LADY OF SHALOTT

Loreena McKennitt, (1957) es una cantante canadiense, e intérprete de piano y arpa con ascendencia escocesa e irlandesa. Sus ocho discos de estudio y sus dos discos en directo la consagran como una intérprete en el universo de la música celta. Entre sus discos destacan: To Drive the Cold Winter Away, The Visit, The Mask and the Mirror, The Book of Secrets y An Ancient Muse Nights from the Alhambra.

John William Waterhouse (1849 - 1917). Pintor inglés del grupo de los prerrafaelistas que abordó principalmente temas clásicos y literarios sin alterar su estilo pictórico. Entre sus obras destacan: Sueño y su medio hermanastro Muerte (1874), Oráculo (1884), La dama de Shalott (1888), Ulises y las sirenas (1891), Hylas y las ninfas (1896), Eco y Narciso (1903), Ofelia (1910), Tristán e Isolda (1916).

Alfred Lord Tennyson, (1809 –1892) fue uno de los poetas ingleses más populares de su tiempo. La mayor parte de su obra está inspirada en temas mitológicos y medievales, y se caracteriza por su musicalidad y la profundidad psicológica de sus retratos. Entre sus obras destacan: Poems (1833), dos volúmenes de poesía que incluían The lady of Shalott, The Princess (1847), In Memoriam A.H.H. (1850), Maud and other poems (1855), Idylls of the King (1859), basada en las historias artúricas, Enoch Arden (1864), The Holy Grail and other poems (1869), Gareth and Lynette (1872), Tiresias and other poems (1885)

Loreena MacKennit canta un extracto del poema de Tennyson

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-towered Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.
Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Thro' the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four grey walls, and four grey towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.
Only reapers, reaping early,
In among the beared 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
The Lady of Shalott'.
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.
And moving through a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot;
And sometimes thro' the mirror blue
The Knights come riding two and two.
She hath no loyal Knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.
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 with lights
And music, went to Camelot;
Or when the Moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed.
'I am half sick of shadows,' she said
The Lady of Shalott.
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.
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 bankand 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.
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 glassy 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.
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.
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 round 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 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.'