Luyện nghe bài hát The Lady of Shalott

On either of the river lie
Long fields of and of rye,
That the world and meet the sky;
And thro' the field the run by

To many-towered

And up and down the go,
Gazing where the lilies
an island there below,
The of Shalott.

whiten, aspens quiver,
Little dusk and shiver
Thro' the that runs for ever
By the in the river

Flowing to Camelot.

Four grey walls, and four towers,
a space of flowers,
And the silent isle
The of Shalott.

reapers, reaping early,
In among the bearded
Hear a song that echoes
the river winding clearly

Down to Camelot;

And by the the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in airy,
Listening, whispers "'tis the
The of Shalott."

she weaves by night and day
A magic web colours gay,
She has a whisper say,
A is on her if she stay

To down to Camelot.

She not what the curse may be,
And so she steadily,
And little care hath she,
The of Shalott.

And moving a mirror clear
That hangs her all the year,
Shadows of the appear.
There she the highway near

down to Camelot;

And sometimes thro' the blue
The Knights come two and two.
She no loyal Knight and true,
The Of Shalott.

But in her web she still
To the mirror's magic sights,
For often thro' the nights
A funeral, with and lights

And music, went to

Or when the was overhead,
Came two lovers lately wed.
"I am half of shadows," said
The Of Shalott.

A from her bower-eaves,
He rode the barley sheaves,
The sun dazzling thro' the leaves,
And flamed the brazen greaves

Of Sir Lancelot.

A knight for ever kneel'd
To a in his shield,
That sparkled on the field,
Beside Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse
From underneath his helmet
His curls as on he rode,

As he back to Camelot.

From the bank and from the
he flashed into the mirror,
"Tirra Lirra," by the
Sir Lancelot.

She the web, she left the loom,
She three paces taro' the room,
She saw the bloom,
She saw the and the plume,

She looked to Camelot.

Out flew the web and floated
The mirror from side to side;
"The curse is come me," cried
The of Shalott.

In the stormy straining,
The pale woods were waning,
The broad in his banks complaining.
Heavily the low sky

towered Camelot;

Down she came and a boat
a willow left afloat,
And about the prow she wrote
The Lady of

And the river's dim expanse
some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own -
a glassy countenance

Did she to Camelot.

And at the of the day
She loosed the chain and down she
The stream bore her far away,
The of Shalott.

a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, lowly,
Till her was frozen slowly,
And her eyes darkened wholly,

Turn'd to Camelot.

For ere she reach'd upon the
The house by the water-side,
Singing in her she died,
The of Shalott.

Under and balcony,
By and gallery,
A gleaming she floated by,
Dead-pale between the high,

into Camelot.

Out upon the wharfs came,
Knight and Burgher, and Dame,
And round the they read her name,
The of Shalott.

Who is And what is here?
And in the palace near
Died the sound of royal
And they themselves for fear,

All the at Camelot;

But Lancelot mused a space
He said, "She has a lovely
God in his lend her grace,
The of Shalott."