Standard Selections Part 11

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 forever kneel'd To a lady in his shield, That sparkled on the yellow field, Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather Thick jewel'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 cl.u.s.ters 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 flashed into the crystal mirror, "Tirra 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 gla.s.sy 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 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 around 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 s.p.a.ce; He said, "She has a lovely face; G.o.d in His mercy lend her grace, The Lady of Shalott."

A LEGEND OF SERVICE[9]

HENRY VAN d.y.k.e

It pleased the Lord of Angels (praise his name!) To hear, one day, report from those who came With pitying sorrow, or exultant joy, To tell of earthly tasks in His employ; For some were sorry when they saw how slow The stream of heavenly love on earth must flow; And some were glad because their eyes had seen, Along its banks, fresh flowers and living green.

So, at a certain hour, before the throne The youngest angel, Asmiel, stood alone; Nor glad, nor sad, but full of earnest thought, And thus his tidings to the Master brought: "Lord, in the city Lupon I have found Three servants of thy holy name, renowned Above their fellows. One is very wise, With thoughts that ever range above the skies; And one is gifted with the golden speech That makes men glad to hear when he will teach; And one, with no rare gift or grace endued, Has won the people's love by doing good.

With three such saints Lupon is trebly blest; But, Lord, I fain would know which loves thee best?"

Then spake the Lord of Angels, to whose look The hearts of all are like an open book: "In every soul the secret thought I read, And well I know who loves me best indeed.

But every life has pages vacant still, Whereon a man may write the thing he will; Therefore I read in silence, day by day, And wait for hearts untaught to learn my way.

But thou shalt go to Lupon, to the three Who serve me there, and take this word from me: Tell each of them his Master bids him go Alone to Spiran's huts, across the snow; There he shall find a certain task for me, But what, I do not tell to them nor thee.

Give thou the message, make my word the test, And crown for me the one who answers best."

Silent the angel stood, with folded hands, To take the imprint of his Lord's commands; Then drew one breath, obedient and elate, And pa.s.sed the self-same hour, through Lupon's gate.

First to the Temple door he made his way; And then because it was an holy-day, He saw the folk by thousands thronging, stirred By ardent thirst to hear the preacher's word.

Then, while the echoes murmured Bernol's name, Through aisles that hushed behind him, Bernol came; Strung to the keenest pitch of conscious might, With lips prepared and firm, and eyes alight.

One moment at the pulpit step he knelt In silent prayer, and on his shoulder felt The angel's hand:--"The Master bids thee go Alone to Spiran's huts, across the snow, To serve Him there." Then Bernol's hidden face Went white as death, and for about the s.p.a.ce Of ten slow heart-beats there was no reply; Till Bernol looked around and whispered, "Why?"

But answer to this question came there none; The angel sighed, and with a sigh was gone.

Within the humble house where Malvin spent His studious years, on holy things intent, Sweet stillness reigned; and there the angel found The saintly sage immersed in thought profound, Weaving with patient toil and willing care A web of wisdom, wonderful and fair: A seamless robe for Truth's great bridal meet, And needing but one thread to be complete.

Then Asmiel touched his hand and broke the thread Of fine-spun thought, and very gently said, "The One of whom thou thinkest bids thee go Alone to Spiran's huts, across the snow, To serve Him there." With sorrow and surprise Malvin looked up, reluctance in his eyes.

The broken thought, the strangeness of the call, The perilous pa.s.sage of the mountain-wall, The solitary journey, and the length Of ways unknown, too great for his frail strength, Appalled him. With a doubtful brow He scanned the doubtful task, and muttered, "How?"

But Asmiel answered, as he turned to go, With cold disheartened voice, "I do not know."

Now as he went, with fading hope, to seek The third and last, to whom G.o.d bade him speak, Scarce twenty steps away whom should he meet But Fermor, hurrying cheerful down the street, With ready heart that faced his work like play, And joyed to find it greater day by day!

The angel stopped him with uplifted hand, And gave without delay his Lord's command: "He whom thou servest here would have thee go Alone to Spiran's huts, across the snow, To serve Him there." Ere Asmiel breathed again The eager answer leaped to meet him, "When?"

The angel's face with inward joy grew bright, And all his figure glowed with heavenly light; He took the golden circlet from his brow And gave the crown to Fermor, answering; "Now!

For thou hast met the Master's bidden test, And I have found the man who loves Him best.

Not thine, nor mine, to question or reply When He commands us, asking 'how?' or 'why?'

He knows the cause; His ways are wise and just; Who serves the King must serve with perfect trust."

FOOTNOTE:

[9] From "Music and other Poems," copyright, 1904, by Charles Scribner's Sons.

LITTLE BOY BLUE

EUGENE FIELD

The little toy dog is covered with dust, But st.u.r.dy and stanch he stands; And the little tin soldier is red with rust, And his musket molds in his hands.

Time was when the little toy dog was new And the soldier was pa.s.sing fair, And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue Kissed them and put them there.

"Now, don't you go till I come," he said; "And don't you make any noise!"

So toddling off to his trundle bed He dreamt of the pretty toys.

And, as he was dreaming, an angel song Awakened our Little Boy Blue-- Oh, the years are many, the years are long, But the little toy friends are true.

Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand, Each in the same old place.

Awaiting the touch of a little hand, The smile of a little face.

And they wonder, as waiting these long years through, In the dust of that little chair, What has become of that Little Boy Blue Since he kissed them and put them there.