The Early Poems of Alfred Lord Tennyson Part 23

[Footnote 14: 1833. From Camelot.]

[Footnote 15: 1833. "Tirra lirra, tirra lirra."]

[Footnote 16: 1833. Water flower.]

[Footnote 17: 1833.

Outside the isle a shallow boat Beneath a willow lay afloat, Below the carven stern she wrote, THE LADY OF SHALOTT.]

[Footnote 18: 1833.

A cloud-white 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, Though the squally eastwind keenly Blew, with folded arms serenely By the water stood the queenly Lady of Shalott.

With a steady, stony glance-- Like some bold seer in a trance, Beholding all his own mischance, Mute, with a gla.s.sy countenance-- She looked down to Camelot.

It was the closing of the day, She loosed the chain, and down she lay, The broad stream bore her far away, 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 sh.o.r.eward; so to Camelot Still as the boat-head wound along The willowy hills and fields among, They heard her chanting her death song, The Lady of Shalott.]

[Footnote 19: 1833.

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

[Footnote 20: "A corse" (1853) is a variant for the "Dead-pale" of 1857.]

[Footnote 21: 1833.

A pale, pale corpse she floated by, Dead cold, between the houses high, Dead into towered Camelot.

Knight and burgher, lord and dame, To the planked wharf.a.ge came: Below the stern they read her name, "The Lady of Shalott".]

[Footnote 22: 1833. Spells it "Launcelot" all through.]

[Footnote 23: 1833.

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 well-fed 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.'"]

MARIANA IN THE SOUTH

First printed in 1833.

This poem had been written as early as 1831 (see Arthur Hallam's letter, 'Life', i., 284-5, Appendix), and Lord Tennyson tells us that it "came to my father as he was travelling between Narbonne and Perpignan"; how vividly the characteristic features of Southern France are depicted must be obvious to every one who is familiar with them. It is interesting to compare it with the companion poem; the central position is the same in both, desolate loneliness, and the mood is the same, but the setting is far more picturesque and is therefore more dwelt upon.

The poem was very greatly altered when re-published in 1842, that text being practically the final one, there being no important variants afterwards.

In the edition of 1833 the poem opened with the following stanza, which was afterwards excised and the stanza of the present text subst.i.tuted.

Behind the barren hill upsprung With pointed rocks against the light, The crag sharpshadowed overhung Each glaring creek and inlet bright.

Far, far, one light blue ridge was seen, Looming like baseless fairyland; Eastward a slip of burning sand, Dark-rimmed with sea, and bare of green, Down in the dry salt-marshes stood That house dark latticed. Not a breath Swayed the sick vineyard underneath, Or moved the dusty southernwood.

"Madonna," with melodious moan Sang Mariana, night and morn, "Madonna! lo! I am all alone, Love-forgotten and love-forlorn."

With one black shadow at its feet, The house thro' all the level s.h.i.+nes, Close-latticed to the brooding heat, And silent in its dusty vines: A faint-blue ridge upon the right, An empty river-bed before, And shallows on a distant sh.o.r.e, In glaring sand and inlets bright.

But "Ave Mary," made she moan, And "Ave Mary," night and morn, And "Ah," she sang, "to be all alone, To live forgotten, and love forlorn".

She, as her carol sadder grew, From brow and bosom slowly down [1]

Thro' rosy taper fingers drew Her streaming curls of deepest brown To left and right, [2] and made appear, Still-lighted in a secret shrine, Her melancholy eyes divine, [3]

The home of woe without a tear.

And "Ave Mary," was her moan, [4]

"Madonna, sad is night and morn"; And "Ah," she sang, "to be all alone, To live forgotten, and love forlorn".

Till all the crimson changed, [5] and past Into deep orange o'er the sea, Low on her knees herself she cast, Before Our Lady murmur'd she; Complaining, "Mother, give me grace To help me of my weary load".

And on the liquid mirror glow'd The clear perfection of her face.

"Is this the form," she made her moan, "That won his praises night and morn?"

And "Ah," she said, "but I wake alone, I sleep forgotten, I wake forlorn". [6]

Nor bird would sing, nor lamb would bleat, Nor any cloud would cross the vault, But day increased from heat to heat, On stony drought and steaming salt; Till now at noon she slept again, And seem'd knee-deep in mountain gra.s.s, And heard her native breezes pa.s.s, And runlets babbling down the glen.

She breathed in sleep a lower moan, And murmuring, as at night and morn, She thought, "My spirit is here alone, Walks forgotten, and is forlorn". [7]

Dreaming, she knew it was a dream: She felt he was and was not there, [8]

She woke: the babble of the stream Fell, and without the steady glare Shrank one sick willow [9] sere and small.

The river-bed was dusty-white; And all the furnace of the light Struck up against the blinding wall. [10]

She whisper'd, with a stifled moan More inward than at night or morn, "Sweet Mother, let me not here alone Live forgotten, and die forlorn". [11]

[12] And rising, from her bosom drew Old letters, breathing of her worth, For "Love," they said, "must needs be true, To what is loveliest upon earth".

An image seem'd to pa.s.s the door, To look at her with slight, and say, "But now thy beauty flows away, So be alone for evermore".

"O cruel heart," she changed her tone, "And cruel love, whose end is scorn, Is this the end to be left alone, To live forgotten, and die forlorn!"

But sometimes in the falling day An image seem'd to pa.s.s the door, To look into her eyes and say, "But thou shalt be alone no more".

And flaming downward over all From heat to heat the day decreased, And slowly rounded to the east The one black shadow from the wall.

"The day to night," she made her moan, "The day to night, the night to morn, And day and night I am left alone To live forgotten, and love forlorn."

At eve a dry cicala sung, There came a sound as of the sea; Backward the lattice-blind she flung, And lean'd upon the balcony.

There all in s.p.a.ces rosy-bright Large Hesper glitter'd on her tears, And deepening thro' the silent spheres, Heaven over Heaven rose the night.

And weeping then she made her moan, "The night comes on that knows not morn, When I shall cease to be all alone, To live forgotten, and love forlorn". [13]

[Footnote 1: 1833 From her warm brow and bosom down.]

[Footnote 2: 1833. On either side.]