On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And thro' the field the road runs by
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow,
Round and island there below,
Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Thro' the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Four grey walls, and four grey towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle embowers
By the margin, willow-veiled,
Slide the heavy barges trailed
By slow horses; and unhailed
The shallop flittith silken-sailed
But sho hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land?
Only reapers, reaping early
In among the bearded barley,
Hear the song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly,
And the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers ' 'Tis the fairy
There she weaves by night and day
A magic web of colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a surly shepherd lad,
Or a long-haired page in crimson clad,
And sometimes thro' the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two:
She hath no loyal knight and true,
But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often thro' the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights,
Or when the moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed;
'I am half sick of shadows,' said
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
A red-cross knight for ever kneeled
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
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 often thro' the purple night,
Below the starry slusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, trailing light,
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,
From the bank and from the river
He flashed into the crystal mirror,
'Tirra lirra,' by the river
She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces thro' the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror cracked from side to side;
'The curse is come upon me,' cried
In the stormy east wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining,
Heavily the low sky raining
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And round about the prow she wrote
And down the river's dim expanse ---
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance ---
With a glassy contenance
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosley flew ot left and right ---
The leaves upon her falling light ---
Thro' the noises of the night
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fileds among,
They heard her singing her last song,
Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darkened wholly,
For ere she reached upon the tide
The first house by the waterside,
Singing in her song she died,
Under tower and balcony,
By the garden wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
Out up the wharfs they came,
Knight and burgher, lord and dame,
And round the prow they read her name,
Who is this? and what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheet;
And they crossed themselves for fear,
But Lancelot mused a little space;
He said, 'She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
Alfred, Lord Tennyson's Poetry
Alfred, Lord Tennyson: An Overview
