Musings of Shalott. . .

Part V
There he lingered among the flare;
The reapers breathing the crisp air,
Laying down their scythes with care—
He stole a glance at the lady fair,
       Solemn Sir Lancelot.
There she lay pale as a ghost,
The lady whom he loved the most;
The fairest one of all the coast;
       The Lady of Shalott.

He met a crone down by the lea,
Who knew the maid and her agony:
The curse, which had come to be;
The place, the time, and the remedy—
       Locked inside tow'ring Camelot.
They saw the mirror and they saw the loom,
Which greeted them inside the room.
Could this be his horrible doom,
       In remote Shalott?

The crone spied the web she wove
Which the magic mirror had strove,
Tranced by the haunting vice she drove.
"It must be burned down in the grove!"
       Said the crone to Lancelot.
The Priest had followed on the way,
By the place with the walls of grey,
He knew what God would have him say—
       While in Camelot.

An evil spirit had gnashed and tore,
Leaving the maid darkened and sore,
Through the mirror and back no more;
Their prayer was heard down by the shore—
       The Priest and Lancelot.
She began to open her eyes,
The knights were amazed with long sighs;
She awaited a nice surprise,
       The Lady of Shalott.

Part VI
Camelot's secret had been kept,
For the witch there had often crept;
To the remote Isle and had slept,
Nearby the lady who had wept—
       The Lady of Shalott.
This vile creature embraced the de'l
Whose own lot was cast into hell,
And for revenge, did cast a spell
       On towering Camelot.
(Knowing that the maiden would fall
For the knight so hansom and tall,
Because of her own dreary pall:
       And the Beauty of Shalott.)

Willows drooping, aspens shiver,
Of the witch down in the river,
Sinking and drowning did quiver;
Her quest died with her forever,
       The Dark one of Camelot.
The ancient thought she had the best,
Because the mirror told the rest,
Never knowing she'd pass the test—
       The Lady of Shalott.

The witch would creep into the night
To taunt the lady with delight;
Prowling 'round Shalott's dark grey tow'rs,
Exercising her dev'lish pow'rs
       Upon the Lady of Shalott.
Encounter between witch and crone,
While in the gloomy room alone;
The web wrapt her up she did moan—
       Breaking the curse of Camelot.

She fell through the mirror and died,
Before she drowned she shrieked and cried;
The dark river bubbling contains,
No trace of witch's remains
       Noted Sir Lancelot.
And through the silence of the night,
He left the awful dreary sight,
With a fading half-dim torch light—
       He rode back to Camelot.

Part VII
While they all thought the lady died,
She opened up her eyes and cried;
A hush fell upon all inside,
And seeing all that had betide,
       The Lady of Shalott.
All had thought she had expired,
Pale as Death, and cold and tired.
She did not know what transpired,
       While at Camelot.

She recalls laying in the boat,
Under a willow left afloat.
She recalls the mirror's delights,
Weaving stead'ly its magic sights—
       The Lady of Shalott.
She was not dead! God did grant grace,
Upon the maid with lovely face;
She was unconscious for a space!
       Mused the knights of Camelot.

She recalls weaving night and day,
The magic web with colours gay.
She remembers the whisper say,
"A curse is on you if you stay."
       The Lady of Shalott.
Now she knows about all the rest,
The evil witch and her dark quest;
And how God brought her thro' the test—
       The broken curse of Camelot.

She sat upon the bed and thought
About the news which others brought.
Thinking of what Lancelot said,
When he thought that she was dead—
       She thought of Lancelot.
She thought of the young lovers wed,
When the moon was hung overhead.
"I am tired of being alone," said
       The Lady of Shalott.

Lancelot entered in the room
And handed her a lily bloom.
"Wilt thou be my bride lady dear?"
He whispered softly in her ear—
       The knight, Sir Lancelot.
A smile glowed upon her slim face:
This sweet lady possessed of grace,
Her reply was a long embrace—
       The Lady of Shalott.

They'd live where the aspens quiver,
Where little breezes dusk and shiver,
Through the wave that runs forever,
On the island in the river,
       Which flows to Camelot.
The four grey walls and four grey tow'rs,
The place which overlooks the flow'rs;
Soon this lovely isle empowers,
       The Lady of Shalott.
 
~Timothy~

Originally written in 2006.
© Timothy 1 October, 2012