trouble,
A fear he cannot quite explain,
And sees: the waves begin to bubble
And suddenly grow calm again.
Then -- white as first snow in the highlands,
Light-footed as nocturnal shade,
There comes ashore and sits in silence
Upon the bank a naked maid.

She eyes the monk and brushes gently
Her hair and water off her arms.
He shakes with fear and looks intently
At her and at her lovely charms.
With eager hands she waves and beckons,
Nods quickly, smiling from afar,
Then -- shoots within two flashing seconds
Into still water like a star.

The glum old man slept not an instant
All night, all day not once he prayed:
Before his eyes still hung and glistened
The wondrous girl's persistent shade...
The grove puts on the gown of nightfall;
The moon walks on the cloudy floor;
And there's the maiden, pale, delightful,
Reclining on the spellbound shore.

She looks at him, her hair she brushes,
Nods, sends him kisses drolly wild,
Plays with the waves -- caresses, splashes, --
Now laughs, now whimpers like a child,
Moans tenderly, calls louder, louder...
"Come, monk, come, monk! To me, to me!.."
Then -- vanishes in limpid water...
And all is silent instantly...

On the third day the ardent hermit
Was sitting by the shore, in love,
Awaiting the enticing mermaid,
As shade was lying on the grove...
Dark ceded to the sun's emergence;
By then the monk had disappeared,
No one knew where, and only urchins,
While swimming, saw a hoary beard.

This picture shows sea nymphs giving Perseus a helmet which renders him invisible, the winged sandals of Hermes, and a goatskin pouch for the head of the Medusa.

'Morgen' by Stuart Littlejohn

Morgan was King Arthur's half-sister and in some versions of the story she is said to be the mistress of Sir Accolon of Gaul.

Throughout all the British myths that tell of Arthur's incredible reign, Morgan Le Fay is depicted as the King's implacable enemy, often plotting his downfall. According to one story she is supposed to have stolen Excalibur and sent it to Accolon, who then challenged Arthur to single combat. When Accalon dropped the sword Arthur recognized it and the other knight admitted his guilt and surrendered.

However, after the bloody battle against Arthur's rebellious nephew (Sir Mordred), Morgan Le Fay was one of three women who took the grievously wounded king in a black boat to Avalon. The other two were "The Queen of Northgales and the Queen of Wastelands".

By Madison Cawein (1865-1914)

In dim samite was she bedight,
And on her hair a hoop of gold,
Like foxfire, in the tawn moonlight,
Was glimmering cold.

With soft gray eyes she gloomed and glowered;
With soft red lips she sang a song:
What knight might gaze upon her face,
Nor fare along?

For all her looks were full of spells,
And all her words, of sorcery;
And in some way they seemed to say,
"Oh, come with me!

"Oh, come with me! oh, come with me!
Oh, come with me, my love, Sir Kay!"--
How should he know the witch, I trow,
Morgan le Fay?

How should he know the wily witch,
With sweet white face and raven hair?
Who, through her art, bewitched his heart
And held him there.

Eftsoons his soul had waxed amort
To wold and weald, to slade and stream;
And all he heard was her soft word
As one adream.

And all he saw was her bright eyes,
And her fair face that held him still:
And wild and wan she led him on
O'er vale and hill.

Until at last a castle lay
Beneath the moon, among the trees:
Its gothic towers old and gray
With mysteries.

Tall in its hall a hundred knights
In armor stood with glaive in hand:
The following of some great king,
Lord of that land.

Sir Bors, Sir Balin, and Gawain,
All Arthur's knights, and many mo;
But these in battle had been slain
Long years ago.

But when Morgan lifted hand
Moved down the hall, they louted low:
For she was Queen of Shadowland,
That woman of snow.

Then from Sir Kay she drew away,
And cried on high all mockingly:--
"Behold, sir knights, the knave I bring,
Who lay with me.

"Behold! I met him 'mid the furze:
Beside him there he made me lie:
Upon him, yea, there rests my curse:
Now let him die!"

Then as one man those shadows raised
Their brands, whereon the moon glanced gray:
And clashing all strode from the wall
Against Sir Kay.

And on his body, bent and bowed,
The hundred bladed as one blade fell:
While over all rang long and loud
The mirth of Hell.

History of Morgan Le Fay

Morgan Le Fay's paradoxical nature is reflected in her dual role as both healer and dark magician, as Arthur's thorn in life, yet also his guardian in death. Although educated at a convent, she managed to emerge as a gifted magician.

The painting to the right is based on Arthurian legend. It shows Arthur about to take the sword Excalibur. The three queens, who are Arthur's friends, are nearby in his time of trial, while Merlin is at the oars of the boat carrying Arthur. In the background is Nimue, the Lady of the Lake, and on the left of the picture Morgan Le Fay, Arthur's half-sister, holds the sword that Arthur will take.

Morgan charmed the unsuspecting Tristram into accepting a beautiful gold shield decorated with a strange motif. The shield's design portrayed a knight, Lancelot, enslaving a royal couple. Arthur and his wife. Innocent of the shield's true motif or motive, Tristram rode to Arthur's court and jousted in the royal tournament. When he dueled with Arthur, the king's spear shattered on the enchanted shield. Such enchanted weapons could help or hinder the best of heroes.

Arthur rests in peace in Avalon, guarded by four fairy queens. Morgan Le Fay, cowled in black, consults her book of magic crafts, to heal the wounds of the "undead" king. The winged apparition carrying the Grail symbolizes the hope and future promise of Arthur's reign.

The Lady of Shalott part 2

The Story The Lady of Shalott is a magical being who lives alone on an island upstream from King Arthur's Camelot. Her business is to look at the world outside her castle window in a mirror, and to weave what she sees into a tapestry. She is forbidden by the magic to look at the outside world directly. The farmers who live near her island hear her singing and know who she is, but never see her.
The Lady sees ordinary people, loving couples, and knights in pairs reflected in her mirror. One day, she sees the reflection of Sir Lancelot riding alone. Although she knows that it is forbidden, she looks out the window at him. The mirror shatters, the tapestry flies off on the wind, and the Lady feels the power of her curse.
An autumn storm suddenly arises. The lady leaves her castle, finds a boat, writes her name on it, gets into the boat, sets it adrift, and sings her death song as she drifts down the river to Camelot. The locals find the boat and the body, realize who she is, and are saddened. Lancelot prays that God will have mercy on her soul.
This is one of Tennyson's most popular poems. The Pre-Raphaelites liked to illustrate it. Waterhouse made three separate paintings of "The Lady of Shalott". Agatha Christie wrote a Miss Marple mystery entitled "The Mirror Crack'd From Side to Side", which was made into a movie starring Angela Lansbury. Tirra Lirra by the River, by Australian novelist Jessica Anderson, is the story of a modern woman's decision to break out of confinement.


The Poem

The Lady Of Shalott              1842 Version

1832 Version

                          I

On either side the river lie Long fields of barley and of rye, That clothe the wold and meet the sky; And through 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.

... ... ... ...     ... The yellowleavèd waterlily, The greensheathèd daffodilly, Trembled in the water chilly,     Round about Shalott Tennyson changed a copy of the 1832 version to "The yellow globe o' the waterlily". Probably the water lilies had green leaves and yellow flowers.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver Through the wave that runs for ever By the island in the river     Flowing down to Camelot. Four grey walls, and four grey towers, Overlook a space of flowers, And the silent isle embowers     The Lady of Shalott.

... ... The sunbeam-showers break and quiver In the stream that runneth ever     ... ... ... ...     ...

By the margin, willow-veil'd, Slide the heavy barges trail'd By slow horses; and unhailed The shallop flitteth, silken-sail'd     Skimming down to Camelot Yet who hath seen her wave her hand? Or at the casement seen her stand? Or is she know in all the land,     The Lady of Shalott?

Underneath the bearded barley, The reaper, reaping late and early Hears her ever chanting cheerly, Like an angel, singing clearly,     O'er the stream of Camelot. Piling the sheaves in furrows airy, Beneath the moon, the reaper weary Listening, whispers, "'Tis the fairy     Lady of Shalott."

Only reapers, reaping early, In among the beared barley Hear a song that echoes cheerly 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     Lady of Shalott."

The little isle is all inrailed With a rose-fence, and overtrailed With roses: by the marge unhailed The shallop flitteth silen-sailed     Skimming down to Camelot: A pearlgarland winds her head; She leaneth on a velvet bed, Fully royally apparelèd,     The Lady of Shalott.

                          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.

No time hath she to sport and play: A charmèd web she weaves alway. A curse is on her, if she stay Her weaving, either night or day,     To look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be, Therefore she weaveth steadily, Therefore no other care hath she,     The Lady of Shalott.

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.

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 through 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 through 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.

                          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 kneeled 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 armor rung     Beside remote Shalott.

... ... ... ...     As he rode down from Camelot: ... ... ...     ...

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.

... ... ... ...     As he rode down from Camelot: ... ... ...     Moves over green 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 flashed into the crystal mirror, "Tirra lirra," by the river     Sang Sir Lancelot.

... ... ... ...     As he rode down from Camelot: ... ... "Tirra lirra, tirra lirra" ...

She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces through 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.

... ... She saw the waterflower bloom ...     ... ... ... ...     ...

                          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 around about the prow she wrote     The Lady of Shalott.

... ... ... ...     ... Outside the isle a shallow boat Beneath a willow lay afloat Below the carven stern she wrote     ...

A cloudwhite crown of pearl she dight All raimented in snowy white That loosely flew, (her zone in sight, Clasped with one blinding diamond bright,)     Her wide eyes fixed on Camelot Thought the squally eastwind keenly Blew, with folded arms serenely By the water stood the queenly     Lady of Shalott.

And down the river's dim expanse Like some bold seer 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.

And down the river's dim expanse With a steady, stony glance Beholding all her own mischance Mute, with a glassy countenance     She looked down to Camelot It was the closing of the day, ... ...     ...

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.

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 boat--head wound along The willowy hills and fields among, They heard her chanting her deathsong     The Lady of Shalott.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy, Chanted loudly, chanted lowly, Till her blood was frozen slowly, And her eyes were darkened 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.

A longdrawn carol, mournful, holy, She chanted loudly, chanted lowly, Till her eyes were darkened wholly, And her smooth face sharpened slowly.     ... ... ... ...     ...

Under tower and balcony, By garden-wall and gallery, A gleaming shape she floated by, Dead-pale between the houses high,     Silent into Camelot. Out upon the wharfs they came, Knight and burgher, lord and dame, And around the prow they read her name,     The Lady of Shalott.

... ... A pale, pale corpse she floated by, Deadcold between the houses high,     Dead into towered Camelot Knight and burgher, lord and dame, To the plankèd wharfage came: Below the stern they read her name,     ...

Who is this? And what is here? And in the lighted palace near Died the sound of royal cheer; And they crossed 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."

They crossed themselves, their stars they blest, Knight, minstrel, abbot, squire and guest, There lay a parchment on her breast, That puzzled more than all the rest,     The wellfed wits at Camelot. "The web was woven curiously, The charm is broken utterly, Draw near and fear not -- this is I,     The Lady of Shalott."

The Lady of Shalott part 1

The Lady of Shalott

Identified by Arthurian romance as Elaine, the Fair Maid of Astolat the ballad by Alfred Lord Tennyson portrays the Lady of Shalott as a mysterious maiden who dwells in a tower, alone and unseen, on an island in the river that flows down to Camelot.

Bound by a curse, she passes her days weaving into a fantastic tapestry the sights of Camelot that she glimpses in a mirror that hangs before her. She grows weary of her vicarious life of shadows when the gallant knight, Sir Lancelot, flashes into the crystal mirror.

Breaking the thread of her tapestry, she leaves the loom as the curse of love comes upon her. Descending to the water's edge, she finds a moored boat and writes 'The Lady of Shalott' upon its prow, then laying herself down she allows the broad stream to carry her vessel to Camelot, but her life ebbs away before she reaches the shore.

The people of Camelot are shocked into silence by the appearance of her strange bier on their shores, but Lancelot is moved by her beauty and asks God to look with grace upon her.

The Lady of Shalott
Sir Alfred Lord Tennyson

Part I

On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And through the field the road runs by
To many-towered 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
Through the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.

Four grey walls, and four grey towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.

By the margin, willow-veiled,
Slide the heavy barges trailed
By slow horses; and unhailed
The shallop flitteth silken-sailed
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 cheerily
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
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 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

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad,
Or long-haired page in crimson clad,
Goes by to towered Camelot;

And sometimes through 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 through 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 through the leaves,
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,
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 blazoned baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armour rung,
Beside remote Shalott

All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewelled shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burned like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot.

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;
From underneath his helmet flowed
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.

From the bank and from the river
He flashed into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra lirra," by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces through the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She looked down to Camelot.

Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror cracked 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 towered 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 seer 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 ~
Through 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 darkened wholly,
Turned to towered Camelot.

For ere she reached 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,
Dead-pale 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 crossed 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."