Morrer de Amor

Lancelot and the Witch, Ilustração de Aubrey Beardsley, c.1870

Hellawes era uma feiticeira que amava à distância o nobre guerreiro Sir Lancelot, por quem se apaixonara profundamente há sete anos. Acabou por conseguir atraí-lo à sua Capela dos Perigos onde tentou por todos os meios que conhecia inspirar-lhe o amor por ela.

Mas não lhe servia de nada porque o cavaleiro constante e leal amava apenas uma mulher, a rainha de Artur, a bela Guinevere, e viera à capela com uma única missão em mente, a de buscar talismãs medicinais para o cavaleiro ferido Sir Meliot.

Quando Lancelot partiu com os talismãs, não estava minimamente afectado pelo amor de Hellawes nem pela sua magia. A feiticeira compreendeu enfim que ele jamais a havia de amar e morreu de desgosto amoroso.

La Belle Dame Sans Merci

John William Waterhouse, La Belle Dame Sans Merci, 1893


Ballad


I.

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has wither’d from the lake,
And no birds sing.

II.

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms!
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel’s granary is full,
And the harvest’s done.

III.

I see a lily on thy brow
With anguish moist and fever dew,
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
Fast withereth too.

IV.

I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful—a faery’s child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.

V.

I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She look’d at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.

VI.

I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
A faery’s song.

VII.

She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew,
And sure in language strange she said—
“I love thee true.”

VIII.

She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she wept, and sigh’d fill sore,
And there I shut her wild wild eyes
With kisses four.

IX.

And there she lulled me asleep,
And there I dream’d—Ah! woe betide!
The latest dream I ever dream’d
On the cold hill’s side.

X.

I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried—“La Belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!”

XI.

I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
On the cold hill’s side.

XII.

And this is why I sojourn here,
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is wither’d from the lake,
And no birds sing.


John Keats (1795-1821)

Shadows of the world

John William Waterhouse, 1915, "I am half sick of shadows", said the Lady of Shalott (Tennyson, 1842)

Lady of Shalott, amaldiçoada, precisa constantemente de tecer uma tapeçaria mágica sem poder olhar directamente para fora, o mundo. Em vez disso, ela vê através de um espelho que reflecte a movimentada estrada vinda de Camelot.

And moving through a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.

Quando pára de tecer para olhar directamente, pela janela, para Lancelot, a maldição cai sobre si...

She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces through 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.

excerto de The Lady of Shalott, Tennyson, 1842