Поэтический мир прерафаэлитов - [12]

And the red cloaks of market girls

            Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,

An abbot on an ambling pad,

Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad,

Or long-hair’d page in crimson clad,

            Goes by to tower’d 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,’ said

            The Lady of Shalott.

PART III

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.

The gemmy bridle glitter’d free,

Like to some branch of stars we see

Hung in the golden Galaxy.

The bridle-bells rang merrily

            As he rode down to Camelot:

And from his blazon’d baldric slung

A mighty silver bugle hung,

And as he rode his armour rung,

            Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather

Thick-jewell’d shone the saddle-leather,

The helmet and the helmet-feather

Burn’d like one burning flame together,

            As he rode down to Camelot.

As often thro’ the purple night,

Below the starry clusters bright,

Some bearded meteor, trailing light,

            Moves over still 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 flash’d into the crystal mirror,

ʽTirra 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 look’d down to Camelot.

Out flew the web and floated wide;

The mirror crack’d from side to side;

‘The curse is come upon me,’ cried

            The Lady of Shalott.

PART IV

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 tower’d 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.

Lying robed in snowy white

That loosely flew to left and right —

The leaves upon her falling light —

Thro’ 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 darken’d wholly,

            Turn’d to tower’d 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 cross’d 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.’

John William Waterhouse THE LADY OF SHALOTT. Oil on canvas. 1888 Tate, London

Джон Уильям Уотерхаус ЛЕДИ ШАЛОТТ. Холст, масло. 1888 Галерея Тейт, Лондон

ВОЛШЕБНИЦА ШАЛОТТ

ЧАСТЬ I

По берегам реки легли

Поля возделанной земли,

Что с небом сходятся вдали,

А через луг — тропа в пыли

            Уводит к замку Камелот.

Проходят люди чередой,

Глядят туда, где над водой

Качает лилии прибой

            Вкруг острова Шалотт.

Дремлют буки, никнут ивы,

Ветерок колышет нивы,

Волны вечного прилива

Мимо острова лениво

            Катят к замку Камелот

Башен четырех громады

Поднимаются над садом.

То — безмолвная ограда

            Волшебницы Шалотт.

Кони под зеленой сенью

Тянут барки по теченью,

Покоряясь дуновенью,

Челноки крылатой тенью

            Мчатся к замку Камелот.

Но кто в какие времена

Ее приметил у окна?

Известна ль в тех краях она —

            Волшебница Шалотт?

Лишь селяне, что с рассветом

Жать овес выходят летом,

Слышат песнь: при звуке этом

Эхо радостным ответом

            Будит замок Камелот.

Ровно сноп к снопу ложится,

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