Luyện nghe bài hát The Lady of Shalott

On either of the river lie
Long of barley and of rye,
That clothe the and meet the sky;
And the field the road run by

To many-towered

And up and the people go,
where the lilies blow
Round an island below,
The of Shalott.

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

down to Camelot.

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

reapers, reaping early,
In among the bearded
Hear a song echoes cheerly
From the river clearly

to tower'd Camelot;

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

There she by night and day
A web with colours gay,
She has heard a say,
A curse is on her if she

To look to Camelot.

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

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

Winding to Camelot;

And sometimes thro' the mirror
The Knights riding two and two.
She hath no loyal and true,
The Of Shalott.

But in her web she delights
To weave the mirror's sights,
For often the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and

And music, to Camelot;

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

A from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the sheaves,
The sun came dazzling the leaves,
And upon the brazen greaves

Of Sir Lancelot.

A red-cross for ever kneel'd
To a in his shield,
That sparkled on the field,
remote Shalott.

His broad brow in sunlight glow'd;
On hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his flow'd
His curls as on he rode,

As he rode to Camelot.

From the bank and the river
he into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra Lirra," by the
Sir Lancelot.

She the web, she left the loom,
She made three 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 cracked from to side;
"The curse is come upon me,"
The of Shalott.

In the stormy straining,
The pale yellow woods waning,
The broad stream in his complaining.
the low sky raining

Over towered

Down she came and a boat
Beneath a willow afloat,
And round about the she wrote
The of Shalott

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

Did she to Camelot.

And at the of the day
She the chain and down she lay;
The broad stream her far away,
The of Shalott.

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

to towered Camelot.

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

Under and balcony,
By and gallery,
A gleaming shape she by,
Dead-pale the houses high,

Silent Camelot.

Out the wharfs they came,
and Burgher, Lord and Dame,
And the prow they read her name,
The of Shalott.

Who is this? And what is
And in the lighted near
Died the of royal cheer;
And they themselves for fear,

All the at Camelot;

But Lancelot mused a little
He said, "She has a face;
God in his mercy her grace,
The of Shalott."