She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.

Lying, robed in snowy white

That loosely flew to left and right -
The leaves upon her falling light
Through the noises of the night

She floated down to Camelot :
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
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
Turned to towered Camelot;
For ere she reached 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."

Alfred Tennyson.

A

KING RYENCE'S CHALLENGE.

S it fell out on a Pentecost-day,

King Arthur at Camelot kept his court royall, With his faire queene, Dame Guenever the gay; And many bold barons sitting in hall; With ladies attired in purple and pall; And heraults in hewkes, hooting on high, Cryed, Largesse, Largesse, Chevaliers tres-hardie.

A doughty dwarfe to the uppermost deas
Right pertlye gan pricke, kneeling on knee;
With steven fulle stoute amids all the preas,
Sayd: Nowe, Sir King Arthur, God save thee, and see!
Sir Ryence of North-gales greeteth well thee,

And bids thee thy beard anon to him send,
Or else from thy jaws he will it off rend.

For his robe of state is a rich scarlet mantle,
With eleven kings beards bordered about,

And there is room lefte yet in a kantle,

For thine to stande, to make the twelfth out:
This must be done, be thou never so stout;
This must be done, I tell thee no fable,
Maugre the teeth of all thy round table.

When this mortal message from his mouthe past,
Great was the noyse bothe in hall and in bower:
The king fumed; the queene screecht; ladies were
aghast;

Princes puffed; barons blustred; lords began lower;
Knights stormed; squires startled, like steeds in a

stower;

Pages and yeomen yelled out in the hall,
Then in came Sir Kay, the king's seneschal.

Silence, my soveraigues, quoth this courteous knight,
And in that stound the stowre began still:
Then the dwarfe's dinner full deerely was dight;
Of wine and wassel he had his wille:

And, when he had eaten and drunken his fill,
An hundred pieces of fine coyned gold

Were given this dwarf for his message bold.

But say to Sir Ryence, thou dwarf, quoth the king,
That for his bold message I do him defye;
And shortlye with basins and pans will him ring
Out of North-gales; where he and I

With swords, and not razors, quickly shall trye, Whether he or King Arthur will prove the best barbor, And therewith he shook his good sword Escalàbor.

Percy's Reliques.

CAR

Carisbrooke.

CARISBROOKE CHIMES.

ARISBROOKE Church on the fifth of November
Flung out the silver hid deep in her chimes;
This was her burden, "Be pleased to remember
The ill which they did in papistical times!"

Over the woods and the fields rich with tillage,
That fairest of islands embellishing still,
People who walked in the streets of the village

Might hear the sweet echoes chime back from the hill.

I think, my old church, you are somewhat ungracious, And do not remember from whence you descended; Who planned you so skilfully, framed you so spacious, And laid your stone walls with zeal pious and splendid!

What was the fount of that bountiful spirit

Which fashioned each porch to the innermost throne? Who pierced the fair windows whose light we inherit, And carved the quaint heads of your corbels of stone?

Do you forget how the people rejoicéd

When first you stood finished, the crown of the vale? What hymns of thanksgiving rose myriad-voicéd,

What rich scent of incense was borne on the gale?

Or have you forgotten how red were the roses

Which wreathed the new altar now ancient and gray?

Ah! many a witness around you reposes,

Whose dead lips, unsealed, would remember that day!

Pacing the churchyard by moonlight in summer,

Watching the rainbow when green leaves turn sere, I think to the heart of a thoughtful new-comer, Each trace of the old Faith should surely be dear.

All she did here was both noble and tender;

God save her living core,

peace to her dust; Inspired by her beauty, amazed by her splendor,

The poet at least can afford to be just.

And I cannot endure to hear you assuring,

At the top of your voice, (though a sweet one, 't is true!)

The mother who reared you with love so enduring, That she and her children are nothing to you.

Bessie Rayner Parkes.

Carlisle.

LINES

WRITTEN ON A WINDOW-PANE AT THE OLD BUSH HOTEL.

ERE chicks in eggs for breakfast sprawl;

HER

Here godless boys God's glories squall;

Here heads of Scotchmen guard the wall;
But Corbie walks alone for all.

David Hume.