The
Romantics of the eighteenth
and early nineteenth centuries
were fascinated by stories
of doomed love, particularly
if they involved the supernatural
or mystical enchantments.
La Belle Dame Sans Merci
(the merciless beauty),
written by John Keats, can
be seen as the compliment
to The Lady of Shalott,
the poem which also inspired
many classic depictions
by painters of the same
era.
Whereas Lord Tennyson's
Lady of Shalott describes
the tale of a woman, fatally
doomed by her attraction
to the knight Sir Lancelot
du Lac, 'La Belle Dame'
concerns the dangerous beauty
of a faery maiden, who so
deeply holds a wandering
knight in thrall that he
becomes a ghost of his former
self, doomed to linger on
the cold hillside where
he finds himself alone after
a troubled sleep.
Arthur Hughes and Frank
Dicksee depict the knight
staring into the eyes of
the enchantress, completely
under her spell, as she
sings 'a faery's song.'
In the J.W. Waterhouse painting,
the knight appears to have
been taken to the femme
fatale's 'elfin grot' where
she pulls him down to slumber
beside her on the moss.
Frank Cowper's later work
has the merciless lady gazing
down upon her victim, as
he dreams of those who have
gone before him, 'death-pale
were they all.'
Keats himself took his inspiration
from the title of a poem
by the court poet of Charles
VI.
John Keats died tragically
of tuberculosis in 1821
at the age of 26. On his
gravestone in Rome where
he died is inscribed his
epitaph as he wished it
to read:
"Here
lies one whose name was
writ in water"
| La
Belle Dame Sans Merci
by John Keats, 1819 |
Ah,
what can ail thee, wretched
wight,
Alone and palely loitering;
The sedge is wither'd
from the lake,
And no birds sing.
Ah,
what can ail thee, wretched
wight,
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary
is full,
And the harvest's done.
I
see a lily on thy brow,
With anguish moist and
fever dew;
And on thy cheek a fading
rose
Fast withereth too.
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.
I
set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all
day long;
For sideways would she
lean, and sing
A faery's song.
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.
She
found me roots of relish
sweet,
And honey wild, and manna
dew;
And sure in language strange
she said,
I love thee true.
She
took me to her elfin grot,
And there she gaz'd and
sighed deep,
And there I shut her wild
sad eyes--
So kiss'd to sleep.
And
there we slumber'd on
the moss,
And there I dream'd, ah
woe betide,
The latest dream I ever
dream'd
On the cold hill side.
I
saw pale kings, and princes
too,
Pale warriors, death-pale
were they all;
Who cry'd--"La belle
Dame sans merci
Hath thee in thrall!"
I
saw their starv'd lips
in the gloam
With horrid warning gaped
wide,
And I awoke, and found
me here
On the cold hill side.
And
this is why I sojourn
here
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is wither'd
from the lake,
And no birds sing.
 |
|
By
Frank Cadogan
Cowper, 1926
|
|
|
