{"id":15391,"date":"2021-12-14T23:41:15","date_gmt":"2021-12-15T04:41:15","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.gornahoor.net\/?p=15391"},"modified":"2021-12-26T19:56:37","modified_gmt":"2021-12-27T00:56:37","slug":"lady-of-shalott","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/gornahoor.net\/?p=15391","title":{"rendered":"Lady of Shalott"},"content":{"rendered":"

\u201cTo all the knights of the Round Table sends health this lady of Shalott, as to the best people of the world. And if you want to know why I came to my end, that is because of the greatest knight in the world, and the most ungracious; that is my lord Sir Lancelot of the Lake, whom I was unable to pray of his love such that he would have pity of me. And thus, weary, I died, for loving well, as you can see!\u201d ~ final letter of the Lady of Shalott<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

In the Matter of Britain<\/strong>, the Lady of Shalott<\/strong> was Elaine of Astolat<\/strong>. Elaine was in love with Lancelot. When the knight was injured in battle, she nursed him back to health. After he recovered, he treated her like hired help, unaware of her feelings for him. Her love unrequited, she died of heartbreak ten days later.<\/p>\n

\"Lady<\/a><\/figure>\n

At that time, people participated in the world by experience unironically, not as they do today. Thus, they \u201cfelt\u201d the world, with emotions that were more deeply and strongly experienced, with a range that exceeds the limited emotional responses of our time.<\/p>\n

So the story is plausible to me, since I witnessed my mother die about 10 days after my father with the same disease: heartache. At least they had a lifetime together. Lancelot spurned such a strong love that was freely offered to him. Elaine had no more reason to live.<\/p>\n

Alfred, Lord Tennyson retold the story in the poem The Lady of Shalott, of which he published two versions.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
The Lady of Shalott (1832)<\/strong><\/td>\nThe Lady of Shalott (1842)<\/strong><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
By Alfred, Lord Tennyson<\/td>\nBy Alfred, Lord Tennyson<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Part I<\/strong><\/th>\n<\/tr>\n
On either side the river lie
\nLong fields of barley and of rye,
\nThat clothe the wold and meet the sky;
\nAnd thro’ the field the road runs by
\n  To many-tower’d Camelot;
\nThe yellow-leaved waterlily
\nThe green-sheathed daffodilly
\nTremble in the water chilly
\n  Round about Shalott.<\/p>\n

Willows whiten, aspens shiver.
\nThe sunbeam showers break and quiver
\nIn the stream that runneth ever
\nBy the island in the river
\n  Flowing down to Camelot.
\nFour gray walls, and four gray towers
\nOverlook a space of flowers,
\nAnd the silent isle imbowers
\n  The Lady of Shalott.<\/p>\n

Underneath the bearded barley,
\nThe reaper, reaping late and early,
\nHears her ever chanting cheerly,
\nLike an angel, singing clearly,
\n  O’er the stream of Camelot.
\nPiling the sheaves in furrows airy,
\nBeneath the moon, the reaper weary
\nListening whispers, ‘ ‘Tis the fairy,
\n  Lady of Shalott.’<\/p>\n

The little isle is all inrail’d
\nWith a rose-fence, and overtrail’d
\nWith roses: by the marge unhail’d
\nThe shallop flitteth silken sail’d,
\n  Skimming down to Camelot.
\nA pearl garland winds her head:
\nShe leaneth on a velvet bed,
\nFull royally apparelled,
\n  The Lady of Shalott.\n<\/td>\n

On either side the river lie
\nLong fields of barley and of rye,
\nThat clothe the wold and meet the sky;
\nAnd thro’ the field the road runs by
\n  To many-tower’d Camelot;
\nAnd up and down the people go,
\nGazing where the lilies blow
\nRound an island there below,
\n  The island of Shalott.<\/p>\n

Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
\nLittle breezes dusk and shiver
\nThro’ the wave that runs for ever
\nBy the island in the river
\n  Flowing down to Camelot.
\nFour gray walls, and four gray towers,
\nOverlook a space of flowers,
\nAnd the silent isle imbowers
\n  The Lady of Shalott.<\/p>\n

By the margin, willow veil’d,
\nSlide the heavy barges trail’d
\nBy slow horses; and unhail’d
\nThe shallop flitteth silken-sail’d
\n  Skimming down to Camelot:
\nBut who hath seen her wave her hand?
\nOr at the casement seen her stand?
\nOr is she known in all the land,
\n  The Lady of Shalott?<\/p>\n

Only reapers, reaping early
\nIn among the bearded barley,
\nHear a song that echoes cheerly
\nFrom the river winding clearly,
\n  Down to tower’d Camelot:
\nAnd by the moon the reaper weary,
\nPiling sheaves in uplands airy,
\nListening, whispers ” ‘Tis the fairy
\n  Lady of Shalott.”<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n

Part II<\/strong><\/th>\n<\/tr>\n
No time hath she to sport and play:
\nA charmed web she weaves alway.
\nA curse is on her, if she stay
\nHer weaving, either night or day,
\n  To look down to Camelot.
\nShe knows not what the curse may be;
\nTherefore she weaveth steadily,
\nTherefore no other care hath she,
\n  The Lady of Shalott.<\/p>\n

She lives with little joy or fear.
\nOver the water, running near,
\nThe sheepbell tinkles in her ear.
\nBefore her hangs a mirror clear,
\n  Reflecting tower’d Camelot.
\nAnd as the mazy web she whirls,
\nShe sees the surly village churls,
\nAnd the red cloaks of market girls
\n  Pass onward from Shalott.<\/p>\n

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
\nAn abbot on an ambling pad,
\nSometimes a curly shepherd lad,
\nOr long-hair’d page in crimson clad,
\n  Goes by to tower’d Camelot:
\nAnd sometimes thro’ the mirror blue
\nThe knights come riding two and two:
\nShe hath no loyal knight and true,
\n  The Lady of Shalott.<\/p>\n

But in her web she still delights
\nTo weave the mirror’s magic sights,
\nFor often thro’ the silent nights
\nA funeral, with plumes and lights
\n  And music, came from Camelot:
\nOr when the moon was overhead
\nCame two young lovers lately wed;
\n‘I am half sick of shadows,’ said
\n  The Lady of Shalott.\n<\/td>\n

There she weaves by night and day
\nA magic web with colours gay.
\nShe has heard a whisper say,
\nA curse is on her if she stay
\n  To look down to Camelot.
\nShe knows not what the curse may be,
\nAnd so she weaveth steadily,
\nAnd little other care hath she,
\n  The Lady of Shalott.<\/p>\n

And moving thro’ a mirror clear
\nThat hangs before her all the year,
\nShadows of the world appear.
\nThere she sees the highway near
\n  Winding down to Camelot:
\nThere the river eddy whirls,
\nAnd there the surly village-churls,
\nAnd the red cloaks of market girls,
\n  Pass onward from Shalott.<\/p>\n

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
\nAn abbot on an ambling pad,
\nSometimes a curly shepherd-lad,
\nOr long-hair’d page in crimson clad,
\n  Goes by to tower’d Camelot;
\nAnd sometimes thro’ the mirror blue
\nThe knights come riding two and two:
\nShe hath no loyal knight and true,
\n  The Lady of Shalott.<\/p>\n

But in her web she still delights
\nTo weave the mirror’s magic sights,
\nFor often thro’ the silent nights
\nA funeral, with plumes and lights
\n  And music, went to Camelot:
\nOr when the moon was overhead,
\nCame two young lovers lately wed:
\n“I am half sick of shadows,” said
\n  The Lady of Shalott.\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n

Part III<\/strong><\/th>\n<\/tr>\n
A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
\nHe rode between the barley-sheaves,
\nThe sun came dazzling thro’ the leaves,
\nAnd flam’d upon the brazen greaves
\n  Of bold Sir Lancelot.
\nA red-cross knight for ever kneel’d
\nTo a lady in his shield,
\nThat sparkled on the yellow field,
\n  Beside remote Shalott.<\/p>\n

The gemmy bridle glitter’d free,
\nLike to some branch of stars we see
\nHung in the golden Galaxy.
\nThe bridle bells rang merrily
\n  As he rode down from Camelot:
\nAnd from his blazon’d baldric slung
\nA mighty silver bugle hung,
\nAnd as he rode his armour rung,
\n  Beside remote Shalott.<\/p>\n

All in the blue unclouded weather
\nThick-jewell’d shone the saddle-leather,
\nThe helmet and the helmet-feather
\nBurn’d like one burning flame together,
\n  As he rode down from Camelot.
\nAs often thro’ the purple night,
\nBelow the starry clusters bright,
\nSome bearded meteor, trailing light,
\n  Moves over green Shalott.<\/p>\n

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow’d;
\nOn burnish’d hooves his war-horse trode;
\nFrom underneath his helmet flow’d
\nHis coal-black curls as on he rode,
\n  As he rode down from Camelot.
\nFrom the bank and from the river
\nHe flash’d into the crystal mirror,
\n‘Tirra lirra, tirra lirra:’
\n  Sang Sir Lancelot.<\/p>\n

She left the web, she left the loom
\nShe made three paces thro’ the room
\nShe saw the water-flower bloom,
\nShe saw the helmet and the plume,
\n  She look’d down to Camelot.
\nOut flew the web and floated wide;
\nThe mirror crack’d from side to side;
\n‘The curse is come upon me,’ cried
\n  The Lady of Shalott.\n<\/td>\n

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
\nHe rode between the barley-sheaves,
\nThe sun came dazzling thro’ the leaves,
\nAnd flamed upon the brazen greaves
\n  Of bold Sir Lancelot.
\nA red-cross knight for ever kneel’d
\nTo a lady in his shield,
\nThat sparkled on the yellow field,
\n  Beside remote Shalott.<\/p>\n

The gemmy bridle glitter’d free,
\nLike to some branch of stars we see
\nHung in the golden Galaxy.
\nThe bridle bells rang merrily
\n  As he rode down to Camelot:
\nAnd from his blazon’d baldric slung
\nA mighty silver bugle hung,
\nAnd as he rode his armour rung,
\n  Beside remote Shalott.<\/p>\n

All in the blue unclouded weather
\nThick-jewell’d shone the saddle-leather,
\nThe helmet and the helmet-feather
\nBurn’d like one burning flame together,
\n  As he rode down to Camelot.
\nAs often thro’ the purple night,
\nBelow the starry clusters bright,
\nSome bearded meteor, trailing light,
\n  Moves over still Shalott.<\/p>\n

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow’d;
\nOn burnish’d hooves his war-horse trode;
\nFrom underneath his helmet flow’d
\nHis coal-black curls as on he rode,
\n  As he rode down to Camelot.
\nFrom the bank and from the river
\nHe flash’d into the crystal mirror,
\n“Tirra lirra,” by the river
\n  Sang Sir Lancelot.<\/p>\n

She left the web, she left the loom,
\nShe made three paces thro’ the room,
\nShe saw the water-lily bloom,
\nShe saw the helmet and the plume,
\n  She look’d down to Camelot.
\nOut flew the web and floated wide;
\nThe mirror crack’d from side to side;
\n“The curse is come upon me,” cried
\n  The Lady of Shalott.\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n

Part IV<\/strong><\/th>\n<\/tr>\n
In the stormy east-wind straining,
\nThe pale yellow woods were waning,
\nThe broad stream in his banks complaining,
\nHeavily the low sky raining
\n  Over tower’d Camelot;
\nOutside the isle a shallow boat
\nBeneath a willow lay afloat,
\nBelow the carven stern she wrote,
\n  The Lady of Shalott.<\/em><\/p>\n

A cloudwhite crown of pearl she dight,
\nAll raimented in snowy white
\nThat loosely flew (her zone in sight
\nClasp’d with one blinding diamond bright
\n  Her wide eyes fix’d on Camelot,
\nThough the squally east-wind keenly
\nBlew, with folded arms serenely
\nBy the water stood the queenly
\n  Lady of Shalott.<\/p>\n

With a steady stony glance\u2014
\nLike some bold seer in a trance,
\nBeholding all his own mischance,
\nMute, with a glassy countenance\u2014
\n  She look’d down to Camelot.
\nIt was the closing of the day:
\nShe loos’d the chain, and down she lay;
\nThe broad stream bore her far away,
\n  The Lady of Shalott.<\/p>\n

As when to sailors while they roam,
\nBy creeks and outfalls far from home,
\nRising and dropping with the foam,
\nFrom dying swans wild warblings come,
\n  Blown shoreward; so to Camelot
\nStill as the boathead wound along
\nThe willowy hills and fields among,
\nThey heard her chanting her deathsong,
\n  The Lady of Shalott.<\/p>\n

A longdrawn carol, mournful, holy,
\nShe chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
\nTill her eyes were darken’d wholly,
\nAnd her smooth face sharpen’d slowly,
\n  Turn’d to tower’d Camelot:
\nFor ere she reach’d upon the tide
\nThe first house by the water-side,
\nSinging in her song she died,
\n  The Lady of Shalott.<\/p>\n

Under tower and balcony,
\nBy garden wall and gallery,
\nA pale, pale corpse she floated by,
\nDeadcold, between the houses high,
\n  Dead into tower’d Camelot.
\nKnight and burgher, lord and dame,
\nTo the planked wharfage came:
\nBelow the stern they read her name,
\n  The Lady of Shalott.<\/em><\/p>\n

They cross’d themselves, their stars they blest,
\nKnight, minstrel, abbot, squire, and guest.
\nThere lay a parchment on her breast,
\nThat puzzled more than all the rest,
\n  The wellfed wits at Camelot.
\n‘The web was woven curiously,
\nThe charm is broken utterly,
\nDraw near and fear not,\u2014this is I,
\n  The Lady of Shalott.’<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/strong><\/td>\n

In the stormy east-wind straining,
\nThe pale yellow woods were waning,
\nThe broad stream in his banks complaining,
\nHeavily the low sky raining
\n  Over tower’d Camelot;
\nDown she came and found a boat
\nBeneath a willow left afloat,
\nAnd round about the prow she wrote
\n  The Lady of Shalott.<\/em><\/p>\n

And down the river’s dim expanse
\nLike some bold se\u00ebr in a trance,
\nSeeing all his own mischance\u2014
\nWith a glassy countenance
\n  Did she look to Camelot.
\nAnd at the closing of the day
\nShe loosed the chain, and down she lay;
\nThe broad stream bore her far away,
\n  The Lady of Shalott.<\/p>\n

Lying, robed in snowy white
\nThat loosely flew to left and right\u2014
\nThe leaves upon her falling light\u2014
\nThro’ the noises of the night
\n  She floated down to Camelot:
\nAnd as the boat-head wound along
\nThe willowy hills and fields among,
\nThey heard her singing her last song,
\n  The Lady of Shalott.<\/p>\n

Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
\nChanted loudly, chanted lowly,
\nTill her blood was frozen slowly,
\nAnd her eyes were darken’d wholly,
\n  Turn’d to tower’d Camelot.
\nFor ere she reach’d upon the tide
\nThe first house by the water-side,
\nSinging in her song she died,
\n  The Lady of Shalott.<\/p>\n

Under tower and balcony,
\nBy garden-wall and gallery,
\nA gleaming shape she floated by,
\nDead-pale between the houses high,
\n  Silent into Camelot.
\nOut upon the wharfs they came,
\nKnight and burgher, lord and dame,
\nAnd round the prow they read her name,
\n  The Lady of Shalott.<\/em><\/p>\n

Who is this? and what is here?
\nAnd in the lighted palace near
\nDied the sound of royal cheer;
\nAnd they cross’d themselves for fear,
\n  All the knights at Camelot:
\nBut Lancelot mused a little space;
\nHe said, “She has a lovely face;
\nGod in his mercy lend her grace,
\n  The Lady of Shalott.”\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n

Appendix: An Anima Dream<\/h2>\n

Last night, I had another Anima dream, which surprised me. I spotted a woman at a gathering. I recognized her from some other time, maybe even from a different turn of the spiral of the degrees of Existence. As I sat in an armchair, she approached and sat on my lap. Then she gently kissed me on my lips. There was such joy, like the ending of Sehnsucht, that I felt it even in my sleep. I vowed never to pass up such love again.<\/p>\n

\n

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