Luyện nghe bài hát The Lady of Shalott

On side 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 Camelot;

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

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

Flowing to Camelot.

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

Only reapers, early,
In among the barley
a song that echoes cheerly
From the winding clearly

to tower'd Camelot;

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

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

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

down to Camelot;

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

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

And music, went to

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

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

Of Sir Lancelot.

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

His broad clear in sunlight glow'd;
On burnish'd his war-horse trode;
From underneath his flow'd
His coal-black as on he rode,

As he back to Camelot.

From the bank and from the
he into the crystal 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 down to Camelot.

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

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

Over Camelot;

Down she came and found a
Beneath a left afloat,
And round about the she wrote
The Lady of

And the river's dim expanse
Like some seer in a trance,
all his own mischance -
With a countenance

Did she to Camelot.

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

a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, lowly,
her blood 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 the houses high,

into Camelot.

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

Who is this? And is here?
And in the lighted near
the sound of royal cheer;
And crossed themselves for fear,

All the Knights at

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