Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song The Lady of Shalott, artist - Loreena McKennitt.
Date of issue: 06.03.2014
Song language: English
The Lady of Shalott |
On either side of the river lie |
Long fields of barley and of rye |
That clothe the wold and meet the sky; |
And thro' the field the road run by |
To many-towered Camelot; |
And up and down the people go |
Gazing where the lilies flow |
Round an island there below |
The island of Shalott |
Willows whiten, aspens quiver |
Little breezes dusk and shiver |
Thro' 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 |
Only reapers, reaping early |
In among the bearded barley |
Hear a song that echoes cheerly |
From the river winding clearly |
Down to tower’d Camelot; |
And by the moon the reaper weary |
Piling sheaves in uplands airy |
Listening, whispers «'tis the fairy |
The Lady of Shalott.» |
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; |
And sometimes thro' 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 thro' 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,» she said |
The Lady Of Shalott |
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 kneel’d |
To a lady in his shield |
That sparkled on the yellow field |
Beside remote 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 |
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 |
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 |
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 |
Heard a carol, mournful, holy |
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly |
Till her blood was frozen slowly |
And her eyes were darkened wholly |
Turn’d to towered 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 |
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.» |