A/N: If the title of this story hasn't rung any bells for you, then you need to do some reading. This classic poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson, was very well known for its sad story and beautiful images it placed in your mind. One of my favorite singers, Loreena Mckennitt, took ths poem and turned it into a song. Basically singing the poem to a simple tune, she has stopped entire theatres with this song. Beleive me, I know, I was there.
What I wish to do is make this a bit of a song-fic/poem-fic, so that you can experience the beauty that is this poem and a bit of a retelling. I have not used the full poem, but just enough to give you an idea of the story. If you have not read the poem and/or heard the song, do a google search for 'The Lady of Shalott' and you will be linked to Wikipedia and probably be handed a few You Tube videos as well.
Enough gasbagging, I do hope you enjoy this story. All rights to Alfred Lord Tennyson (RIP) and Loreena McKennitt. No money is made from this publication. If the reviews for this are good, I'll do another song/poem-fic.
The Lady of Shalott
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,
The island of Shalott.
During the long rein of King Arthur and his knights, there stood, well beyond the boundries of Camalot, a castle upon an island known as Shalott. This island stood in the middle of a river that flowed form the mountains far away down to Camelot and out to the seas. While many people ventured past this place of great beauty and wonder, none knew of who lived there, nor had any been able to reach it to find out.
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?
What passed around to whomever asked was the story of a woman who lived in the tower, a prisoner there by some means unknown. Many people suspected that dark magic kept her trapped there, but none could prove it, for no one had seen this Lady of Shalott, so none could confirm her existence. All that was known was of this castle, standing upon an island that grew flowers throughout the year.
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
Lady of Shalott."
The many farmers who worked the fields near the castle heard a voice singing from the towers there. While the voice is both beautiful and lovely to listen to, there was never a sign of who was singing. Because of the rumours that persisted, it was guessed by the workers it was the fairy that protected the castle, and that The lady of Shalott must have been one.
Within the castle itself was a grand set up for anyone to live by, but no King nor Toyal lived in this splendid place. Indeed, only one person did, the Lady of Shalott. Blessed by fairies, she lived her in near imortality and protection for her skills.
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.
The lady's skills were indeed for weaving, and for every day and every night, she sat in her room and weaved the most beautiful tapestries for all the fairies of the kingdom and of the world. Hanging before her was a magic mirror, that reflected images of people who passed the castle on their way to and from Camelot, The shadows and images in the mirror depicted many things to her. And as she looked upon the image, she would start weaving anew, and soon, the new tapestry would be finished.
But as she weaves, she can hear the voices of the fairy around her as they come and go for her tapestries. From her many years of listening, she learned that she had been cursed when she was young by an evil fairy, so that perhaps one day there would be less beuty in the world. but no matter how hard she listened, she could not discover the full story behind her curse.
But from this, she decided to keep at her work, weaving the threads and creating most beautiful works of art. She cared little for the comings and goings of the people she saw in the mirror, for she knew simply that they lived free lives to do as they wished. Quite often she saw the many knights of Camelot riding past. She had created many tapestries of them in their shining armour and beautiful horses, and had learned the names of the knights over time. But she was sure there were more she hadn't met.
Quite often, the magic mirror would reflect events that had recently come to pass. One day, The Lady of Shalott sat before her mirror and a funeral procession was reflected in the mirror. The lady of Shalott sighed and thought of the sadness of the people as she began her new tapestry.
As time went on and she was ready to begin again, the mirror flashed up two young people who had clearly been married recently. And while happy for them to have found each other, the Lady of Shalott felt slightly envious, for her many years here, she had not a man of her own.
"I am almost half sick of these shadows," she muttered to herself, but continued to weave the image of the couple by a glorious full moon.
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 armor rung
Beside remote Shalott.
One day, after being out riding, Sir Lancelot came riding towards the castle of Camelot down through the many fields. As he rode past the castle of Shalott, he looked at it in a moment of wonder, having heard the many stories, but considered them nothing more than stories. As he continued to ride, his armor glistening in the sun and the plume in his helmet blew gently in the breeze, he had little idea of what his mere pressence was about to transpire.
From the bank and from the river
He flashed into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra lirra," by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.
As the lady of Shalott sat at her web to begin an new tapestry, she saw a knight that had not been shown to her in the mirror. His handsome features and strong figure, as well as beautiful voice transfixed her, and the lady of Shalott looked on at his image, her heart giving way to love for a man.
She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces through 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.
In desperate need to lay eyes properly on the man she now felt for, she ran from her web to the window of her tower and looked out, she saw there the knight riding away into the distance. Following his path, she saw the far off kingdom of Camelot.
A sudden smash turned her attention to the mirror, for she feared it had fallen, but in truth it had cracked, the image of the knight gone. Looking to her web and loom, she saw her tapestry there, and all the others she had made fall apart and disappear.
"This is the curse, I have brought it about," she cried, and ran from the tower, calling out for help to anyone who might hear her, but no answer came. Feeling weak, the lady of Shalott knew her time had come.
Making her way out of the castle and down to the edge of the island, the Lady of Shalott found a boat sitting under some willows. Taking some paint from the castle, she painted around the bow her name in the most beautiful coligraphy. Sitting in the boat, she loosened the chain and the pull of the river sent her on her way down to Camelot. Laying down, she began to sing a song of the fairy as she slowly travelled down towards the oceans. As she slowly travelled, the lady of Shalott felt coldness grow within her, as her blood slowly froze. her eyes becoming dull and the senses faded.
Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darkened 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.
As the boat enetered Camelot, the song she sang gave one last note and the lady of Shalott, sad and alone, died in her boat. As she continued to float through the river, the many people who walked the streets began to cry in shock and amsement to see this lone boat float in from nowhere and carry a dead woman on its coarse. As the boat passed by, the people read her name, and the many stories of the lady of Shalott were confirmed, in one way or another. The many people wished her well to her next life, that God might find forgiveness to her.
As the boat passed the castle of Camelot, the knights and King were celebrating. Many things to celebrate had recently come to pass, and a feast was being held. But as the feast continued there came shouts from the watch towers. king Arthur and his knights went to the walls to see what was going on. looking over the edge at the boat that floated by, the knights began crossing themselves and praying to God for their protection, for it seemed a bad omen for a mysterious death to come by at such a time.
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."
For you see, not all stories end happily. But for some, a bad ending is still a lesson in itself, and one that must be learned from. Sir Lancelot, not knowing he was the pivital point of her daeth, continued his life without any worry, to the end we all know.