THOMAS HOOD [1798-1845] FAIR INES O SAW ye not fair Ines? She's gone into the West, To dazzle when the sun is down, With morning blushes on her cheek, And pearls upon her breast. O turn again, fair Ines, Before the fall of night, For fear the Moon should shine alone, And stars unrivaled bright; And blessed will the lover be That walks beneath their light, And breathes the love against thy cheek I dare not even write! Would I had been, fair Ines, That gallant cavalier, Who rode so gaily by thy side, And whispered thee so near! Were there no bonny dames at home Or no true lovers here, That he should cross the seas to win The dearest of the dear? I saw thee, lovely Ines, And banners waved before; And gentle youth and maidens gay, And snowy plumes they wore; It would have been a beauteous dream, -If it had been no more! Alas, alas! fair Ines, She went away with song, With Music waiting on her steps, But some were sad and felt no mirth, In sounds that sang Farewell, Farewell Farewell, farewell, fair Ines! And sorrow on the shore! The smile that blest one lover's heart Has broken many more! ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON [1809-1892] THE LADY OF SHALOTT PART I 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 To many-tower'd Camelot; And up and down the people go, Gazing where the lilies blow Round an island there below, Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver By the island in the river Flowing down to Camelot. Four gray walls, and four gray towers, And the silent isle imbowers By the margin, willow-veil'd, Skimming down to Camelot; But who hath seen her wave her hand? Only reapers, reaping early Down to tower'd Camelot; PART II There she weaves by night and day 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, And moving thro' a mirror clear Shadows of the world appear. Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, And sometimes thro' the mirror blue But in her web she still delights PART III A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd That sparkled on the yellow field, The gemmy bridle glitter'd free, The bridle bells rang merrily As he rode down to Camelot; All in the blue unclouded weather As often thro' the purple night, His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd; As he rode down to Camelot. She left the web, she left the loom, |