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From "Poetical Sketches"
" "
1. Song
1. . . .
. .
2. Spring
2. . . .
3. Summer
3. . . .
4. Autumn
4. . . .
5. Winter
5. . . .
6. Mad Song
6. . . .
7. the Muses
7. . . .
8. Blind Man's Buff
8. . . .
9. Gwin, King of Norway
9. . . . .
10. From "King Edward the Third"
10. . .
From "An Island in the Moon"
" "
11. To be or not to be
11. , ... . .
12. Leave, leave me to my sorrows
12. ... . .
Songs of Innocence and of Experience Shewing the Two Contrary States of
the Human Soul
,
Songs of Innocence
13. Introduction
13. . . .
. .
14. The Shepherd
14. . . .
15. The Echoing Green
15. ay. . .
. .
16. The Lamb
16* . . .
. .
17. The Little Black Boy
17. . . .
. .
18. The Blossom
18. . . .
19. The Chimney Sweeper
19/ . . .
. .
20. The Little Boy Lost
20.* . . .
. .
21. The Little Boy Found
21.* . . .
. .
22. Laughing Song
22. . . .
23. A Cradle Song
23. . . .
24. The Divine Image
24. . . .
25. Holy Thursday
25. . . .
. .
26. Night
26. . . .
* . .
27. Spring
27. . . .
28. Nurse's Song
28. . . .
29. Infant Joy
29. -. . .
30. A Dream
30. . . .
31. On Another's Sorrow
31. . . .
Songs of Experience
32. Introduction
32. . . .
33. Earth's Answer
33. . . .
34. The Clod and the Pebble
34. . . .
35. Holy Thursday
35.* . . .
. .
36. The Little Girl Lost
36. . . .
37. The Little Girl Found
37. . . .
38. The Chimney Sweeper
38. . . .
39. Nurse's Song
39. . . .
40. The Sick' Rose
40. . . .
. .
41. The Fly
41.* . . .
. .
42. The Angel
42. . . .
43. The Tyger
43. . . .
. .
. .
44. My Pretty Rose-Tree
44. . . .
45. Ah! Sun-flower! weary of time
45. ! ! ... . . .
46. The Lily
46. . . .
. .
. .
47. The Garden of Love
47.* . . .
. .
48. The Little Vagabond
48. . . .
* . .
49. London
49. . . .
* . .
50. The Human Abstract
50. . . .
51. Infant Sorrow
51. -. . .
52. A Poison Tree
52. . . .
53. A Little Boy Lost
53. . . .
54. A Little Girl Lost
54. . . .
55. Tirzah
55. . . .
56. The Schoolboy
56. . . .
57. The Voice of the Ancient Bard
57. . . .
From "The Rossetti Manuscript"
" "
(1789-1793)
58. Never seek to tell thy love
58. ... . .
* . .
59. I saw a Chapel all of gold
59.*
. .
. .
60. I asked a thief to steal me a peach
60. ... . .
61. I heard an Angel singing
61. ... . .
62. A Cradle Song
62.* . . .
63. I fear'd the fury of my wind
63. : ... . .
64. Infant Sorrow
64. -. . .
65. Thou hast a lap full of seed
65. ... . .
66. In a Mirtle Shade
66. . . .
67. Nobodaddy
67.* , . . .
. .
68. The Wild Flower's Song
68. . . .
69. lapwing! thou fliest around the heath
69. ! ... . .
70. Soft Snow
70. . . .
71. Merlin's Prophecy
71. . . .
72. Day
72. . . .
73. Why should I care for the men of Thames
73. . . .
74. Abstinence sows sand all over
74. ... . .
75. If you trap the moment before it's ripe
75. ... . .
76. who bends to himself a Joy
76. . . .
77. Riches
77. . . .
78. An Answer to the Parson
78. . . .
79. Soft deceit & idleness
79. ... . .
80. Let the Brothels of Paris be opened
80. , !.. . .
(1800-1803)
81. My Spectre around me night and day
81.* . . .
. .
82. When Klopstock England defied
82.* ... . .
83. Mock on, mock on, Voltaire, Rousseau
83. , ! , !.. . .
84. When a man has married a wife
84. ... . .
85. On the Virginity of the Virgin Mary and Johanna Southcott
85. . . .
86. Morning
86. . . .
87. Now Art has lost its mental charms
87.* ... . .
(1808-1811)
88. F[laxman]
88. . . .
89. Here lies John Trot, the friend of all mankind
89. , ... . .
90. I was buried near this dyke
90. . . .
91. My title as a genius thus is prov'd
91. , ... . .
92. Grown old in Love
92. ... . .
93. All pictures that's panted with sense and with thought
93. ... . .
94. Why was Cupid a boy
94. . . .
95. I asked my dear friend Orator Prig
95. ?.. . .
96. Having given great offence by writing in prose
96. . . .
97. Some people admire the work of a fool
97. ... . .
98. Since all the riches of this world
98. . . .
99. I rose up at the dawn of day
99. , ... . .
The Pickering Manuscript
(1800-1803)
100. The Smile
100. . . .
* . .
101. The Golden Net
101. . . .
102. The Mental Traveller
102. . . .
103. The Land of Dreams
103. . . .
104. Mary
104. . . .
105. The Crystal Cabinet
105.* . . .
. .
106. The Grey Monk
106. . . .
107. Auguries of Innocence
107.* . . .
108. Long John Brown and Little Mary Bell
108. . . .
109. William Bond
109. . . .
The Book of Thel
. . .
The Marriage of Heaven and Hell
. . .
Visions of the Daughters of Albion
. . .
The French Revolution
* . . .
America
* . . .
Europe
* . . .
From "Milton
"". . .
Selected verse
" "
How sweet I roam'd from field to field
And tasted all the summer's pride,
Till I the Prince of Love beheld
Who in the sunny beams did glide!
He show'd me lilies for my hair,
And blushing roses for my brow;
He led me through his gardens fair
Where all his golden pleasures grow.
With sweet May dews my wings were wet,
And Phoebus fir'd my vocal rage;
He caught me in his silken net,
And shut me in his golden cage.
He loves to sit and hear me sing,
Then, laughing, sports and plays with me -
Then stretches out my golden wing,
And mocks my loss of liberty.
,
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thou with dewy locks, who lookest down
Thro' the clear windows of the morning, turn
Thine angel eyes upon our western isle,
Which in full choir hails thy approach, Spring!
The hills tell each other, and the list'ning
Valleys hear; all our longing eyes are turned
Up to thy bright pavilions: issue forth,
And let thy holy feet visit our clime.
Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our winds
Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us taste
Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls
Upon our love-sick land that mourns for thee.
deck her forth with thy fair fingers; pour
Thy soft kisses on her bosom; and put
Thy golden crown upon her languish'd head,
Whose modest tresses were bound up for thee.
,
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thou who passest thro' our valleys in
Thy strength, curb thy fierce steeds, allay the heat
That flames from their large nostrils! thou, Summer,
Oft pitched'st here thy golden tent, and oft
Beneath our oaks hast slept, while we beheld
With joy thy ruddy limbs and flourishing hair.
Beneath our thickest shades we oft have heard
Thy voice, when noon upon his fervid car
Rode o'er the deep of heaven; beside our springs
Sit down, and in our mossy valleys, on
Some bank beside a river clear, throw thy
Silk draperies off, and rush into the stream:
Our valleys love the Summer in his pride.
Our bards are fam'd who strike the silver wire:
Our youth are bolder than the southern swains:
Our maidens fairer in the sprightly dance:
We lack not songs, nor instruments of joy,
Nor echoes sweet, nor waters clear as heaven,
Nor laurel wreaths against the sultry heat.
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Autumn, laden with fruit, and stained
With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit
Beneath my shady roof; there thou may'st rest,
And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe,
And all the daughters of the year shall dance!
Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.
'The narrow bud opens her beauties to
The sun, and love runs in her thrilling veins;
Blossoms hang round the brows of Morning, and
Flourish down the bright cheek of modest Eve,
Till clust'ring Summer breaks forth into singing,
And feather'd clouds strew flowers round her head.
"The spirits of the air live on the smells
Of fruit; and Joy, with pinions light, roves round
The gardens, or sits singing in the trees.'
Thus sang the jolly Autumn as he sat;
Then rose, girded himself, and o'er the bleak
Hills fled from our sight; but left his golden load.
,
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"
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' Winter! bar thine adamantine doors:
The north is thine; there hast thou built thy dark
Deep-founded habitation. Shake not thy roofs,
Nor bend thy pillars with thine iron car.'
He hears me not, but o'er the yawning deep
Rides heavy; his storms are unchain'd, sheathed
In ribbed steel; I dare not lift mine eyes,
For he hath rear'd his sceptre o'er the world.
Lo! now the direful monster, whose skin clings
To his strong bones, strides o'er the groaning rocks:
He withers all in silence, and in his hand
Unclothes the earth, and freezes up frail life.
He takes his seat upon the cliffs, - the mariner
Cries in vain. Poor little wretch, that deal'st
With storms! - till heaven smiles, and the monster
Is driv'n yelling to his caves beneath mount Hecla.
, !
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The wild winds weep,
And the night is a-cold;
Come hither, Sleep,
And my griefs unfold:
But lo! the morning peeps
Over the eastern steeps,
And the rustling beds of dawn
The earth do scorn.
Lo! to the vault
Of paved heaven,
With sorrow fraught
My notes are driven:
They strike the ear of night,
Make weep the eyes of day;
They make mad the roaring winds,
And with tempests play.
Like a fiend in a cloud,
With howling woe
After night I do crowd,
And with night will go;
I turn my back to the east
From whence comforts have increas'd;
For light doth seize my brain
With frantic pain.
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Whether on Ida's shady brow,
Or in the chambers of the East,
The chambers of the sun, that now
From ancient melody have ceas'd;
Whether in Heaven ye wander fair,
Or the green corners of the earth,
Or the blue regions of the air
Where the melodious winds have birth;
Whether on crystal rocks ye rove,
Beneath the bosom of the sea
Wand'ring in many a coral grove,
Fair Nine, forsaking Poetry!
How have you left the ancient love
That bards of old enjoy'd in you!
The languid strings do scarcely move!
The sound is forc'd, the notes are few!
,
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. .
8. BLIND MAN'S BUFF
When silver snow decks Susan's clothes,
And jewel hangs at th' shepherd's nose,
The blushing bank is all my care,
With hearth so red, and walls so fair;
'Heap the sea-coal, come, heap it higher,
The oaken log lay on the fire.'
The well-wash'd stools, a circling row,
With lad and lass, how fair the show!
The merry can of nut-brown ale,
The laughing jest, the love-sick tale,
Till, tir'd of chat, the game begins.
The lasses prick the lads with pins;
Roger from Dolly twitch'd the stool,
She, falling, kiss'd the ground, poor fool!
She blush'd so red, with side-long glance
At hob-nail Dick, who griev'd the chance.
But now for Blind man's Buff they call;
Of each encumbrance clear the hall -
Jenny her silken 'kerchief folds,
And blear-eyed Will the black lot holds.
Now laughing stops, with 'Silence! hush!'
And Peggy Pout gives Sam a push.
The Blind man's arms, extended wide,
Sam slips between: - 'O woe betide
Thee, clumsy Will!' - But titt'ring Kate
Is penn'd up in the corner straight!
And now Will's eyes beheld the play;
He thought his face was t'other way.
'Now, Kitty, now! what chance hast thou,
Roger so near thee! - Trips, I vow!'
She catches him - then Roger ties
His own head up - but not his eyes;
For thro' the slender cloth he sees,
And runs at Sam, who slips with ease
His clumsy hold; and, dodging round,
Sukey is tumbled on the ground! -
'See what it is to play unfair!
Where cheating is, there's mischief there.'
But Roger still pursues the chase,-
'He sees! he sees!' cries, softly, Grace;
'O Roger, thou, unskill'd in art,
Must, surer bound, go thro' thy part!
Now Kitty, pert, repeats the rimes,
And Roger turns him round three times,
Then pauses ere he starts-but Dick
Was mischief bent upon a trick;
Down on his hands and knees he lay
Directly in the Blind man's way,
Then cries out 'Hem!' Hodge heard, and ran
With hood-wink'd chance - sure of his man;
But down he came. - Alas, how frail
Our best of hopes, how soon they fail!
With crimson drops he stains the ground;
Confusion startles all around.
Poor piteous Dick supports his head,
And fain would cure the hurt he made;
But Kitty hasted with a key,
And down his back they straight convey
The cold relief; the blood is stay'd
And Hodge again holds up his head.
Such are the fortunes of the game,
And those who play should stop the same
By wholesome laws; such as all those
Who on the blinded man impose
Stand in his stead; as, long a-gone,
When men were first a nation grown,
Lawless they liv'd, till wantonness
And liberty began t' increase,
And one man lay in another's way:
Then laws were made to keep fair play.
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Come, kings, and listen to my song:
When Gwin, the son of Nore,
Over the nations of the North
His cruel sceptre bore;
The nobles of the land did feed
Upon the hungry poor;
They tear the poor man's lamb, and drive
The needy from their door.
'The land is desolate; our wives
And children cry for bread;
Arise, and pull the tyrant down!
Let Gwin be humbled!'
Gordred the giant rous'd himself
From sleeping in his cave;
He shook the hills, and in the clouds
The troubl'd banners wave.
Beneath them roll'd, like tempests black,
The num'rous sons of blood;
Like lions' whelps, roaring abroad,
Seeking their nightly food.
Down Bleron's hills they dreadful rush,
Their cry ascends the clouds;
The trampling horse and clanging arms
Like rushing mighty floods!
Their wives and children, weeping loud,
Follow in wild array,
Howling like ghosts, furious as wolves
In the bleak wintry day.
'Pull down the tyrant to the dust,
Let Gwin be humbled,'
They cry, 'and let ten thousand lives
Pay for the tyrant's head.'
From tow'r to tow'r the watchmen cry,
'O Gwin, the son of Nore,
Arouse thyself! the nations, black
Like clouds, come rolling o'er!'
Gwin rear'd his shield, his palace shakes,
His chiefs come rushing round;
Each, like an awful thunder cloud,
With voice of solemn sound:
Like reared stones around a grave
They stand around the King!
Then suddenly each seiz'd his spear,
And clashing steel does ring.
The husbandman does leave his plough
To wade thro' fields of gore;
The merchant binds his brows in steel,
And leaves the trading shore;
The shepherd leaves his mellow pipe,
And sounds the trumpet shrill;
The workman throws his hammer down
To heave the bloody bill.
Like the tall ghost of Barraton
Who sports in stormy sky,
Gwin leads his host, as black as night
When pestilence does fly,
With horses and with chariots -
And all his spearmen bold
March to the sound of mournful song,
Like clouds around him roll'd.
Gwin lifts his hand-the nations halt,
'Prepare for war!' he cries -
Gordred appears! - his frowning brow
Troubles our northern skies.
The armies stand, like balances
Held in th' Almighty's hand; -
'Gwin, thou hast fill'd thy measure up:
Thou'rt swept from out the land.'
And now the raging armies rush'd
Like warring mighty seas;
The heav'ns are shook with roaring war,
The dust ascends the skies!
Earth smokes with blood, and groans and shakes
To drink her children's gore,
A sea of blood; nor can the eye
See to the trembling shore!
And on the verge of this wild sea
Famine and death doth cry;
The cries of women and of babes
Over the field doth fly.
The King is seen raging afar,
With all his men of might;
Like blazing comets scattering death
Thro' the red fev'rous night.
Beneath his arm like sheep they die,
And groan upon the plain;
The battle faints, and bloody men
Fight upon hills of slain.
Now death is sick, and riven men
Labour and toil for life;
Steed rolls on steed, and shield on shield,
Sunk in this sea of strife!
The god of war is drunk with blood;
The earth doth faint and fail;
The stench of blood makes sick the heav'ns;
Ghosts glut the throat of hell!
what have kings to answer for
Before that awful throne;
When thousand deaths for vengeance cry,
And ghosts accusing groan!
Like blazing comets in the sky
That shake the stars of light,
Which drop like fruit unto the earth
Thro' the fierce burning night;
Like these did Gwin and Gordred meet,
And the first blow decides;
Down from the brow unto the breast
Gordred his head divides!
Gwin fell: the sons of Norway fled,
All that remain'd alive;
The rest did fill the vale of death,
For them the eagles strive.
The river Dorman roll'd their blood
Into the northern sea;
Who mourn'd his sons, and overwhelm'd
The pleasant south country.
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10. FROM "KING EDWARD THE THIRD"
sons of Trojan Brutus, cloth'd in war,
Whose voices are the thunder of the field,
Rolling dark clouds o'er France, muffling the sun
In sickly darkness like a dim eclipse,
Threatening as the red brow of storms, as fire
Burning up nations in your wrath and fury!
Your ancestors came from the fires of Troy,
(Like lions rous'd by light'ning from their dens,
Whose eyes do glare against the stormy fires),
Heated with war, fill'd with the blood of Greeks,
With helmets hewn, and shields covered with gore,
In navies black, broken with wind and'tide:
They landed in firm array upon the rocks
Of Albion; they kiss'd the rocky shore;
'Be thou our mother and our nurse,' they said;
'Our children's mother, and thou shalt be our grave,
The sepulchre of ancient Troy, from whence
Shall rise cities, and thrones, and arms, and awful pow'rs.'
Our fathers swarm from the ships. Giant voices
Are heard from the hills, the enormous sons
Of Ocean run from rocks and caves, wild men,
Naked and roaring like lions, hurling rocks,
And wielding knotty clubs, like oaks entangled
Thick as a forest, ready for the axe.
Our fathers move in firm array to battle;
The savage monsters rush like roaring fire,
Like as a forest roars with crackling flames,
When the red lightning, borne by furious storms,
Lights on some woody shore; the parched heavens
Rain fire into the molten raging sea.
The smoking trees are strewn upon the shore,
Spoil'd of their verdure. how oft have they
Defy'd the storm that howled o'er their heads!
Our fathers, sweating, lean on their spears, and view
The mighty dead: giant bodies streaming blood.
Dread visages frowning in silent death.
Then Brutus spoke, inspir'd; our fathers sit
Attentive on the melancholy shore:
Hear ye the voice of Brutus-'The flowing waves
Of time come rolling o'er my breast,' he said;
'And my heart labours with futurity:
Our sons shall rule the empire of the sea.
'Their mighty wings shall stretch from east to west.
Their nest is in the sea, but they shall roam
Like eagles for the prey; nor shall the young
Crave or be heard; for plenty shall bring forth,
Cities shall sing, and vales in rich array
Shall laugh, whose fruitful laps bend down with fulness.
'Our sons shall rise from thrones in joy,
Each one buckling on his armour; Morning
Shall be prevented by their swords gleaming,
And Evening hear their song of victory:
Their towers shall be built upon the rocks,
Their daughters shall sing, surrounded with shining spears.
'Liberty shall stand upon the cliffs of Albion,
Casting her blue eyes over the green ocean;
Or, tow'ring, stand upon the roaring waves,
Stretching her mighty spear o'er distant lands;
While, with her eagle wings, she covereth
Fair Albion's shore, and all her families.'
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FROM "AN ISLAND IN THE MOON"
11. To be or not to be
Of great capacity,
Like Sir Isaac Newton,
Or Locke, or Doctor South,
Or Sherlock upon Death -
I'd rather be Sutton!
For he did build a house
For aged men and youth,
With walls of brick and stone;
He furnish'd it within
With whatever he could win,
And all his own.
He drew out of the Stocks
His money in a box,
And sent his servant
To Green the Bricklayer,
And to the Carpenter;
He was so fervent.
The chimneys were threescore,
The windows many more;
And, for convenience,
He sinks and gutters made,
And all the way he pav'd
To hinder pestilence.
Was not this a good man -
Whose life was but a span,
Whose name was Sutton -
As Locke, or Doctor South,
Or Sherlock upon Death,
Or Sir Isaac Newton?
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12. Leave, O leave me to my sorrows;
Here I'll sit and fade away,
Till I'm nothing but a spirit,
And I lose this form of clay.
Then if chance along this forest
Any walk in pathless way,
Thro' the gloom he'll see my shadow
Hear my voice upon the breeze.
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SONGS OF INNOCENCE AND OF EXPERIENCE
Shewing the Two Contrary States of the Human Soul
Piping down the valleys wild,
Piping songs of pleasant glee,
On a cloud I saw a child,
And he laughing said to me:
'Pipe a song about a Lamb!'
So I piped with merry cheer.
'Piper, pipe that song again;'
So I piped: he wept to hear.
'Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe;
Sing thy songs of happy cheer:'
So I sang the same again,
While he wept with joy to hear.
'Piper, sit thee down and write
In a book, that all may read.'
So he vanish'd from my sight,
And I pluck'd a hollow reed,
And I made a rural pen,
And I stain'd the water clear,
And I wrote my happy songs
Every child may joy to hear.
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How sweet is the Shepherd's sweet lot!
From the morn to the evening he strays;
He shall follow his sheep all the day,
And his tongue shall be filled with praise.
For he hears the lamb's innocent call,
And he hears the ewe's tender reply;
He is watchful while they are in peace,
For they know when their Shepherd is nigh.
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The Sun does arise,
And make happy the skies;
The merry bells ring
To welcome the Spring;
The skylark and thrush,
The birds of the bush,
Sing louder around
To the bells' cheerful sound,
While our sports shall be seen
On the Echoing Green.
Old John, with white hair,
Does laugh away care,
Sitting under the oak,
Among the old folk.
They laugh at our play,
And soon they all say:
'Such, such were the joys
When we all, girls and boys,
In our youth time were seen
On the Echoing Green.'
Till the little ones, weary,
No more can be merry;
The sun does descend,
And our sports have an end.
Round the laps of their mothers
Many sisters and brothers,
Like birds in their nest,
Are ready for rest,
And sport no more seen
On the darkening Green.
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Little Lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?
Gave thee life, and bid thee feed,
By the stream and o'er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing, woolly, bright,
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice?
Little Lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?
Little Lamb, I'll tell thee,
Little Lamb, I'll tell thee:
He is called by thy name,
For He calls Himself a Lamb.
He is meek, and He is mild;
He became a little child.
I a child, and thou a lamb,
We are called by His name.
Little Lamb, God bless thee!
Little Lamb, God bless thee!
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My mother bore me in the southern wild,
And I am black, but O! my soul is white;
White as an angel is the English child,
But I am black, as if bereav'd of light.
My mother taught me underneath a tree,
And, sitting down before the heat of day,
She took me on her lap and kissed me,
And, pointing to the east, began to say:
'Look on the rising sun,-there God does live,
And gives His light, and gives His heat away;
And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive
Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday.
'And we are put on earth a little space,
That we may learn to bear the beams of love;
And these black bodies and the sunburnt face
Is but a cloud, and like a shady grove.
'For when our souls have learn'd the heat to bear,
The cloud will vanish; we shall hear His voice,
Saying: "Come out from the grove, My love and care,
And round My golden tent like lambs rejoice."'
Thus did my mother say, and kissed me;
And thus I say to little English boy.
When I from black and he from white cloud free,
And round the tent of God like lambs we joy,
I'll shade him from the heat, till he can bear
To lean in joy upon our Father's knee;
And then I'll stand and stroke his silver hair,
And be like him, and he will then love me.
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Merry, merry sparrow!
Under leaves so green,
A happy blossom
Sees you, swift as arrow,
Seek your cradle narrow
Near my bosom.
Pretty, pretty robin!
Under leaves so green,
A happy blossom
Hears you sobbing, sobbing,
Pretty, pretty robin,
Near my bosom.
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When my mother died I was very young,
And my father sold me while yet my tongue
Could scarcely cry "weep! 'weep! 'weep!'
So your chimneys I sweep, and in soot I sleep.
There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head,
That curl'd like a lamb's back, was shav'd: so I said
'Hush, Tom! never mind it, for when your head's bare
You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair.'
And so he was quiet, and that very night,
As Tom was a-sleeping, he had such a sight!-
That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, and Jack,
Were all of them lock'd up in coffitfs of black.
And by came an Angel who had a bright key,
And he open'd the coffins and set them all free;
Then down a green plain leaping, laughing, they run,
And wash in a river, and shine in the sun.
Then naked and white, all their bags left behind,
They rise upon clouds and sport in the wind;
And the Angel told Tom, if he'd be a good boy,
He'd have God for his father, and never want joy.
And so Tom awoke; and we rose in the dark,
And got with our bags and our brushes to work.
Tho' the morning was cold, Tom was happy and warm;
So if all do their duty they need not fear harm.
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'Father! father! where are you going?
do not walk so fast.
Speak, father, speak to your little boy,
Or else I shall be lost.'
The night was dark, no father was there;
The child was wet with dew;
The mire was deep, and, the child did weep,
And away the vapour flew.
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The little boy lost in the lonely fen,
Led by the wand'ring light,
Began to cry; but God, ever nigh,
Appear'd like his father, in white.
He kissed the child, and by the hand led,
And to his mother brought,
Who in sorrow pale, thro' the lonely dale,
Her little boy weeping sought.
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When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy,
And the dimpling stream runs laughing by;
When the air does laugh with our merry wit,
And the green hill laughs with the noise of it;
When the meadows laugh with lively green,
And the grasshopper laughs in the merry scene,
When Mary and Susan and Emily
With their sweet round mouths sing 'Ha, Ha, He!'
When the painted birds laugh in the shade,
Where our table with cherries and nuts is spread,
Come live, and be merry, and join with me,
To sing the sweet chorus of 'Ha, Ha, He!'
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Sweet dreams, form a shade
O'er my lovely infant's head;
Sweet dreams of pleasant streams
By happy, silent, moony beams.
Sweet sleep, with soft down
Weave thy brows an infant crown.
Sweet sleep, Angel mild,
Hover o'er my happy child.
Sweet smiles, in the night
Hover over my delight;
Sweet smiles, mother's smiles,
All the livelong night beguiles.
Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,
Chase not slumber from thy eyes.
Sweet moans, sweeter smiles,
All the dovelike moans beguiles.
Sleep, sleep, happy child,
All creation slept and smil'd;
Sleep, sleep, happy sleep,
While o'er thee thy mother weep.
Sweet babe, in thy face
Holy image I can trace.
Sweet babe, once like thee,
Thy Maker lay and wept for me,
Wept for me, for thee, for all,
When He was an infant small.
Thou His image ever see,
Heavenly face that smiles on thee,
Smiles on thee, on me, on all;
Who became an infant small.
Infant smiles are His own smiles;
Heaven and earth to peace beguiles.
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To Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love
All pray in their distress;
And to these virtues of delight
Return their thankfulness.
For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love
Is God, our Father dear,
And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love
Is man, His child and care.
For Mercy has a human heart,
Pity a human face,
And Love, the human form divine,
And Peace, the human dress.
Then every man, of every clime,
That prays in his distress,
Prays to the human form divine,
Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace.
And all must love the human form,
In heathen, Turk, or Jew;
Where Mercy, Love, and Pity dwell
There God is dwelling too.
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'Twas on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean,
The children walking two and two, in red and blue and green,
Grey-headed beadles walk'd before, with wands as white as snow,
Till into the high dome of Paul's they like Thames' waters flow.
what a multitude they seem'd, these flowers of London town!
Seated in companies they sit with radiance all their own.
The hum of multitudes was there, but multitudes of lambs,
Thousands of little boys and girls raising their innocent hands.
Now like a mighty wind they raise to Heaven the voice of song,
Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of Heaven among.
Beneath them sit the aged men, wise guardians of the poor;
Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door.
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The sun descending in the west,
The evening star does shine;
The birds are silent in their nest,
And I must seek for mine.
The moon, like a flower,
In heaven's high bower,
With silent delight
Sits and smiles on the night.
Farewell, green fields and happy groves,
Where flocks have took delight.
Where lambs have nibbled, silent moves
The feet of angels bright;
Unseen they pour blessing,
And joy without ceasing,
On each bud and blossom,
And each sleeping bosom.
They look in every thoughtless nest,
Where birds are cover'd warm;
They visit caves of every beast,
To keep them all from harm.
If they see any weeping
That should have been sleeping,
They pour sleep on their head,
And sit down by their bed.
When wolves and tigers howl for prey,
They pitying stand and weep;
Seeking to drive their thirst away,
And keep them from the sheep.
But if they rush dreadful,
The angels, most heedful,
Receive each mild spirit,
New worlds to inherit.
And there the lion's ruddy eyes
Shall flow with tears of gold,
And pitying the tender cries,
And walking round the fold,
Saying 'Wrath, by His meekness,
And, by His health, sickness
Is driven away
From our immortal day.
'And now beside thee, bleating lamb,
I can lie down and sleep;
Or think on Him who bore thy name,
Graze after thee and weep.
For, wash'd in life's river
My bright mane for ever
Shall shine like the gold
As I guard o'er the fold.'
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Sound the flute!
Now it's mute.
Birds delight
Day and night;
Nightingale
In the dale,
Lark in sky,
Merrily,
Merrily, merrily, to welcome in the year.
Little boy,
Full of joy;
Little girl,
Sweet and small;
Cock does crow,
So do you;
Merry voice,
Infant noise,
Merrily, merrily, to welcome in the year.
Little lamb,
Here I am;
Come and lick
My white neck;
Let me pull
Your soft wool;
Let me kiss
Your soft face:
Merrily, merrily, we welcome in the year.
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28. NURSE'S SONG
When the voices of children are heard on the green,
And laughing is heard on the hill,
My heart is at rest within my breast,
And everything else is still.
'Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down,
And the dews of night arise;
Come, come, leave off play, and let us away
Till the morning appears in the skies.'
'No, no, let us play, for it is yet day,
And we cannot go to sleep;
Besides, in the sky the little birds fly,
And the hills are all cover'd with sheep.'
'Well, well, go and play till the light fades away,
And then go home to bed.'
The little ones leaped and shouted and laugh'ed
And all the hills echoed.
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'I have no name:
I am but two days old.'
What shall I call thee?
'I happy am,
Joy is my name.'
Sweet joy befall thee!
Pretty Joy!
Sweet Joy, but two days old.
Sweet Joy I call thee
Thou dost smile,
I sing the while,
Sweet joy befall thee!
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Once a dream did weave a shade
O'er my Angel-guarded bed,
That an emmet lost its way
Where on grass methought I lay.
Troubled, 'wilder'd, and forlorn,
Dark, benighted, travel-worn,
Over many a tangled spray,
AH heart-broke I heard her say:
'O, my children! do they cry?
Do they hear their father sigh?
Now they look abroad to see:
Now return and weep for me.'
Pitying, I dropp'd a tear;
But I saw a glow-worm near,
Who replied: 'What wailing wight
Calls the watchman of the night?
'I am set to light the ground,
While the beetle goes his round:
Follow now the beetle's hum;
Little wanderer, hie thee home.'
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31. ON ANOTHER'S SORROW
Can I see another's woe,
And not be in sorrow too?
Can I see another's grief,
And not seek for kind relief?
Can I see a falling tear,
And not feel my sorrow's share?
Can a father see his child
Weep, nor be with sorrow fill'd?
Can a mother sit and hear
An infant groan, an infant fear?
No, no! never can it be!
Never, never can it be!
And can He who smiles on all
Hear the wren with sorrows small,
Hear the small bird's grief and care,
Hear the woes that infants bear,
And not sit beside the nest,
Pouring pity in their breast;
And not sit the cradle near,
Weeping tear on infant's tear;
And not sit both night and day,
Wiping all our tears away?
O, no! never can it be!
Never, never can it be!
He doth give His joy to all;
He becomes an infant small;
He becomes a man of woe;
He doth feel the sorrow too.
Think not thou canst sigh a sigh,
And thy Maker is not by;
Think not thou canst weep a tear,
Arid thy Maker is not near.
O! He gives to us His joy
That our grief He may destroy;
Till our grief is fled and gone
He doth sit by us and moan.
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Hear the voice of the Bard!
Who present, past, and future, sees;
Whose ears have heard
The Holy Word
That walk'd among the ancient trees,
Calling the lapsed soul,
And weeping in the evening dew;
That might control
The starry pole,
And fallen, fallen light renew!
'O Earth, Earth, return!
Arise from out the dewy grass;
Night is worn,
And the morn
Rises from the slumberous mass.
'Turn away no more;
Why wilt thou turn away.
Die starry floor,
The wat'ry shore,
Is giv'n thee till the break of day.'
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33. EARTH'S ANSWER
Earth rais'd up her head
From the darkness dread and drear.
Her light fled,
Stony dread!
And her locks cover'd with grey despair.
'Prison'd on wat'ry shore,
Starry Jealousy does keep my den:
Cold and hoar,
Weeping o'er,
I hear the Father of the Ancient Men.
'Selfish Father of Men!
Cruel, jealous, selfish Fear!
Can delight,
Chain'd in night,
The virgins of youth and morning bear?
'Does spring hide its joy
When buds and blossoms grow?
Does the sower
Sow by night,
Or the ploughman in darkness plough?
'Break this heavy chain
That does freeze my bones around.
Selfish! vain!
Eternal bane!
That free Love with bondage bound.'
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34. THE CLOD AND THE PEBBLE
'Love seeketh not itself to please,
Nor for itself hath any care,
But for another gives its ease,
And builds a Heaven in Hell's despair.'
So sung a little Clod of Clay,
Trodden with the cattle's feet,
But a Pebble of the brook
Warbled out these metres meet:
'Love seeketh only Self to please,
To bind another to its delight,
Joys in another's loss of ease,
And builds a Hell in Heaven's despite.'
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Is this a holy thing to see
In a rich and fruitful land,
Babes reduc'd to misery,
Fed with cold and usurious hand?
Is that trembling cry a song?
Can it be a song of joy?
And so many children poor?
It is a land of poverty!
And their sun does never shine,
And their fields are bleak and bare,
And their ways are fill'd with thorns:
It is eternal winter there.
For where'er the sun does shine,
And where'er the rain does fall,
Babe can never hunger there,
Nor poverty the mind appal.
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In futurity
I prophetic see
That the earth from sleep
(Grave the sentence deep)
Shall arise and seek
For her Maker meek;
And the desert wild
Become a garden mild.
In the southern clime,
Where the summer's prime
Never fades away,
Lovely Lyca lay.
Seven summers old
Lovely Lyca told;
She had wander'd long
Hearing wild birds' song.
'Sweet sleep, come to me
Underneath this tree.
Do father, mother, weep?
Where can Lyca sleep?
'Lost in desert wild
Is your little child.
How can Lyca sleep
If her mother weep?
'If her heart does ache
Then let Lyca wake;
If my mother sleep,
Lyca shall not weep.
'Frowning, frowning night,
O'er this desert bright,
Let thy moon arise
While I close my eyes.'
Sleeping Lyca lay
While the beasts of prey,
Come from caverns deep,
View'd the maid asleep.
The kingly lion stood,
And the virgin view'd,
Then he gamboll'd round
O'er the hallow'd ground.
Leopards, tigers, play
Round her as she lay,
While the lion old
Bow'd his mane of gold
And her bosom lick,
And upon her neck
From his eyes of flame
Ruby tears there came;
While the lioness
Loos'd her slender dress,
And naked they convey'd
To caves the sleeping maid.
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37. THE LITTLE GIRL FOUND
All the night in woe
Lyca's parents go
Over valleys deep,
While the deserts weep.
Tired and woe-begone,
Hoarse with making moan,
Arm in arm seven days
They trac'd the desert ways.
Seven nights they sleep
Among shadows deep,
And dream they see their child
Starv'd in desert wild.
Pale, thro' pathless ways
The fancied image strays
Famish'd, weeping, weak.
With hollow piteous shriek.
Rising from unrest,
The trembling woman prest
With feet of weary woe:
She could no further go.
In his arms he bore
Her, arm'd with sorrow sore;
Till before their way
A couching lion lay.
Turning back was vain:
Soon his heavy mane
Bore them to the ground.
Then he stalk'd around,
Smelling to his prey;
But their fears allay
When he licks their hands,
And silent by them stands.
They look upon his eyes
Fill'd with deep surprise;
And wondering behold
A spirit arm'd in gold.
On his head a crown;
On his shoulders down
Flow'd his golden hair.
Gone was all their care.
'Follow me,' he said;
'Weep not for the maid;
In my palace deep
Lyca lies asleep.'
Then they followed
Where the vision led,
And saw their sleeping child
Among tigers wild.
To this day they dwell
In a lonely dell;
Nor fear the wolfish howl
Nor the lions' growl.
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A little black thing among the snow,
Crying ' 'weep! 'weep!' in notes of woe!
'Where are thy father and mother, say?' -
'They are both gone up to the Church to pray.
'Because I was happy upon the heath,
And smil'd among the winter's snow,
They clothed me in the clothes of death,
And taught me to sing the notes of woe.
'And because I am happy and dance and sing,
They think they have done me no injury,
And are gone to praise God and His Priest and King,
Who make up a Heaven of our misery.'
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39. NURSE'S SONG
When the voices of children are heard on the green
And whisp'rings are in the dale,
The days of my youth rise fresh in my mind,
My face turns green and pale.
Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down,
And the dews of night arise;
Your spring and your day are wasted in play,
And your winter and night in disguise.
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Rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,
Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy;
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.
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Little Fly,
Thy summer's play
My thoughtless hand
Has brush'd away.
Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?
For I dance,
And drink, and sing,
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.
If thought is life
And strength and breath,
And the want
Of thought is death;
Then am I
A happy fly,
If I live
Or if I die.
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I dreamt a dream! what can it mean?
And that I was a maiden Queen,
Guarded by an Angel mild:
Witless woe was ne'er beguil'd!
And I wept both night and day,
And he wip'd my tears away,
And I wept both day and night,
And hid from him my heart's delight.
So he took his wings and fled;
Then the morn blush'd rosy red;
I dried my tears, and arm'd my fears
With ten thousand shields and spears.
Soon my Angel came again:
I was arm'd, he came in vain;
For the time of youth was fled,
And grey hairs were on my head.
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Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, and what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? and what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
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A flower was offer'd to me,
Such a flower as May never bore;
But I said 'I've a pretty Rose-tree,'
And I passed the sweet flower o'er.
Then I went to my pretty Rose-tree,
To tend her by day and by night,
But my Rose turn'd away with jealousy,
And her thorns were my only delight.
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45. Ah, Sun-flower! weary of time,
Who countest the steps of the sun;
Seeking after that sweet golden clime,
Where the traveller's journey is done;
Where the Youth pined away with desire,
And the pale Virgin shrouded in snow,
Arise from their graves, and aspire
Where my Sun-flower wishes to go.
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The modest Rose puts forth a thorn,
The humble Sheep a threat'ning horn;
While the Lily white shall in love delight,
Nor a thorn, nor a threat, stain her beauty bright.
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I went to the Garden of Love,
And saw what I never had seen:
A Chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.
And the gates of this Chapel were shut,
And 'Thou shalt not' writ over the door;
So I turn'd to the Garden of Love
That so many sweet flowers bore;
And I saw it was filled with graves,
And tomb-stones where flowers should be;
And priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars my joys and desires.
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Dear mother, dear mother, the Church is cold,
But the Ale-house is healthy and pleasant and warm;
Besides I can tell where I am used well,
Such usage in Heaven will never do well.
But if at the Church they would give us some ale,
And a pleasant fire our souls to regale,
We'd sing and we'd pray all the livelong day,
Nor ever once wish from the Church to stray.
Then the Parson might preach, and drink, and sing,
And we'd be as happy as birds in the spring;
And modest Dame Lurch, who is always at church,
Would not have bandy children, nor fasting, nor birch.
And God, like a father, rejoicing to see
His children as pleasant and happy as He,
Would have no more quarrel with the Devil or the barrel,
But kiss him, and give him both drink and apparel.
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I wander thro' each charter'd street,
Near where the charter'd Thames does flow,
And mark in every face I meet
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.
In every cry of every Man,
In every Infant's cry of fear,
In every voice, in every ban,
The mind-forg'd manacles I hear.
How the chimney-sweeper's cry
Every black'ning church appals;
And the hapless soldiers sigh
Runs in blood down palace walls.
But most thro' midnight streets I hear
How the youthful harlot's curse
Blasts the new-born infant's tear,
And blights with plagues the marriage hearse.
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Pity would be no more
If we did not make somebody poor;
And Mercy no more could be
If all were as happy as we.
And mutual fear brings peace,
Till the selfish loves increase:
Then Cruelty knits a snare,
And spreads his baits with care.
He sits down with holy fears,
And waters the ground with tears;
Then Humility takes its root
Underneath his foot.
Soon spreads the dismal shade
Of Mystery over his head;
And the caterpillar and fly
Feed on the Mystery.
And it bears the fruit of Deceit,
Ruddy and sweet to eat;
And the raven his nest has made
In its thickest shade.
The Gods of the earth and sea
Sought thro' Nature to find this tree;
But their search was all in vain:
There grows one in the Human brain.
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My mother groan'd, my father wept,
Into the dangerous world I leapt;
Helpless, naked, piping loud,
Like a fiend hid in a cloud.
Straggling in my father's hands,
Striving against my swaddling-bands,
Bound and weary, I thought best
To sulk upon my mother's breast.
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I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I water'd it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright;
And my foe behold it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,
And into my garden stole
When the night had veil'd the pole:
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretch'd beneath the tree.
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'Nought loves another as itself,
Nor venerates another so,
Nor is it possible to Thought
A greater than itself to know:
'And, Father, how can I love you
Or any of my brothers more?.
I love you like the little bird
That picks up crumbs around the door.'
The Priest sat by and heard the child,
In trembling zeal he seiz'd his hair:
He led him by his little coat,
And all admir'd the priestly care.
And standing on the altar high,
'Lo! what a fiend is here,' said he,
'One who sets reason up for judge
Of our most holy Mystery.'
The weeping child could not be heard,
The weeping parents wept in vain;
They stripp'd him to his little shirt,
And bound him in an iron chain;
And burn'd him in a holy place,
Where many had been burn'd before:
The weeping parents wept in vain.
Are such things done on Albion's shore?
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Children of the future age,
Reading this indignant page,
Know that in a former time,
Love, sweet Love, was thought a crime!
In the Age of Gold,
Free from winter's cold,
Youth and maiden bright
To the holy light,
Naked in the sunny beams delight.
Once a youthful pair,
Fill'd with softest care,
Met in garden bright
Where the holy light
Had just remov'd the curtains of the night.
There, in rising day,
On the grass they play;
Parents were afar,
Strangers came not near,
And the maiden soon forgot her fear.
Tired with kisses sweet,
They agree to meet
When the silent sleep
Waves o'er heaven's deep,
And the weary tired wanderers weep.
To her father white
Came the maiden bright;
But his loving look,
Like the holy book,
All her tender limbs with terror shook.
'Ona! pale and weak!
To thy father speak:
O! the trembling fear,
! the dismal care,
That shakes the blossoms of my hoary hair!'
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Whate'er is born of mortal birth
Must be consumed with the earth,
To rise from generation free:
Then what have I to do with thee?
The sexes sprung from shame and pride,
Blow'd in the morn; in evening died;
But Mercy chang'd death into sleep;
The sexes rose to work and weep.
Thou, Mother of my mortal part,
With cruelty didst mould my heart,
And with false self-deceiving tears
Didst bind my nostrils, eyes, and ears;
Didst close my tongue in senseless clay,
And me to mortal life betray:
The death of Jesus set me free:
Then what have I to do with thee?
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I love to rise in a summer morn
When the birds sing on every tree;
The distant huntsman winds his horn,
And the skylark sings with me.
O! what sweet company.
But to go to school in a summer morn,
O! it drives all joy away;
Under a cruel eye outworn,
The little ones spend the day
In sighing and dismay.
Ah! then at times I drooping sit,
And spend many an anxious hour,
Nor in my book can I take delight,
Nor sit in learning's bower,
Worn thro' with the dreary shower.
How can the bird that is born for joy
Sit in a cage and sing?
How can a child, when fears annoy,
But droop his tender wing,
And forget his youthful spring?
O! father and mother, if buds are nipp'd
And blossoms blown away,
And if the tender plants are stripp'd
Of their joy in the springing day,
By sorrow and care's dismay,
How shall the summer arise in joy,
Or the summer fruits appear?
Or how shall we gather what griefs destroy,
Or bless the mellowing year,
When the blasts of winter appear?
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57. THE VOICE OF THE ANCIENT BARD
Youth of delight, come hither,
And see the opening morn,
Image of truth new-born.
Doubt is fled, and clouds of reason,
Dark disputes and artful teasing.
Folly is an endless maze,
Tangled roots perplex her ways.
How many have fallen there!
They stumble all night over bones of the dead,
And feel they know not what but care,
And wish to lead others, when they should be led.
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FROM "THE ROSSETTI MANUSCRIPT"
(1789-1793)
58. Never seek to tell thy love,
Love that never told can be;
For the gentle wind does move
Silently, invisibly.
I told my love, I told my love,
I told her all my heart;
Trembling, cold, in ghastly tears,
Ah! she doth depart.
Soon as she was gone from me,
A traveller came by,
Silently, invisibly:
He took her with a sigh.
(1789-1793)
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59. I saw a Chapel all of gold
That none did dare to enter in,
And many weeping stood without,
Weeping, mourning, worshipping.
I saw a Serpent rise between
The white pillars of the door,
And he forc'd and forc'd and forc'd;
Down the golden hinges tore,
And along the pavement sweet,
Set with pearls and rubies bright,
All his shining length he drew,
Till upon the altar white
Vomiting his poison out
On the Bread and on the Wine.
So I turn'd into a sty,
And laid me down among the swine.
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60. I asked a thief to steal me a peach.
He turned up his eyes.
I ask'd a lithe lady to lie her down:
Holy and meek, she cries.
As soon as I went
An Angel came:
He wink'd at the thief,
And smil'd at the dame;
And without one word said
Had a peach from the tree,
And still as a maid
Enjoy'd the lady.
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61. I heard an Angel singing
When the day was springing:
'Mercy, Pity, Peace
Is the world's release.'
Thus he sang all day
Over the new-mown hay,
Till the sun went down,
And haycocks looked brown.
I heard a Devil curse
Over the heath and the furze:
'Mercy could be no more
If there was nobody poor,
'And Pity no more could be,
If all were as happy as we.'
At his curse the sun went down,
And the heavens gave a frown.
[Down pour'd the heavy rain
Over the new reap'd grain;
And Misery's increase
Is Mercy, Pity, Peace.]
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Sleep! sleep! beauty bright,
Dreaming o'er the joys of night;
Sleep! sleep! in thy sleep
Little sorrows sit and weep.
Sweet Babe, in thy face
Soft desires I can trace,
Secret joys and secret smiles,
Little pretty infant wiles.
As thy softest limbs I feel,
Smiles as of the morning steal
O'er thy cheek, and o'er thy breast
Where thy little heart does rest.
O! the cunning wiles that creep
In thy little heart asleep.
When thy little heart does wake
Then the dreadful lightnings break,
From thy cheek and from thy eye,
O'er the youthful harvests nigh.
Infant wiles and infant smiles
Heaven and Earth of peace beguiles.
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63. I fear'd the fury of my wind
Would blight all blossoms fair and true;
And my sun it shin'd and shin'd,
And my wind it never blew.
But a blossom fair or true
Was not found on any tree;
For all blossoms grew and grew
Fruitless, false, tho' fair to see.
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My mother groan'd, my father wept;
Into the dangerous world I leapt,
Helpless, naked, piping loud,
Like a fiend hid in a cloud.
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Struggling in my father's hands,
Striving against my swaddling-bands,
Bound and weary, I thought best
To sulk upon my mother's breast,
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When I saw that rage was vain,
And to sulk would nothing gain,
Turning many a trick and wile
I began to soothe and smile,
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And I sooth'd day after day,
Till upon the ground I stray;
And I smil'd night after night,
Seeking only for delight,
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And I saw before me shine
Clusters of the wand'ring vine;
And, beyond, a Myrtle-tree
Stretch'd its blossoms out to me.
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But a Priest with holy look,
In his hands a holy book,
Pronounced curses on his head
Who the fruits or blossoms shed
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I beheld the Priest by night;
He embrac'd my Myrtle bright:
I beheld the Priest by day,
Where beneath my vines he lay.
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Like a serpent in the day
Underneath my vines he lay:
Like a serpent in the night
He embrac'd my Myrtle bright.
ix
So I smote him, and his gore
Stain'd the roots my Myrtle bore;
But the time of youth is fled,
And grey hairs are on my head.
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65. Thou hast a lap full of seed,
And this is a fine country.
Why dost thou not cast thy seed,
And live in it merrily?
Shall I cast it on the sand
And turn it into fruitful land?
For on no other ground
Can I sow my seed,
Without tearing up
Some stinking weed.
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Why should I be bound to thee,
my lovely mirtle tree?
Love, free love, cannot be bound
To any tree that grows on ground.
O, how sick & weary I
Underneath my mirtle lie,
Like to dung upon the ground
Underneath my mirtle bound.
Oft my mirtle sign'd in vain
To behold my heavy chain;
Oft my father saw us sigh,
And laugh'd at our simplicity.
So I smote him & his gore
Stain'd the roots my mirtle bore.
But the time of youth is fled,
And grey hairs are on my head.
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Why art thou silent and invisible,
Father of Jealousy?
Why dost thou hide thyself in clouds
From every searching eye?
Why darkness and obscurity
In all thy words and laws,
That none dare eat the fruit but from
The wily Serpent's jaws?
Or is it because secrecy gains females' loud applause?
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68. THE WILD FLOWER'S SONG
As I wander'd the forest,
The green leaves among,
I heard a Wild Flower
Singing a song.
'I slept in the earth
In the silent night,
I murmur'd my fears
And I felt delight.
'In the morning I went,
As rosy as morn,
To seek for new joy;
But I met with scorn.'
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69. lapwing! thou fliest around the heath,
Nor seest the net that is spread beneath.
Why dost thou not fly among the corn fields?
They cannot spread nets where a harvest yields.
69. ! .
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I walked abroad on a snowy day:
I ask'd the soft Snow with me to play:
She play'd and she melted in all her prime;
And the Winter call'd it a dreadful crime.
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71. MERLIN'S PROPHECY
The harvest shall flourish in wintry weather
When two Virginities meet together:
The king and the priest must be tied in a tether
Before two Virgins can meet together.
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The sun arises in the East,
Cloth'd in robes of blood and gold;
Swords and spears and wrath increas'd
All around his bosom roll'd,
Crown'd with warlike fires and raging desires.
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73. Why should I care for the men of Thames,
Or the cheating waves of charter'd streams;
Or shrink at the little blasts of fear
That the hireling blows into my ear?
Tho' born on the cheating banks of Thames,
Tho' his waters bathed my infant limbs,
The Ohio shall wash his stains from me:
I was born a slave, but I go to be free
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74. Abstinence sows sand all over
The ruddy limbs and flaming hair,
But Desire gratified
Plants fruits of life and beauty there.
74.
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75. If you trap the moment before it's ripe,
The tears of repentence you'll certainly wipe;
But if once you let the ripe moment go
You can never wipe off the tears of woe.
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76. He who bends to himself a Joy
Doth the winged life destroy;
But he who kisses the Joy as it flies
Lives in Eternity's sunrise.
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The countless gold of a merry heart,
The rubies and pearls of a loving eye,
The indolent never can bring to the mart,
Nor the secret hoard up in his treasury.
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78. AN ANSWER TO THE PARSON
Why of the sheep do you not learn peace?
Because I don't want you to shear my fleece.
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79. Soft deceit & idleness
These are beauties sweetest dress.
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80. "Let the Brothels of Paris be opened
With many an alluring dance
To awake the Pestilence thro' the city,"
Said the beautiful Queen of France.
The King awoke on his couch of gold,
As soon as he heard these tidings told:
"Arise & come, both fife & drum,
And the Famine shall eat both crust & crumb."
Then he swore a great & solemn Oath:
"To kill the people I am loth,
But if they rebel, they must go to hell:
They shall have a Priest & a passing bell."
Then old Nobodaddy aloft
Farted & belch'd & cough'd,
And said, "I love hanging & drawing & quartering
Every bit as well as war & slaughtering.
Damn praying & singing,
Unless they will bring in
The blood of ten thousand by fighting or swinging."
The Queen of France just touched this Globe,
And the Pestilence darted from her robe;
But our good Queen quite grows to the ground,
And a great many suckers grow all around.
Fayette beside King Lewis stood;
He saw him sign his hand;
And soon he saw the famine rage
About the fruitful land.
Fayette beheld the Queen to smile
And wink her lovely eye;
And soon he saw the pestilence
From street to street to fly.
Fayette beheld the King & Queen
In tears & iron bound;
But mute Fayette wept tear for tear,
And guarded them around.
Fayette, Fayette, thou'rt bought & sold,
And sold is thy happy morrow;
Thou gavest the tears of Pity away
In exchange for the tears of sorrow.
Who will exchange his own fire side
For the steps of another's door?
Who will exchange his wheaten loaf
For the links of a dungeon floor?
O, who would smile on the wintry seas,
& Pity the stormy roar?
Or who will exchange his new born child
For the dog at the wintry door?
80. " , !
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(1800-1803)
i
81. My Spectre around me night and day
Like a wild beast guards my way;
My Emanation far within
Weeps incessantly for my sin.
ii
'A fathomless and boundless deep,
There we wander, there we weep;
On the hungry craving wind
My Spectre follows thee behind.
iii
'He scents thy footsteps in the snow,
Wheresoever thou dost go,
Thro' the wintry hail and rain.
When wilt thou return again?
iv
'Dost thou not in pride and scorn
Fill with tempests all my morn,
And with jealousies and fears
Fill my pleasant nights with tears?
v
'Seven of my sweet loves thy knife
Has bereaved of their life.
Their marble tombs I built with tears,
And with cold and shuddering fears.
vi
'Seven more loves weep night and day
Round the tombs where my loves lay,
And seven more loves attend each night
Around my couch with torches bright.
vii
'And seven more loves in my bed
Crown with wine my mournful head,
Pitying and forgiving all
Thy transgressions great and small.
viii
'When wilt thou return and view
My loves, and them to life renew?
When wilt thou return and live?
When wilt thou pity as I forgive?'
a
['O'er my sins thou sit and moan:
Hast thou no sins of thy own?
O'er my sins thou sit and weep,
And lull thy own sins fast asleep.]
b
['What transgressions I commit
Are for thy transgressions fit.
They thy harlots, thou their slave;
And my bed becomes their grave.]
ix
'Never, never, I return:
Still for victory I burn.
Living, thee alone I'll have;
And when dead I'll be thy grave.
x
'Thro' the Heaven and Earth and Hell
Thou shalt never, never quell:
I will fly and thou pursue:
Night and morn the flight renew.'
['Poor, pale, pitiable form
That I follow in a storm;
Iron tears and groans of lead
Bind around my aching head.]
xi
'Till I turn from Female love
And root up the Infernal Grove,
I shall never worthy be
To step into Eternity.
xii
'And, to end thy cruel mocks,
Annihilate thee on the rocks,
And another form create
To be subservient to my fate.
xiii
'Let us agree to give up love,
And root up the Infernal Grove;
Then shall we return and see
The worlds of happy Eternity.
xiv
'And throughout all Eternity
I forgive you, you forgive me.
As our dear Redeemer said:
"This the Wine, and this the Bread."'
(1800-1803)
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82. When Klopstock England defied,
Uprose William Blake in his pride;
For old Nobodaddy aloft
...and belch'd and cough'd;
Then swore a great oath that made Heaven quake,
And call'd aloud to English Blake.
Blake was giving his body ease,
At Lambeth beneath the poplar trees.
From his seat then started he
And turn'd him round three times three.
The moon at that sight blush'd scarlet red,
The stars threw down their cups and fled,
And all the devils that were in hell,
Answered with a ninefold yell.
Klopstock felt the intripled turn,
And all his bowels began to churn,
And his bowels turn'd round three times three,
And lock'd in his soul with a ninefold key;...
Then again old Nobodaddy swore
He ne'er had seen such a thing before,
Since Noah was shut in the ark,
Since Eve first chose her hellfire spark,
Since 'twas the fashion to go naked,
Since the old Anything was created...
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83. Mock on, mock on, Voltaire, Rousseau:
Mock on, mock on; tis all in vain!
You throw the sand against the wind,
And the wind blows it back again.
And every sand becomes a gem
Reflected in the beams divine;
Blown back they blind the mocking eye,
But still in Israel's paths they shine.
The Atoms of Democritus
And Newton's Particles of Light
Are sands upon the Red Sea shore,
Where Israel's tents do shine so bright.
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84. When a man has married a wife, he finds out whether
Her knees and elbows are only glued together.
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85. ON THE VIRGINITY OF THE VIRGIN MARY AND JOHANNA SOUTHCOTT
Whate'er is done to her she cannot know,
And if you'll ask her she will swear it so.
Whether 'tis good or evil none's to blame:
No one can take the pride, no one the shame.
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To find the Western path,
Right thro' the Gates of Wrath
I urge my way;
Sweet Mercy leads me on
With soft repentant moan:
I see the break of day.
The war of swords and spears,
Melted by dewy tears,
Exhales on high;
The Sun is freed from fears,
And with soft grateful tears
Ascends the sky.
86. <>
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87. 'Now Art has lost its mental charms
France shall subdue the world in arms.'
So spoke an Angel at my birth;
Then said 'Descend thou upon earth;
Renew the Arts on Britain's shore,
And France shall fall down and adore.
With works of art their armies meet
And War shall sink beneath thy feet.
But if thy nation Arts refuse,
And if they scorn the immortal Muse,
France shall the arts of peace restore
And save thee from the ungrateful shore.'
Spirit who lov'st Britannia's Isle
Round which the fiends of commerce smile -
87.
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(1808-1811)
88. TO F [LAXMAN]
I mock thee not, though I by thee am mocked;
Thou call'st me madman, but I call thee blockhead.
(1808-1811)
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89. Here lies John Trot, the friend of all mankind:
He has not left one enemy behind.
Friends were quite hard to find, old authors say;
But now they stand in everybody's way.
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90. I was buried near this dyke,
That my friends may weep as much as they like.
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91. My title as a genius thus is prov'd:
Not prais'd by Hayley, nor by Flaxman lov'd.
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92. Grown old in Love from Seven till Seven times Seven
I oft have wish'd for Hell, for Ease from Heaven.
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93. All pictures that's panted with sense and with thought
Are panted by madmen, as sure as a groat;
For the greater the fool is the pencil more blest,
As when they are drunk they always pant best.
They never can Raphael it, Fuseli it, nor Blake it;
If they can't see an outline, pray how can they make it?
When men will draw outlines begin you to jaw them;
Madmen see outlines and therefore they draw them.
93.
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94. Why was Cupid a boy,
And why a boy was he?
He should have been a girl,
For aught that I can see.
For he shoots with his bow,
And the girl shoots with her eye,
And they both are merry and glad,
And laugh when we do cry.
And to make Cupid a boy
Was the Cupid girl's mocking plan;
For a boy can't interpret the thing
Till he is become a man.
And then he's so pierc'd with cares,
And wounded with arrowy smarts,
That the whole business of his life
Is to pick out the heads of the darts.
'Twas the Greeks' love of war
Turn'd Love into a boy,
And woman into a statue of stone -
And away fled every joy.
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95. I asked my dear friend Orator Prig:
'What's the first part of oratory?' He said: 'A great wig.'
'And what is the second?' Then, dancing a jig
And bowing profoundly, he said: 'A great wig.'
'And what is the third?' Then he snored like a pig,
And, puffing his cheeks out, replied: 'A great wig.'
So if a great panter with questions you push,
'What's the first part of panting?' he'll say 'A pant-brush.'
'And what is the second?' with most modest blush,
He'll smile like a cherub, and say: 'A pant-brush.'
'And what is the third?' he'll bow like a rush,
With a leer in his eye, he'll reply: 'A pant-brush.'
Perhaps this is all a panter can want:
But, look yonder-that house is this house of Rembrandt!
95. - ? ?
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96. Having given great offence by writing in prose,
I'll write in verse as soft as Bartoloze.
Some blush at what others can see no crime in;
But nobody sees any harm in riming.
Dryden, in rime, cries 'Milton only plann'd':
Every fool shook his bells throughout the land.
Tom Cooke cut Hogarth down with his clean graving:
Thousands of connoisseurs with joy ran raving.
Thus, Hayley on his toilette seeing the soap,
Cries, 'Homer is very much improv'd by Pope.'
Some say I've given great provision to my foes,
And that now I lead my false friends by the nose.
Flaxman and Stothard, smelling a.sweet savour,
Cry 'Blakified drawing spoils painter and engraver';
While I, looking up to my umbrella,
Resolv'd to be a very contrary fellow,
Cry, looking quite from skumference to centre:
'No one can finish so high as the original Inventor.'
Thus poor Schiavonetti died of the Cromek-
A thing that's tied around the Examiner's neck!
This is my sweet apology to my friends,
That I may put them in mind of their latter ends.
If men will act like a maid smiling over a churn,
They ought not, when it comes to another's turn,
To grow sour at what a friend may utter,
Knowing and feeling that we all have need of butter.
False friends, fie! fie! Our friendship you shan't sever;
In spite we will be greater friends than ever.
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97. Some people admire the work of a fool,
For it's sure to keep your judgement cool;
It does not reproach you with want of wit;
It is not like a lawyer serving a writ.
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98. Since all the riches of this world
May be gifts from the Devil and earthly kings,
I should suspect that I worshipp'd the Devil
If I thank'd my God for worldly things.
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99. I rose up at the dawn of day -
'Get thee away! get thee away!
Pray'st thou for riches? Away! away!
This is the Throne of Mammon grey.'
Said I: This, sure, is very odd;
I took it to be the Throne of God.
For everything besides I have:
It is only for riches that I can crave.
I have mental joy, and mental health,
And mental friends, and mental wealth;
I've a wife I love, and that loves me;
I've all but riches bodily.
I am in God's presence night and day,
And He never turns His face away;
The accuser of sins by my side doth stand,
And he holds my money-bag in his hand.
For my worldly things God makes him pay,
And he'd pay for more if to him I would pray;
And so you may do the worst you can do;
Be assur'd, Mr. Devil, I won't pray to you.
Then if for riches I must not pray,
God knows, I little of prayers need say;
So, as a church is known by its steeple,
If I pray it must be for other people.
He says, if I do not worship him for a God,
I shall eat coarser food, and go worse shod;
So, as I don't value such things as these,
You must do, Mr. Devil, just as God please.
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(1800-1803)
There is a smile of love,
And there is a smile of deceit,
And there is a smile of smiles
In which these two smiles meet.
And there is a frown of hate,
And there is a frown of disdain,
And there is a frown of frowns
Which you strive to forget in vain,
For it sticks in the heart's deep core
And it sticks in the deep backbone -
And no smile that ever was smil'd,
But only one smile alone,
That betwixt the cradle and grave
It only once smil'd can be;
And, when it once is smil'd,
There's an end to all misery.
(1800-1803)
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Three Virgins at the break of day: -
'Whither, young man, whither away?
Alas for woe! alas for woe!'
They cry, and tears for ever flow.
The one was cloth'd in flames of fire,
The other cloth'd in iron wire,
The other cloth'd in tears and sighs
Dazzling bright before my eyes.
They bore a Net of golden twine
To hang upon the branches fine.
Pitying I wept to see the woe
That Love and Beauty undergo,
To be consum'd in burning fires
And in ungratified desires,
And in tears cloth'd night and day
Melted all my soul away.
When they saw my tears, a smile
That did Heaven itself beguile,
Bore the Golden Net aloft,
As on downy pinions soft,
Over the Morning of my day.
Underneath the net I stray,
Now entreating Burning Fire
Now entreating Iron Wire,
Now entreating Tears and Sighs -
O! when will the morning rise?
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102. THE MENTAL TRAVELLER
I travell'd thro' a land of men,
A land of men and women too;
And heard and saw such dreadful things
As cold earth-wanderers never knew.
For there the Babe is born in joy
That was begotten in dire woe;
Just as we reap in joy the fruit
Which we in bitter tears did sow.
And if the Babe is born a boy
He's given to a Woman Old,
Who nails him down upon a rock,
Catches his shrieks in cups of gold.
She binds iron thorns around his head,
She pierces both his hands and feet,
She cuts his heart out at his side,
To make it feel both cold and heat.
Her fingers number every nerve,
Just as a miser counts his gold;
She lives upon his shrieks and cries,
And she grows young as he grows old.
Till he becomes a bleeding Youth,
And she becomes a Virgin bright;
Then he rends up his manacles,
And binds her down for his delight.
He plants himself in all her nerves,
Just as a husbandman his mould;
And she becomes his dwelling-place
And garden fruitful seventyfold.
An aged Shadow, soon he fades,
Wandering round an earthly cot,
Full filled all with gems and gold
Which he by industry had got.
And these are the gems of the human soul,
The rubies and pearls of a love-sick eye,
The countless gold of the aching heart,
The martyr's groan and the lover's sigh.
They are his meat, they are his drink;
He feeds the beggar and the poor
And the wayfaring traveller:
For ever open is his door.
His grief is their eternal joy;
They make the roofs and walls to ring;
Till from the fire on the hearth
A little Female Babe does spring.
And she is all of solid fire
And gems and gold, that none his hand
Dares stretch to touch her baby form,
Or wrap her in his swaddling-band.
But she comes to the man she loves,
If young or old, or rich or poor;
They soon drive out the Aged Host,
A beggar at another's door.
He wanders weeping far away,
Until some other take him in;
Oft blind and age-bent, sore distrest,
Until he can a Maiden win.
And to allay his freezing age,
The poor man takes her in his arms;
The cottage fades before his sight,
The garden and its lovely charms.
The guests are scatter'd thro' the land,
For the eye altering alters all;
The senses roll themselves in fear,
And the flat earth becomes a ball;
The stars, sun, moon, all shrink away,
A desert vast without a bound,
And nothing left to eat or drink,
And a dark desert all around.
The honey of her infant lips,
The bread and wine of her sweet smile,
The wild game of her roving eye,
Does him to infancy beguile;
For as he eats and drinks he grows
Younger and younger every day;
And on the desert wild they both
Wander in terror and dismay.
Like the wild stag she flees away,
Her fear plants many a thicket wild;
While he pursues her night and day,
By various arts of love beguil'd;
By various arts of love and hate,
Till the wide desert planted o'er
With labyrinths of wayward love,
Where roam the lion, wolf, and boar.
Till he becomes a wayward Babe,
And she a weeping Woman Old.
Then many a lover wanders here;
The sun and stars are nearer roll'd;
The trees bring forth sweet ecstasy
To all who in the desert roam;
Till many a city there is built,
And many a pleasant shepherd's home.
But when they find the Frowning Babe,
Terror strikes thro' the region wide:
They cry 'The Babe! the Babe is born!'
And flee away on every side.
For who dare touch the Frowning Form,
His arm is wither'd to its root;
Lions, boars, wolves, all howling flee,
And every tree does shed its fruit.
And none can touch that Frowning Form,
Except it be a Woman Old;
She nails him down upon the rock,
And all is done as I have told.
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Awake, awake, my little boy!
Thou wast thy mother's only joy;
Why dost thou weep in thy gentle sleep?
Awake! thy father does thee keep.
'O, what land is the Land of Dreams?
What are its mountains, and what are its streams?
O father! I saw my mother there,
Among the lilies by waters fair.
'Among the lambs, clothed in white,
She walk'd with her Thomas in sweet delight.
I wept for joy, like a dove I mourn;
O! when shall I again return?'
Dear child, I also by pleasant streams
Have wander'd all night in the Land of Dreams;
But tho' calm and warm the waters wide, -
I could not get to the other side.
'Father, father! what do we here
In this land of unbelief and fear?
The Land of Dreams is better far,
Above the light of the morning star.'
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Sweet Mary, the first time she ever was there,
Came into the ball-room among the fair;
The young men and maidens around her throng,
And these are the words upon every tongue:
'An Angel is here from the heavenly climes,
Or again does return the golden times;
Her eyes outshine every brilliant ray,
She opens her lips-'tis the Month of May.'
Mary moves in soft beauty and conscious delight,
To augment with sweet smiles all the joys of the night,
Nor once blushes t6 own to the rest of the fair
That sweet Love and Beauty are wortriy our care.
In the morning the villagers rose with delight,
And repeated with pleasure the joys of the night,
And Mary arose among friends to be free,
But no friend from henceforward thou, Mary, shalt see.
Some said she was proud, some call'd her a whore,
And some, when she passed by, shut to the door;
A damp cold came o'er her, her blushes all fled;
Her lilies and roses are blighted and shed.
'O, why was I born with a different face?
Why was I not born like this envious race?
Why did Heaven adorn me with bountiful hand,
And then set me down in an envious land?
'To be weak as a lamb and smooth as a dove,
And not to raise envy, is call'd Christian love;
But if you raise envy your merit's to blame
For planting such spite in the weak and the tame.
'I will humble my beauty, I will not dress fine,
I will keep from the ball, and my eyes shall not shine;
And if any girl's lover forsakes her for me
I'll refuse him my hand, and from envy be free.'
She went out in morning attir'd plain and neat;
'Proud Mary's gone mad,' said the child in the street;
She went out in morning in plain neat attire,
And came home in evening bespatter'd with mire.
She trembled and wept, sitting on the bedside,
She forgot it was night, and she trembled and cried;
She forgot it was night, she forgot it was morn,
Her soft memory imprinted with faces of scorn;
With faces of scorn and with eyes of disdain,
Like foul fiends inhabiting Mary's mild brain;
She remembers no face like the Human Divine;
All faces have envy, sweet Mary, but thine;
And thine is a face of sweet love in despair,
And thine is a face of mild sorrow and care,
And thine is a face of wild terror and fear
That shall never be quiet till laid on its bier.
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The Maiden caught me in the wild,
Where I was dancing merrily;
She put me into her Cabinet,
And lock'd me up with a golden key,
This Cabinet is form'd of gold
And pearl and crystal shining bright,
And within it opens into a world
And a little lovely moony night.
Another England there I saw,
Another London with its Tower,
Another Thames and other hills,
And another pleasant Surrey bower.
Another Maiden like herself,
Translucent, lovely, shining clear,
Threefold each in the other clos'd -
O, what a pleasant trembling fear!
O, what a smile! a threefold smile
Fill'd me, that like a flame I burn'd;
I bent to kiss the lovely Maid,
And found a threefold kiss return'd.
I strove to seize the inmost form
With ardour fierce and hands of flame,
But burst the Crystal Cabinet,
And like a weeping Babe became-
A weeping Babe upon the wild,
And weeping Woman pale reclin'd,
And in the outward air again
I fill'd with woes the passing wind.
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'I die, I die!' the Mother said,
'My children die for lack of bread.
What more has the merciless tyrant said?'
The Monk sat down on the stony bed.
The blood red ran from the Grey Monk's side,
His hands and feet were wounded wide,
His body bent, his arms and knees
Like to the roots of ancient trees.
His eye was dry; no tear could flow:
A hollow groan first spoke his woe.
He trembled and shudder'd upon the bed;
At length with a feeble cry he said:
'When God commanded this hand to write
In the studious hours of deep midnight,
He told me the writing I wrote should prove
The bane of all that on Earth I love.
'My brother starv'd between two walls,
His children's cry my soul appalls;
I mock'd at the wrack and griding chain,
My bent body mocks their torturing pain.
'Thy father drew his sword in the North,
With his thousands strong he marched forth;
Thy brother has arm'd himself in steel,
To avenge the wrongs thy children feel.
'But vain the sword and vain the bow,
They never can War's overthrow.
The hermit's prayer and the widow's tear
Alone can free the world from fear.
'For a tear is an intellectual thing,
And a sigh is the sword of an Angel King,
And the bitter groan of the martyr's woe
Is an arrow from the Almighty's bow.
'The hand of Vengeance found the bed
To which the purple tyrant fled;
The iron hand crush'd the tyrant's head,
And became a tyrant in his stead.'
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107. AUGURIES OF INNOCENCE
To see a World in a grain of sand,
And a Heaven in a wild flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand,
And Eternity in an hour.
A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all Heaven in a rage.
A dove-house fill'd with doves and pigeons
Shudders Hell thro' all its regions.
A dog starv'd at his master's gate
Predicts the ruin of the State.
A horse misus'd upon the road
Calls to Heaven for human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted hare
A fibre from the brain does tear.
A skylark wounded in the wing,
A cherubim does cease to sing.
The game-cock dipt and arm'd for fight
Does the rising sun affright.
Every wolfs and lion's howl
Raises from Hell a Human soul.
The wild deer, wandering here and there,
Keeps the Human soul from care.
The lamb misus'd breeds public strife,
And yet forgives the butcher's knife.
The bat that flits at close of eve
Has left the brain that won't believe.
The owl that calls upon the night
Speaks the unbeliever's fright.
He who shall hurt the little wren
Shall never be belov'd by men.
He who the ox to wrath has mov'd
Shall never be by woman lov'd.
The wanton boy that kills the fly
Shall feel the spider's enmity.
He who torments the chafer's sprite
Weaves a bower in endless night.
The caterpillar on the leaf
Repeats to thee thy mother's grief.
Kill not the moth nor butterfly,
For the Last Judgement draweth nigh.
He who shall train the horse to war
Shall never pass the polar bar.
The beggar's dog and widow's cat,
Feed them, and thou wilt grow fat.
The gnat that sings his summer's song
Poison gets from Slander's tongue.
The poison of the snake and newt
Is the sweat of Envy's foot.
The poison of the honey-bee
Is the artist's jealousy.
The prince's robes and beggar's rags
Are toadstools on the miser's bags.
A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.
It is right it should be so;
Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know,
Thro' the world we safely go.
Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine;
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.
The babe is more than swaddling-bands;
Throughout all these human lands
Tools were made, and born were hands,
Every farmer understands. -
Every tear from every eye
Becomes a babe in Eternity;
This is caught by Females bright,
And return'd to its own delight.
The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar
Are waves that beat on Heaven's shore.
The babe that weeps the rod beneath
Writes revenge in realms of death.
The beggar's rags, fluttering in air,
Does to rags the heavens tear.
The soldier, arm'd with sword and gun,
Palsied strikes the summer's sun.
The poor man's farthing is worth more
Than all the gold on Afric's shore.
One mite wrung from the labourer's hands
Shall buy and sell the miser's lands
Or, if protected from on high,
Does that whole nation sell and buy.
He who mocks the infant's faith
Shall be mock'd in Age and Death.
He who shall teach the child to doubt
The rotting grave shall ne'er get out.
He who respects the infant's faith
Triumphs over Hell and Death.
The child's toys and the old man's reasons
Are the fruits of the two seasons.
The questioner, who sits so sly,
Shall never know how to reply.
He who replies to words of Doubt
Doth put the light of knowledge out.
The strongest poison ever known
Came from Caesar's laurel crown.
Nought can deform the human race
Like to the armour's iron brace.
When gold and gems adorn the plough
To peaceful arts shall Envy bow.
A riddle, or the cricket's cry,
Is to Doubt a fit reply.
The emmet's inch and eagle's mile
Make lame Philosophy to smile.
He who doubts from what he sees
Will ne'er believe, do what you please.
If the Sun and Moon should doubt,
They'd immediately go out.
To be in a passion you good may do,
But no good if a passion is in you.
The whore and gambler, by the state
Licensed, build that nation's fate.
The harlot's cry from street to street
Shall weave Old England's winding-sheet
The winner's shout, the loser's curse,
Dance before dead England's hearse.
Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born.
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.
Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.
We are led to believe a lie
When we see not thro' the eye,
Which was born in a night, to perish in a night,
When the Soul slept in beams of light.
God appears, and God is Light,
To those poor souls who dwell in Night;
But does a Human Form display
To those who dwell in realms of Day.
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108. LONG JOHN BROWN AND LITTLE MARY BELL
Little Mary Bell had a Fairy in a nut,
Long John Brown had the Devil in his gut;
Long John Brown lov'd little Mary Bell,
And the Fairy drew the Devil into the nutshell.
Her Fairy skipp'd out and her Fairy skipp'd in;
He laugh'd at the Devil, saying 'Love is a sin.'
The Devil he raged, and the Devil he was wroth,
And the Devil enter'd into the young man's broth.
He was soon in the gut of the loving young swain,
For John ate and drank to drive away love's pain;
But all he could do he grew thinner and thinner,
Tho' he ate and drank as much as ten men for his dinner.
Some said he had a wolf in his stomach day and night,
Some said he had the Devil, and they guess'd right;
The Fairy skipp'd about in his glory, joy and pride,
And he laugh'd at the Devil till poor John Brown died.
Then the Fairy skipp'd out of the old nutshell,
And woe and alack for pretty Mary Bell!
For the Devil crept in when the Fairy skipp'd out,
And there goes Miss Bell with her fusty old nut.
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I wonder whether the girls are mad,
And I wonder whether they mean to kill,
And I wonder if William Bond will die,
For assuredly he is very ill.
He went to church in a May morning,
Attended by Fairies, one, two, and three;
But the Angels of Providence drove them away,
And he return'd home in misery.
He went not out to the field nor fold,
He went not out to the village nor town,
But he came home in a black, black cloud,
And took to his bed, and there lay down.
And an Angel of Providence at his feet,
And an Angel of Providence at his head,
And in the midst a black, black cloud,
And in the midst the sick man on his bed.
And on his right hand was Mary Green,
And on his left hand was his sister Jane,
And their tears fell thro' the black, black cloud
To drive away the sick man's pain.
'O William, if thou dost another love,
Dost another love better than poor Mary,
Go and take that other to be thy wife,
And Mary Green shall her servant be.'
'Yes, Mary, I do another love,
Another I love far better than thee,
And another I will have for my wife;
Then what have I to do with thee?
'For thou art melancholy pale,
And on thy head is the cold moon's shine,
But she is ruddy and bright as day,
And the sunbeams dazzle from her eyne.'
Mary trembled and Mary chill'd,
And Mary fell down on the right-hand floor,
That William Bond and his sister Jane
Scare could recover Mary more.
When Mary woke and found her laid
On the right hand of her William dear,
On the right hand of his loved bed,
And saw her William Bond so near,
The Fairies that fled from William Bond
Danced around her shining head;
They danced over the pillow white,
And the Angels of Providence left the bed.
I thought Love lived in the hot sunshine,
But he lives in the moony light!
I thought to find Love in the heat of day,
But sweet Love is the comforter of night.
Seek Love in the pity of others' woe,
In the gentle relief of another's care,
In the darkness of night and the winter's snow,
In the naked and outcast, seek Love there!
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THEL'S MOTTO
Does the Eagle know what is in the pit
Or wilt thou go ask the Mole?
Can Wisdom be put in a silver rod,
Or Love in a golden bowl?
The daughters of [the] Seraphim led round their sunny flocks -
All but the youngest: she in paleness sought the secret air,
To fade away like morning beauty from her mortal day:
Down by the river of Adona her soft voice is heard,
And thus her gentle lamentation falls like morning dew: -
'O life of this our spring! why fades the lotus of the water?
Why fade these children of the spring, born but to smile and fall?
Ah! Thel is like a wat'ry bow, and like a parting cloud;
Like a reflection in a glass; like shadows in the water;
Like dreams of infants, like a smile upon an infant's face;
Like the dove's voice; like transient day; like music in the air.
Ah! gentle may I lay me down, and gentle rest my head,
And gentle sleep the sleep of death, and gentle hear the voice
Of Him that walketh in the garden in the evening time.'
The Lily of the Valley, breathing in the humble grass,
Answered the lovely maid and said: I am a wat'ry weed,
And I am very small, and love to dwell in lowly vales;
So weak, the gilded butterfly scarce perches on my head.
Yet I am visited from heaven, and He that smiles on all
Walks in the valley, and each morn over me spreads His hand,
Saying, "Rejoice, thou humble grass, thou new-born lily-flower,
Thou gentle maid of silent valleys and of modest brooks;
For thou shalt be clothed in light, and fed with morning manna,
Till summer's heat melts thee beside the fountains and the springs,
To flourish in eternal vales." Then why should Thel complain?
Why should the mistress of the vales of Har utter a sigh?'
She ceas'd, and smil'd in tears, then sat down in her silver shrine.
Thel answer'd: 'O thou little Virgin of the peaceful valley,
Giving to those that cannot crave, the voiceless, the o'ertired;
Thy breath doth nourish the innocent lamb, he smells thy milky garments,
He crops thy flowers while thou sittest smiling in his face,
Wiping his mild and meeking mouth from all contagious taints.
Thy wine doth purify the golden honey; thy perfume,
Which thou dost scatter on every little'blade of grass that springs,
Revives the milked cow, and tames the fire-breathing steed.
But Thel is like a faint cloud kindled at the rising sun:
I vanish from my pearly throne, and who shall find my place?'
'Queen of the vales,' the Lily answer'd, 'ask the tender Cloud,
And it shall tell thee why it glitters in the morning sky.
And why it scatters its bright beauty thro' the humid air.
Descend, little Cloud, and hover before the eyes of Thel.'
The Cloud descended, and the Lily bowed her modest head,
And went to mind her numerous charge among the verdant grass.
'O little Cloud,' the Virgin said, T charge thee tell to me
Why thou complainest not, when in one hour thou fade away:
Then we shall seek thee, but not find. Ah! Thel is like to thee:
I pass away: yet I complain, and no one hears my voice.'
The Cloud then show'd his golden head and his bright form emerg'd,
Hovering and glittering on the air before the face of Thel.
'O Virgin, know'st thou not our steeds drink of the golden springs
Where Luvah doth renew his horses? Look'st thou on my youth,
And fearest thou, because I vanish and am seen no more,
Nothing remains? Maid, I tell thee, when I pass away,
It is to tenfold life, to love, to peace, and raptures holy:
Unseen descending, weigh my light wings upon balmy flowers,
And court the fair-eyed dew, to take me to her shining tent:
The weeping virgin, trembling, kneels before the risen sun,
Till we arise link'd in a golden band and never part,
But walk united, bearing food to all out tender flowers.'
'Dost thou, little Cloud? I fear that I am not like thee,
For I walk thro' the vales of Har, and smell the sweetest flowers,
But I feed not the little flowers; I hear the warbling birds,
But I feed not the warbling birds; they fly and seek their food:
But Thel delights in these no more, because I fade away;
And all shall say, "Without a use this shining woman liv'd,
Or did she only live to be at death the food of worms?" '
The Cloud reclin'd upon his airy throne, and answer'd thus: -
'Then if thou art the food of worms, Virgin of the skies,
How great thy use, how great thy blessing! Everything that lives
Lives not alone nor for itself. Fear not, and I will call
The weak Worm from its lowly bed, and thou shalt hear its voice.
Come forth, Worm of the silent valley, to thy pensive Queen.'
The helpless Worm arose, and sat upon the Lily's leaf,
And the bright Cloud sail'd on, to find his partner in the vale.
Then Thel astonish'd view'd the Worm upon its dewy bed.
'Art thou a Worm? Image of weakness, art thou but a Worm?
I see thee like an infant wrapped in the Lily's leaf.
Ah! weep not, little voice, thou canst not speak, but thou canst weep.
Is this a Worm? I see thee lay helpless and naked, weeping,
And none to answer, none to cherish thee with mother's smiles.'
The Clod of Clay heard the Worm's voice and rais'd her pitying head:
She bow'd over the weeping infant, and her life exhal'd
In milky fondness: then on Thel she fix'd her humble eyes.
'O Beauty of the vales of Har! we live not for ourselves.
Thou seest me, the meanest thing, and so I am indeed.
My bosom of itself is cold, and of itself is dark;
But He, that loves the lowly, pours His oil upon my head,
And kisses me, and binds His nuptial bands around my breast,
And says: "Thou mother of my children, I have loved thee,
And I have given thee a crown that none can take away."
But how this is, sweet Maid, I know not, and I cannot know;
I ponder, and I cannot ponder; yet I live and love.'
The Daughter of Beauty wip'd her pitying tears with her white veil,
And said: 'Alas! I knew not this, and therefore did I weep.
That God would love a worm I knew, and punish the evil foot
That wilful bruis'd its helpless form; but that He cherish'd it
With milk and oil I never knew, and therefore did I weep;
And I complain'd in the mild air, because I fade away,
And lay me down in thy cold bed, and leave my shining lot.'
'Queen of the vales,' the matron Clay answer'd, 'I heard thy sighs,
And all thy moans flew o'er my roof, but I have call'd them down.
Wilt thou, Queen, enter my house? "Tis given thee to enter
And to return: fear nothing, enter with thy virgin feet.'
The eternal gates' terrific Porter lifted the northern bar:
Thel enter'd in and saw the secrets of the Jand unknown.
She saw the couches of the dead, and where the fibrous roots
Of every heart on earth infixes deep its restless twists:
A land of sorrows and of tears where never smile was seen.
She wander'd in the land of clouds thro' valleys dark, list'ning
Dolours and lamentations; waiting oft beside a dewy grave
She stood in silence, list'ning to the voices of the ground,
Till to her own grave-plot she came, and there she sat down,
And heard this voice of sorrow breathed from the hollow pit.
'Why cannot the Ear be closed to its own destruction?
Or the glist'ning Eye to the poison of a smile?
Why are Eyelids stor'd with arrows ready drawn,
Where a thousand fighting men in ambusji lie,
Or an Eye of gifts and graces show'rhig fruits and coined gold?
Why a Tongue impress'd with honey from every wind?
Why an Ear, a whirlpool fierce to draw creations in?
Why a Nostril wide inhaling terror, trembling, and affrigfit?
Why a tender curb upon the youthful, burning boy?
Why a little curtain of flesh on the bed of our desire?'
The Virgin started from her seat, apd with a shriek
Fled back unhinder'd till she came into the vales of Har.
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THE MARRIAGE OF HEAVEN AND HELL
Rintrah roars, and shakes his fires
in the burden'd air;
Hungry clouds swag on the deep.
Once meek, and in a perilous path,
The just man kept his course along
The vale of death.
Roses are planted where thorns grow,
And on the barren heath
Sing the honey bees.
Then the perilous path was planted,
And a river and a spring
On every cliff and tomb,
And on the bleached bones
Red clay brought forth;
Till the villain left the paths of ease,
To walk in perilous paths, and drive
The just man into barren climes.
Now the sneaking serpent walks
In mild humility,
And the just man rages in the wilds
Where lions roam.
Rintrah roars, and shakes his fires in the burden'd air;
Hungry clouds swag on the deep.
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As a new heaven is begun, and it is now thirty-three years since its
advent, the Eternal Hell revives. And lo! Swedenborg is the Angel sitting at
the tomb: his writings are the linen clothes folded up. Now is the dominion
of Edom, and the return of Adam into Paradise. See Isaiah xxxiv and xxxv
chap.
Without Contraries is no progression. Attraction and Repulsion,
Reason and Energy, Love and Hate, are necessary to Human existence.
From these contraries spring what the religious call Good and Evil.
Good is the passive that obeys Reason. Evil is the active springing from
Energy.
Good is Heaven. Evil is Hell.
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All Bibles or sacred codes have been the causes of the following
Errors: -
1. That Man has two real existing principles, viz. a Body and a Soul.
2. That Energy, call'd Evil, is alone from the Body; and that Reason,
call'd Good, is alone from the Soul.
3. That God will torment Man in Eternity for following his Energies.
But the following Contraries to these are True: -
1. Man has no Body distinct from his Soul; for that call'd Body is a
portion of Soul discern'd by the five Senses, the chief inlets of Soul in
this age.
2. Energy is the only life, and is from the Body; and Reason is the
bound or outward circumference of Energy.
3. Energy is Eternal Delight.
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Those who restrain Desire, do so because theirs is weak enough to be
restrained; and the restrainer or Reason usurps its place and governs the
unwilling.
And being restrained, it by degrees becomes passive, till it is only
the shadow of Desire.
The history of this is written in _Paradise Lost_, and the Governor
or Reason is call'd Messiah.
And the original Archangel, or possessor of the command of the
Heavenly Host, is call'd the Devil or Satan, and his children are call'd Sin
and Death.
But in the Book of Job, Milton's Messiah is called Satan.
For this history has been adopted by both parties.
It indeed appear'd to Reason as if Desire was cast out; but the Devil's
account is, that the Messiah fell, and formed a Heaven of what he stole from
the Abyss.
This is shown in the Gospel, where he prays to the Father to send the
Comforter, or Desire, that Reason may have Ideas to build on; the Jehovah of
the Bible being no other than he who dwells in flaming fire.
Know that after Christ's death, he became Jehovah.
But in Milton, the Father is Destiny, the Son a Ratio of the five
senses, and the Holy-ghost Vacuum!
Note. The reason Milton wrote in fetters when he wrote of Angels and
God, and at liberty when of Devils and Hell, is because he was a true Poet,
and of the Devil's party without knowing it.
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As I was walking among the fires of Hell, delighted with the enjoyments
of Genius, which to Angels look like torment and insanity, I collected some
of their Proverbs; thinking that as the sayings used in a nation mark its
character, so the Proverbs of Hell show the nature of Infernal wisdom better
than any description of buildings or garments.
When I came home, on the abyss of the five senses, where a flat- sided
steep frowns over the present world, I saw a mighty Devil, folded in black
clouds, hovering on the sides of the rock: with corroding fires he wrote the
following sentence now perceived by the minds of men, and read by them on
earth: -
_How do you know but ev'ry Bird that cuts the airy way,
Is an immense World of Delight, clos'd by your senses five_?
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In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy.
Drive your cart and your plough over the bones of the dead.
The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.
Prudence is a rich, ugly old maid courted by Incapacity.
He who desires but acts not, breeds pestilence.
The cut worm forgives the plough.
Dip him in the river who loves water.
A fool sees not the same tree that a wise man sees.
He whose face gives no light, shall never become a star.
Eternity is in love with the productions of time.
The busy bee has no time for sorrow.
The hours of folly are measur'd by the clock; but of wisdom, no clock
can measure.
All wholesome food is caught without a net or a trap.
Bring out number, weight, and measure in a year of dearth.
No bird soars too high, if he soars with his own wings.
A dead body revenges not injuries.
The most sublime act is to set another before you.
If the fool would persist in his folly he would become wise.
Folly is the cloak of knavery.
Shame is Pride's cloak.
Prisoners are built with stones of Law, brothels with bricks of
Religion.
The pride of the peacock is the glory of God.
The lust of the goat is the bounty of God.
The wrath of the lion is the wisdom of God.
The nakedness of woman is the work of God.
Excess of sorrow laughs. Excess of joy weeps.
The roaring of lions, the howling of wolves, the raging of the stormy
sea, and the destructive sword are portions of eternity too great for the
eye of man.
The fox condemns the trap, not himself.
Joys impregnate. Sorrows bring forth.
Let man wear the fell of the lion, woman the fleece of the sheep.
The bird a nest, the spider a web, man friendship.
The selfish, smiling fool, and the sullen, frowning fool shall be both
thought wise, that they may be a rod.
What is now proved was once only imagin'd.
The rat, the mouse, the fox, the rabbit watch the roots; the lion, the
tiger, the horse, the elephant watch the fruits.
The cistern contains: the fountain overflows.
One thought fills immensity.
Always be ready to speak your mind, and a base man will avoid you.
Everything possible to be believ'd is an image of truth.
The eagle never lost so much time as when he submitted to learn of the
crow.
The fox provides for himself; but God provides for the lion.
Think in the morning. Act in the noon. Eat in the evening. Sleep in the
night.
He who has suffer'd you to impose on him, knows you.
As the plough follows words, so God rewards prayers.
The tigers of wrath are wiser than the horses of instruction.
Expect poison from the standing water.
You never know what is enough unless you know what is more than enough.
Listen to the fool's reproach! it is a kingly title!
The eyes of fire, the nostrils of air, the mouth of water, the beard
of earth.
The weak in courage is strong in cunning.
The apple tree never asks the beech ftow he shall grow; nor the lion,
the horse, how he shall take his prey.
The thankful receiver bears a plentiful harvest.
If others had not been foolish, we should be so.
The soul of sweet delight can never be defil'd.
When thou seest an eagle, thou seest a portion of Genius; lift up thy
head!
As the caterpillar chooses the fairest leaves to lay her eggs on, so
the priest lays his curse on the fairest joys.
To create a little flower is the labour of ages.
Damn braces. Bless relaxes.
The best wine is the oldest, the best water the newest.
Prayers plough not! Praises reap not!
Joys laugh not! Sorrows weep not!
The head Sublime, the heart Pathos, the genitals Beauty, the hands and
feet Proportion.
As the air to a bird or the sea to a fish, so is contempt to the
contemptible.
The crow wish'd everything was black, the owl that everything was
white.
Exuberance is Beauty.
If the lion was advised by the fox, he would be cunning.
Improvement makes straight roads; but the crooked roads without
improvement are roads of Genius.
Sooner murder an infant in its cradle than nurse unacted desires.
Where man is not, nature is barren.
Truth can never be told so as to be understood, and not be believ'd.
Enough! or Too much.
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The ancient Poets animated all sensible objects with Gods or Geniuses,
calling them by the names and adorning them with the properties of woods,
rivers, mountains, lakes, cities, nations, and whatever their enlarged and
numerous senses could perceive.
And particularly they studied the Genius of each city and country,
placing it under its Mental Deity;
Till a System was formed, which some took advantage of, and enslav'd
the vulgar by attempting to realise or abstract the Mental Deities from
their objects-thus began Priesthood;
Choosing forms of worship from poetic'tales.
And at length they pronounc'd that the Gods had order'd such things.
Thus men forgot that All Deities reside in the Human breast.
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The Prophets Isaiah and Ezekiel dined with me, and I asked them how
they dared so roundly to assert that God spoke to them; and whether they did
not think at the time that they would be misunderstood, and so be the cause
of imposition.
Isaiah answer'd: 'I saw no God, nor heard any, in a finite organical
perception; but my senses discover'd the infinite in everything, and as I
was then persuaded, and remain confirm'd, that the voice of honest
indignation is the voice of God, I cared not for consequences, but wrote.'
Then I asked: 'Does a firm persuasion that a thing is so, make it so?'
He replied: 'All Poets believe that it does, and in ages of imagination
this firm persuasion removed mountains; but many are not capable of a firm
persuasion of anything.'
Then Ezekiel said: 'The philosophy of the East taught the first
principles of human perception. Some nations held one principle for the
origin, and some another: we of Israel taught that the Poetic Genius (as you
now call it) was the first principle and all the others merely derivative,
which was the cause of our despising the Priests and Philosophers of other
countries, and prophesying that all Gods would at last be proved to
originate in ours and to be the tributaries of the Poetic Genius. It was
this that our great poet, King David, desired so fervently and invokes so
pathetically, saying by this he conquers enemies and governs kingdoms; and
we so loved our God, that we cursed in his name all the Deities of
surrounding nations, and asserted that they had rebelled. From these
opinions the vulgar came to think that all nations would at last be subject
to the Jews.'
'This,' said he, 'like all firm persuasions, is come to pass; for all
nations believe the Jews' code and worship the Jews' god, and what greater
subjection can be?'
I heard this with some wonder, and must confess my own conviction.
After dinner I ask'd Isaiah to favour the world with his lost works; he said
none of equal value was lost. Ezekiel said the same of his.
I also asked Isaiah what made him go naked and barefoot three years. He
answer'd: 'The same that made our friend Diogenes, the Grecian.'
I then asked Ezekiel why he ate dung, and lay so long on his right
and left side. He answer'd, 'The desire of raising other men into a
perception of the infinite: this the North American tribes practise, and is
he honest who resists his genius or conscience only for the sake of present
ease or gratification?'
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The ancient tradition that the; world will be consumed in fire at the
end of six thousand years is true^as I have heard from Hell.
For the cherub with his flaming sword is hereby commanded to leave his
guard at tree of life; and when he does, the whole creation will be consumed
and appear infinite and holy, whereas it now appears finite and corrupt.
This will come to pass by an improvement of sensual enjoyment.
But first the notion that man has a body distinct from his soul is to
be expunged; this I shall do by printing in the infernal method, by
corrosives, which in Hell are salutary and medicinal, melting apparent
surfaces away, and displaying the infinite which was hid.
If the doors of perception were cleansed everything would appear to man
as it is, infinite.
For man has closed himself up till he sees all things thro' narrow
chinks of his cavern.
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I was in a Printing-house in Hell, and saw the method in which
knowledge is transmitted from generation to generation.
In the first chamber was a Dragon-Man, clearing away the rubbish from a
cave's mouth; within, a number of Dragons were hollowing the cave.
In the second chamber was a Viper folding round the rock and the cave,
and others adorning it with gold, silver, and precious stones.
In the third chamber was an Eagle with wings and feathers of air: he
caused the inside of the cave to be infinite. Around were numbers of
Eagle-like men who built palaces in the immense cliffs.
In the fourth chamber were Lions of flaming fire, raging around and
melting the metals into living fluids.
In the fifth chamber were Unnamed forms, which cast the metals into the
expanse.
There they were received by Men who occupied the sixth chamber, and
took the forms of books and were arranged in libraries.
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The Giants who formed this world into its sensual existence, and now
seem to live in it in chains, are in truth the causes of its life and the
sources of all activity; but the chains are the cunning of weak and tame
minds which have power to resist energy. According to the proverb, the weak
in courage is strong in cunning.
Thus one portion of being is the Prolific, the other the Devouring. To
the Devourer it seems as if the producer was in his chains; but it is not
so, he only takes portions of existence and fancies that the whole.
But the Prolific would cease to be Prolific unless the Devourer, as a
sea, received the excess of his delights.
Some will say: 'Is not God alone the Prolific?' I answer: 'God only
Acts and Is, in existing beings or Men.'
These two classes of men are always upon earth, and they should be
enemies: whoever tries to reconcile them seeks to destroy existence.
Religion is an endeavour to reconcile the two.
_Note_. Jesus Christ did not wish to unite, but to separate them, as in
the Parable of sheep and goats! And He says: 'I came not to send Peace, but
a Sword.'
Messiah or Satan or Tempter was formerly thought to be one of the
Antediluvians who are our Energies.
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An Angel came to me and said: 'O pitiable, foolish young man!
horrible! dreadful state! Consider the hot, burning dungeon thou art
preparing for thyself to all Eternity, to which thou art going in such
career.'
I said: 'Perhaps you will be willing to show me my eternal lot, and
we will contemplate together upon it, and see whether your lot or mine is
most desirable.'
So he took me thro' a stable, and thro' a church, and down into the
church vault, at the end of which was a mill. Thro' the mill we went, and
came to a cave. Down the winding cavern we groped our tedious way, till a
void boundless as a nether sky appear'd beneath us, and we held by the roots
of trees, and hung over this immensity. But I said: 'If you please, we will
commit ourselves to this void, and see whether Providence is here also. If
you will not, I will.' But he answer'd: 'Do not presume, young man, but as
we here remain, behold thy lot which will soon appear when the darkness
passes away.'
So I remain'd with him, sitting in the twisted root of an oak. He was
suspended in a fungus, which hung with the head downward into the deep.
By degrees we beheld the infinite Abyss, fiery as the smoke of a
burning city; beneath us, at an immense distance, was the sun, black but
shining; round it were fiery tracks on which revolv'd vast spiders,
crawling after their prey, which flew, or rather swum, in the infinite deep,
in the most terrific shapes of animals sprung from corruption; and the air
was full of them, and seem'd composed of them-these are Devils, and are
called Powers of the Air. I now asked my companion which was my eternal lot?
He said: 'Between the black and white spiders.'
But now, from between the black and white spiders, a cloud and fire
burst and rolled thro' the deep, blackening all beneath; so that the nether
deep grew black as a sea, and rolled with a terrible noise. Beneath us was
nothing now to be seen but a black tempest, till looking East between the
clouds and the waves we saw a cataract of blood mixed with fire, and not
many stones' throw from us appear'd and sunk again the scaly fold of a
monstrous serpent. At last, to the East, distant about three degrees,
appear'd a fiery crest above the waves. Slowly it reared like a ridge of
golden rocks, till we discover'd two globes of crimson fire, from which the
sea fled away in clouds of smoke; and now we saw it was the head of
Leviathan. His forehead was divided into streaks of green and purple like
those on a tiger's forehead. Soon we saw his mouth and red gills hang just
above the raging foam, tinging the black deep with beams of blood, advancing
toward us with all the fury of a Spiritual Existence.
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My friend the Angel climb'd up from his station into the mill: I
remain'd alone, and then this appearance was no more; but I found myself
sitting on a pleasant bank beside a river, by moonlight, hearing a harper,
who sung to the harp; and his theme was: "The man who never alters his
opinion is like standing water, and breeds reptiles of the mind.'
But I arose and sought for the mill, and there I found my Angel, who,
surprised, asked me how I escaped.
I answer'd: 'All that we saw was owing to your metaphysics; for when
you ran away, I found myself on a bank by moonlight hearing a harper. But
now we have seen my eternal lot, shall I show you yours?' He laugh'd at my
proposal; but I, by force, suddenly caught him in my arms, and flew westerly
thro' the night, till we were elevated above the earth's shadow; then I
flung myself with him directly into the body of the sun. Here I clothed
myself in white, and taking in my hand Swedenborg's volumes, sunk from the
glorious clime, and passed all the planets till we came to Saturn. Here I
stay'd to rest, and then leap'd into the void between Saturn and the fixed
stars.
'Here,' said I, 'is your lot, in this space-if space it may be call'd.'
Soon we saw the stable and the church, and I took him to the altar and
open'd the Bible, and lo! it was a deep pit, into which I descended,
driving the Angel before me. Soon we saw seven houses of brick. One we
enter'd; in it were a number of monkeys, baboons, and all of that species,
chain'd by the middle, grinning and snatching at one another, but withheld
by the shortness of their chains. However, I saw that they sometimes grew
numerous, and then the weak were caught by the strong, and with a grinning
aspect, first coupled with, and then devour'd, by plucking off first one
limb and then another, till the body was left a helpless trunk. This, after
grinning and kissing it with seeming fondness, they devour'd too; and here
and there I saw one savourily picking the flesh off of his own tail. As the
stench terribly annoy'd us both, we went into the mill, and I in my hand
brought the skeleton of a body, which in the mill was Aristotle's Analytics.
So the Angel said: 'Thy phantasy has imposed upon me, and thou
oughtest to be ashamed.'
I answer'd: 'We impose on one another, and it is but lost time to
converse with you whose works are only Analytics.'
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I have always found that Angels have the vanity to speak of themselves
as the Only Wise. This they do with a confident insolence sprouting from
systematic reasoning.
Thus Swedenborg boasts that what he writes is new; tho' it is only
the Contents or Index of already publish'd books.
A man carried a monkey about for a show, and because he was a little
wiser than the monkey, grew vain, and conceiv'd himself as much wiser than
seven men. It is so with Swedenborg: he shows the folly of churches, and
exposes hypocrites, till he imagines that all are religious, and himself the
single one on earth that ever broke a net.
Now hear a plain fact: Swedenborg has not written one new truth. Now
hear another: he has written all the old falsehoods.
And now hear the reason. He conversed with Angels who are all
religious, and conversed not with Devils who all hate religion, for he was
incapable thro' his conceited notions.
Thus Swedenborg's writings are a recapitulation of all superficial
opinions, and an analysis of the more sublime-but no further.
Have now another plain fact. Any man of mechanical talents may, from
the writings of Paracelsus or Jacob Behmen, produce ten thousand volumes of
equal value with Swedenborg's, and from those of Dante or Shakespear an
infinite number.
But when he has done this, let him not say that he knows better than
his master, for he only holds a candle in sunshine.
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Once I saw a Devil in a flame of fire, who arose before an Angel that
sat on a cloud, and the Devil utter'd these words: -
'The worship of God is: Honouring his gifts in other men, each
according to his genius, and loving the greatest men best: those who envy or
calumniate great men hate God; for there is no other God.'
The Angel hearing this became almost blue; but mastering himself he
grew yellow, and at last white, pink, and smiling, and then replied: -
'Thou Idolater! is not God One? and is not he visible in Jesus
Christ? and has not Jesus Christ given his sanction to the law of ten
commandments? and are not all other men fools, sinners, and nothings?'
The Devil answer'd: 'Bray a fool in a mortar with wheat, yet shall not
his folly be beaten out of him. If Jesus Christ is the greatest man, you
ought to love Him in the greatest degree. Now hear how He has given His
sanction to the law of ten commandments. Did He not mock at the sabbath, and
so mock the sabbath's God; murder those who were murder'd because of Him;
turn away the law from the woman taken in adultery; steal the labour of
others to support Him; bear false witness when He omitted making a defence
before Pilate; covet when He pray'd for His disciples, and when He bid them
shake off the dust of their feet against such as refused to lodge them? I
tell you, no virtue can exist without breaking these ten commandments. Jesus
was all virtue, and acted from impulse, not from rules.'
When he had so spoken, I beheld the Angel, who stretched out his arms,
embracing the flame of fire, and he was consumed, and arose as Elijah.
_Note_. - This Angel, who is now become a Devil, is my particular
friend. We often read the Bible together in its infernal or diabolical
sense, which the world shall have if they behave well.
I have also The Bible of Hell, which the world shall have whether they
will or no.
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One Law for the Lion and Ox is Oppression.
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1. The Eternal Female groan'd! it was heard over all the Earth.
2. Albion's coast is sick, silent; the American meadows faint!
3. Shadows of Prophecy shiver along by the lakes and the rivers; and
mutter across the ocean: France, rend down thy dungeon!
4. Golden Spain, burst the barriers of old Rome!
5. Cast thy keys, Rome, into the deep down falling, even to eternity
down falling.
6. And weep.
7. In her trembling hand she took the new born terror, howling.
8. On those infinite mountains of light, now barr'd out by the Atlantic
sea, the new born fire stood before the starry king!
9. Flag'd with grey brow'd snows and thunderous visages, the jealous
wings wav'd over the deep.
10. The speary hand burned aloft, unbuckled was the shield; forth went
the hand of jealousy among the flaming hair, and hurl'd the new born wonder
thro' the starry night.
11. The fire, the fire is falling!
12. Look up! look up! citizen of London, enlarge thy countenance!
Jew, leave counting gold! return to thy oil and wine. African! black
African! (go, winged thought, widen his forehead.)
13. The fiery limbs, the flaming hair, shot like the sinking sun into
the western sea.
14. Wak'd from his eternal sleep, the hoary element roaring fled away.
15. Down rush'd, beating his wings in vain, the jealous king; his grey
brow'd councellors, thunderous warriors, curl'd veterans, among helms, and
shields, and chariots, horses, elephants, banners, castles, slings, and
rocks.
16. Falling, rushing, running! buried in the ruins, on Urthona's dens;
17. All night beneath the ruins; then, their sullen flames faded,
emerge round the gloomy king.
18. With thunder and fire, leading his starry hosts thro' the waste
wilderness, he promulgates his ten commands, glancing his beamy eye-lids
over the deep in dark dismay.
19. Where the son of fire in his eastern cloud, while the morning
plumes her golden breast,
20. Spurning the clouds written with curses, stamps the stony law to
dust, loosing the eternal horses from the dens of night, crying:
AND NOW THE LION & WOLF SHALL CEASE
Chorus
Let the Priests of the Raven of dawn no longer, in deadly black, with
hoarse note curse the sons of joy. Nor his accepted brethren - whom, tyrant,
he calls free-lay the bound or build the roof. Nor pale religious letchery
call that virginity that wishes but acts not!
For every thing that lives is Holy.
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VISIONS OF THE DAUGHTERS OF ALBION
The Eye sees more than
the Heart Knows
,
.
I loved Theotormon,
And I was not ashamed;
I trembled in my virgin fears,
And I hid in Leutha's vale!
I plucked Leutha's flower,
And I rose up from the vale;
But the terrible thunders tore
My virgin mantle in twain.
, ;
.
;
.
Enslav'd, the Daughters of Albion weep; a trembling lamentation
Upon their mountains; in their valleys, sighs toward America.
For the soft soul of America, Oothoon, wander'd in woe
Along the vales of Leutha, seeking flowers to comfort her;
And thus she spoke to the bright Marigold of Leutha's vale; -
'Art thou a flower? art thou a nymph? I see thee now a flower,
Now a nymph! I dare not pluck thee from thy dewy bed!'
The Golden nymph replied: 'Pluck thou my flower, Oothoon the mild!
Another flower shall spring, because the soul of sweet delight
Can never pass away.' She ceas'd, and clos'd her golden shrine.
Then Oothoon pluck'd the flower, saying: 'I pluck thee from thy bed,
Sweet flower, and put thee here to glow between my breasts;
And thus I turn my face to where my whole soul seeks.'
Over the waves she went in wing'd exulting swift delight,
And over Theotormon's reign took her impetuous course.
Bromion rent her with his thunders; on his stormy bed
Lay the faint maid, and soon her woes appall'd his thunders hoarse.
Bromion spoke: 'Behold this harlot here on Bromion's bed,
And let the jealous dolphins sport around the lovely maid!
Thy soft American plains are mine, and mine thy north and south:
Stamp'd with my signet are the swarthy children of the sun;
They are obedient, they resist not, they obey the scourge;
Their daughters worship terrors and obey the violent.
Now thou may'st marry Bromion's harlot, and protect the child
Of Bromion's rage, that Oothoon shall put forth in nine moons' time.'
Then storms rent Theotormon's limbs: he roll'd his waves around
And folded his black jealous waters round the adulterate pair.
Bound back to back in Bromion's caves, terror and meekness dwell:
At entrance Theotormon sits, wearing the threshold hard
With secret tears; beneath him sound like waves on a desert shore
The voice of slaves beneath the sun, and children bought with money,
That shiver in religious caves beneath the burning fires
Of lust, that belch incessant from the summits of the earth.
Oothoon weeps not; she cannot weep, her tears are locked up;
But she can howl incessant, writhing her soft snowy limbs,
And calling Theotormon's Eagles to prey upon her flesh.
'I call with holy voice! Kings of the sounding air,
Rend away this defiled bosom that I may reflect
The image of Theotormoti on my pure transparent breast.'
The Eagles at her call descend and rend their bleeding prey:
Theotormon severely smiles; her soul reflects the smile,
As the clear spring, muddied with feet of beasts, grows pure and smiles.
The Daughters of Albion hear her woes, and echo back her sighs.
'Why does my Theotormon sit weeping upon the threshold,
And Oothoon hovers by his side, persuading him in vain?
cry: Arise, Theotormon! for the village dog
Barks at the breaking day; the nightingale has done lamenting;
The lark does rustle in the ripe corn, and the eagle returns
From nightly prey, and lifts his golden beak to the pure east,
Shaking the dust from his immortal pinions to awake
The sun that sleeps too long. Arise, my Theotormon! I am pure,
Because the night is gone that clos'd me in its deadly black.
They told me that the night and day were all that I could see;
They told me that I had five senses to enclose me up;
And they enclos'd my infinite brain into a narrow circle,
And sunk my heart into the Abyss, a red, round globe, hot burning,
Till all from life I was obliterated and erased.
Instead of morn arises a bright shadow, like an eye
In the eastern cloud; instead of night a sickly charnel-house,
That Theotormon hears me not. To him the night and morn
Are both alike; a night of sighs, a morning of fresh tears;
And none but Bromion can hear my lamentations.
'With what sense is it that the chicken shuns the ravenous hawk?
With what sense does the tame pigeon measure out the expanse?
With what sense does the bee form cells? Have not the mouse and frog
Eyes and ears and sense of touch? Yet are their habitations
And their pursuits as different as their forms and as their joys.
Ask the wild ass why he refuses burdens, and the meek camel
Why he loves man. Is it because of eye, ear, mouth, or skin,
Or breathing nostrils? No! for these the wolf and tiger have.
Ask the blind worm the secrets of the grave, and why her spires
Love to curl round the bones of death; and ask the rav'nous snake
Where she gets poison, and the wing'd eagle why he loves the sun;
And then tell me the thoughts of man, that have been hid of old.
'Silent I hover all the night, and all day could be silent,
If Theotormon once would turn his loved eyes upon me.
How can I be defil'd when I reflect thy image pure?
Sweetest the fruit that the worm feeds on, and the soul prey'd on by woe,
The new-wash'd lamb ting'd with the village smoke, and the bright swan
By the red earth of our immortal river. I bathe my wings,
And I am white and pure to hover round Theotormon's breast.'
Then Theotormon broke his silence, and he answered: -
'Tell me what is the night or day to one o'erflow'd with woe?
Tell me what is a thought, and of what substance is it made?
Tell me what is a joy, and in what gardens do joys grow?
And in what rivers swim the sorrows? And upon what mountains
Wave shadows of discontent? And in what houses dwell the wretched,
Drunken with woe, forgotten, and shut up from cold despair?
'Tell me where dwell the thoughts, forgotten till thou call them forth?
Tell me where dwell the joys of old, and where the ancient loves,
And when will they renew again, and the night of oblivion past,
That I might traverse times and spaces far remote, and bring
Comforts into a present sorrow and a night of pain?
Where goest thou, thought? to what remote land is thy flight?
If thou returnest to the present moment of affliction,
Wilt thou bring comforts on thy wings, and dews and honey and balm,
Or poison from the desert wilds, from the eyes of the envier?'
Then Bromion said, and shook the cavern with his lamentation: -
'Thou knowest that the ancient trees seen by thine eyes have fruit;
But knowest thou that trees and fruits flourish upon the earth
To gratify senses unknown-trees, beasts, and birds unknown;
Unknown, not unperceiv'd, spread in the infinite microscope,
In places yet unvisited by the voyager, and in worlds
Over another kind of seas, and in atmospheres unknown?
Ah! are there other wars, beside the wars of sword and fire?
And are there other sorrows beside the sorrows of poverty?
And are there other joys beside the joys of riches and ease?
And is there not one law for both the lion and the ox?
And is there not eternal fire, and eternal chains
To bind the phantoms of existence from eternal life?'
Then Oothoon waited silent all the day and all the night;
But when the morn arose, her lamentation renew'd:
The Daughters of Albion hear her woes, and echo back her sighs.
'O Urizen! Creator of men! mistaken Demon of heaven!
Thy joys are tears, thy labour vain to form men to thine image.
How can one joy absorb another? Are not different joys
Holy, eternal, infinite? and each joy is a Love.
'Does not the great mouth laugh at a gift, and the narrow eyelids mock
At the labour that is above payment? And wilt thou take the ape
For thy counsellor, or the dog for a schoolmaster to thy children?
Does he who contemns poverty, and he who turns with abhorrence
From usury feel the same passion, or are they moved alike?
How can the giver of gifts experience the delights of the merchant?
How the industrious citizen the pains of the husbandman?
How different far the fat fed hireling with hollow drum,
Who buys whole corn-fields into wastes, and sings upon the heath!
How different their eye and ear! How different the world to them!
With what sense does the parson claim the labour of the farmer?
What are his nets and gins and traps; and how does he surround him
With cold floods of abstraction, and with forests of solitude,
To build him castles and high spires, where kings and priests may dwell;
Till she who burns with youth, and knows no fixed lot, is bound
In spells of law to one she loathes? And must she drag the chain
Of life in weary lust? Must chilling, murderous thoughts obscure
The clear heaven of her eternal spring; to bear the wintry rage
Of a harsh terror, driv'n to madness, bound to hold a rod
Over her shrinking shoulders all the day, and all the night
To turn the wheel of false desire, and longings that wake her womb
To the abhorred birth of cherubs in the human form,
That live a pestilence and die a meteor, and are no more;
Till the child dwell with one he hates, and do the deed he loathes,
And the impure scourge force his seed into its unripe birth,
Ere yet his eyelids can behold the arrows of the day?
'Does the whale worship at thy footsteps as the hungry dog;
Or does he scent the mountain prey because his nostrils wide
Draw in the ocean? Does his eye discern the flying cloud
As the raven's eye; or does he measure the expanse like the vulture?
Does the still spider view the cliffs where eagles hide their young;
Or does the fly rejoice because the harvest is brought in?
Does not the eagle scorn the earth, and despise the treasures beneath?
But the mole knoweth what is there, and the worm shall tell it thee.
Does not the worm erect a pillar in the mouldering churchyard
And a palace of eternity in the jaws of the hungry grave?
Qver his porch these words are written: "Take thy bliss, Man!
And sweet shall be thy taste, and sweet thy infant joys renew!"
'Infancy! Fearless, lustful, happy, nestling for delight
In laps of pleasure: Innocence! honest, open, seeking
The vigorous joys of morning light, open to virgin bliss,
Who taught thee modesty, subtil modesty, child of night and sleep?
When thou awakest wilt thou dissemble all thy secret joys,
Or wert thou not awake when all this mystery was disclos'd?
Then com'st thou forth a modest virgin knowing to dissemble,
With nets found under thy night pillow, to catch virgin joy
And brand it with the name of whore, and sell it in the night
In silence, ev'n without a whisper, and in seeming sleep.
Religious dreams and holy vespers light thy smoky fires:
Qnce were thy fires lighted by the eyes of honest morn.
And does my Theotormon seek this hypocrite modesty,
This knowing, artful, secret, fearful, cautious, trembling hypocrite?
Then (s Oothoon a whore indeed! and all the virgin joys,
Of life are harlots; and Theotormon is a sick man's dream;
And Oothoon is the crafty slave of selfish holiness.
'But Oothoon is not so, a virgin fill'd with virgin fancies,
Open to joy and to delight wherever beauty appears:
If in the morning sun I find it, there my eyes are fix'd
In happy copulation; if in evening mild, wearied with work,
Sit on a bank and draw the pleasures of this free-born joy.
'The moment of desire! the moment of desire! The virgin
That pines for man shall awaken her womb to enormous joys
In the secret shadows of her chamber: the youth shut up from
The lustful joy shall forget to generate, and create an amorous image
In the shadows of his curtains and in the folds of his silent pillow
Are not these the places of religion, the rewards of continence,
The self-enjoyings of self-denial? Why dost thou seek religion?
Is it because acts are not lovely that thou seekes't solitude,
Where the horrible darkness is impressed with reflections of desire?
'Father of Jealousy, be thou accursed from the earth!
Why hast thou taught my Theotormon this accursed thing,
Till beauty fades from off my shoulders, darken'd and cast out,
A solitary shadow wailing on the margin of nonentity?
'I cry: Love! Love! Love! happy happy Love! free as the mountain wind!
Can that be Love, that drinks another as a sponge drinks water,
That clouds with jealousy his nights, with weepings all the day,
To spin a web of age around him, grey and hoary, dark;
Till his eyes sicken at the fruit that hangs before his sight?
Such is self-love that envies all, a creeping skeleton,
With lamplike eyes watching around the frozen marriage bed!
'But silken nets and traps of adamant will Oothoon spread,
And catch for thee girls of mild silver, or of furious gold.
I'll lie beside thee on a bank, and view their wanton play
In lovely copulation, bliss on bliss, with Theotormon:
Red as the rosy morning, lustful as the first-born beam,
Oothoon shall view his dear delight; nor e'er with jealous cloud
Come in the heaven of generous love, nor selfish blightings bring.
'Does the sun walk, in glorious raiment, on the secret floor
Where the cold miser spreads his gold; or does the bright cloud drop
On his stone threshold? Does his eye behold the beam that brings
Expansion to the eye of pity; or will he bind himself
Beside the ox to thy hard furrow? Does not that mild beam blot
The bat, the owl, the glowing tiger, and the king of night?
The sea-fowl takes the wintry blast for a cov'ring to her limbs,
And the wild snake the pestilence to adorn him with gems and gold;
And trees, and birds, and beasts, and men behold their eternal joy.
Arise, you little glancing wings, and sing your infant joy!
Arise, and drink your bliss, for everything that lives is holy!'
Thus every morning wails Oothoon; but Theotormon sits
Upon the margin'd ocean conversing with shadows dire.
The Daughters of Albion hear her woes, and echo back her sighs.
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The dead brood over Europe: the cloud and vision descends over
cheerful France;
cloud well appointed! Sick, sick, the Prince on his couch! wreath'd
in dim
And appalling mist; his strong hand outstretch'd, from his shoulder
down the bone,
Runs aching cold into the sceptre, too heavy for mortal grasp -
no more
To be swayed by visible hand, nor in cruelty bruise the mild flourish-
ing mountains.
Sick the mountains! and all their vineyards weep, in the eyes of the
kingly mourner;
Pale is the morning cloud in his visage. Rise, Necker! the ancient
dawn calls us
To awake from slumbers of five thousand years. I awake,
but my soul is in dreams;
From my window I see the old mountains of France, like aged men,
fading away.
Troubled, leaning on Necker, descends the King to his chamber of
council; shady mountains
In fear utter voices of thunder; the woods of France embosom
the sound;
Clouds of wisdom prophetic reply, and roll over the palace roof
heavy.
Forty men, each conversing with woes in the infinite shadows of
his soul,
Like our ancient fathers in regions of twilight, walk, gathering round
the King:
Again the loud voice of France cries to the morning; the morning
prophesies to its clouds.
For the Commons convene in the Hall of the Nation. France shakes!
And the heavens of France
Perplex'd vibrate round each careful countenance! Darkness of old
times around them
Utters loud despair, shadowing Paris; her grey towers groan, and the
Bastille trembles.
In its terrible towers the Governor stood, in dark fogs list'ning
the horror;
A thousand his soldiers, old veterans of France, breathing red clouds
of power and dominion.
Sudden seiz'd with howlings, despair, and black night, he stalk'd like
a lion from tower
To tower; his howlings were heard in the Louvre; from court to
court restless he dragg'd
His strong limbs; from court to courf curs'd the fierce torment
unquell'd,
Howling and giving the dark command; in his soul stood the purple
plague,
Tugging his iron manacles, and piercing thro' the seven towers dark
and sickly,
Panting over the prisoners like a wolf gorg'd. And the den nam'd
Horror held a man
Chain'd hand and foot; round his neck an iron band, bound to the
impregnable wall;
In his soul was the serpent coil'd round in his heart, hid from the
light, as in a cleft rock:
And the man was confin'd for a writing prophetic. In the tower nam'd
Darkness was a man
Pinion'd down to the stone floor, his strong bones scarce cover'd
with sinews; the iron rings
Were forg'd smaller as the flesh decay'd: a mask of iron on his face
hid the lineaments
Of ancient Kings, and the frown of the eternal lion was hid from the
oppressed earth.
In the tower named Bloody, a skeleton yellow remained in its chains
on its couch
Of stone, once a man who refus'd to sign papers of abhorrence;
the eternal worm
Crept in the skeleton. In the den nam'd Religion, a loathsome sick
woman bound down
To a bed of straw; the seven diseases of earth, like birds of prey,
stood on the couch
And fed on the body: she refus'd to be whore to the Minister, and
with a knife smote him.
In the tower nam'd Order, an old man, whose white beard cover'd
the stone floor like weeds
On margin of the sea, shrivell'd up by heat of day and cold of night;
his den was short
And narrow as a grave dug for a child, with spiders' webs wove,
and with slime
Of ancient horrors cover'd, for snakes and scorpions are his
companions; harmless they breathe
His sorrowful breath: he, by conscience urg'd, in the city of Paris
rais'd a pulpit,
And taught wonders to darken'd souls. In the den nam'd Destiny
a strong man sat,
His feet and hands cut off, and his eyes blinded; round his middle a
chain and a band
Fasten'd into the wall; fancy gave him to see an image of despair
in his den,
Eternally rushing round, like a man on his hands and knees, day
and night without rest:
He was friend to the favourite. In the seventh tower, nam'd the tower
of God, was a man
Mad, with chains loose, which he dragg'd up and down; fed with
hopes year by year, he pined
For liberty. - Vain hopes! his reason decay'd, and the world of
attraction in his bosom
Centred, and the rushing of chaos overwhelm'd his dark soul: he
was confin'd
For a letter of advice to a King, and his ravings in winds are heard
over Versailles.
But the dens shook and trembled: the prisoners look up and assay
to shout; they listen,
Then laugh in the dismal den, then are silent; and a light walks
round the dark towers.
For the Commons convene in the Hall of the Nation; like spirits of
fire in the beautiful
Porches of the Sun, to plant beauty in the desert craving abyss,
they gleam
On the anxious city: all children new-born first behold them, tears
are fled,
And they nestle in earth-breathing bosoms. So the city of Paris, their
wives and children,
Look up to the morning Senate, and visions of sorrow leave pensive
streets.
But heavy-brow'd jealousies lour o'er the Louvre; and terrors of
ancient Kings
Descend from the gloom and wander thro' the palace, and weep
round the King and his Nobles;
While loud thunders roll, troubling the dead. Kings are sick
throughout all the earth!
The voice ceas'd: the Nation sat; and the triple forg'd fetters of
times were unloos'd.
The voice ceas'd: the Nation sat; but ancient darkness and trembling
wander thro' the palace.
As in day of havoc and routed battle, among thick shades of
discontent,
On the soul-skirting mountains of sorrow cold waving, the Nobles
fold round the King;
Each stern visage lock'd up as with strong bands of iron, each strong
limb bound down as with marble,
In flames of red wrath burning, bound in astonishment a quarter
of an hour.
Then the King glow'd: his Nobles fold round, like the sun of old
time quench'd in clouds;
In their darkness the King stood; his heart flam'd, and utter'd a
with'ring heat, and these words burst forth:
'The nerves of five thousand years' ancestry tremble, shaking the
heavens of France;
Throbs of anguish beat on brazen war foreheads; they descend and
look into their graves.
I see thro' darkness, thro' clouds rolling round me, the spirits of
ancient Kings
Shivering over their bleached bones; round them their counsellors
look up from the dust,
Crying: "Hide from the living! Our bonds and our prisoners shout
in the open field.
Hide in the nether earth! Hide in the bones! Sit obscured in the
hollow scull!'
Our flesh is corrupted, and we wear away. We are not numbered
among the living. Let us hide
In stones, among roots of trees. The prisoners have burst their
dens.
Let us hide! let us hide in the dust! and plague and wrath and tempest
shall cease."
He ceas'd, silent pond'ring; his brows folded heavy, his forehead
was in affliction.
Like the central fire from the window he saw his vast armies spread
over the hills,
Breathing red fires from man to man, and from horse to horse: then
his bosom
Expanded like starry heaven; he sat down: his Nobles took their
ancient seats.
Then the ancientest Peer, Duke of Burgundy, rose from the Monarch's
right hand, red as wines
From his mountains; an odour of war, like a ripe vineyard, rose
from his garments,
And the chamber became as a clouded sky; o'er the Council he
stretch'd his red limbs
Cloth'd in flames of crimson; as a ripe vineyard stretches over .
sheaves of corn,
The fierce Duke hung over the Council; around him crowd, weeping
in his burning robe,
A bright cloud of infant souls: his words fall like purple autumn
on the sheaves:
'Shall this marble-built heaven become a clay cottage, this earth an
oak stool, and these mowers
From the Atlantic mountains mow down all this great starry harvest
of six thousand years?
And shall Necker, the hind of Geneva, stretch out his crook'd sickle
o'er fertile France,
Till our purple and crimson is faded to russet, and the kingdoms of
earth bound in sheaves,
And the ancient forests of chivalry hewn, and the joys of the combat
burnt for fuel;
Till the power and dominion is rent from the pole, sword and sceptre
from sun and moon,
The law and gospel from fire and air, and eternal reason and
science
From the deep and the solid, and man lay his faded head down
on the rock
Of eternity, where the eternal lion and eagle remain to devour?
This to prevent, urg'd by cries in day, and prophetic dreams
hovering in night,
To enrich the lean earth that craves, furrow'd with ploughs, whose
seed is departing from her,
Thy Nobles have gather'd thy starry hosts round this
rebellious city,
To rouse up the ancient forests of Europe, with clarions of
cloud-breathing war,
To hear the horse neigh to the drum and trumpet, and the trumpet
and war shout reply.
Stretch the hand that beckons the eagles of heaven: they cry over
Paris, and wait
Till Fayette point his finger to Versailles-the eagles of heaven must
have their prey!'
He ceas'd, and burn'd silent: red clouds roll round Necker; a
weeping is heard o'er the palace.
Like a dark cloud Necker paus'd, and like thunder on the just man's
burial day he paus'd.
Silent sit the winds, silent the meadows; while the husbandman and
woman of weakness
And bright children look after him into the grave, and water his
clay with love,
Then turn towards pensive fields: so Necker paus'd, and his visage
was cover'd with clouds.
The King lean'd on his mountains; then lifted his head and look'd
on his armies, that shone
Thro' heaven, tinging morning with beams of blood; then turning to
Burgundy, troubled: -
'Burgundy, thou wast born a lion! My soul is o'ergrown with
distress
For the Nobles of France, and dark mists roll round me and blot
the writing of God
Written in my bosom. Necker rise! leave the kingdom, thy life is
surrounded with snares.
We have call'd an Assembly, but not to destroy; we have given gifts,
not to the weak;
I hear rushing of muskets and bright'ning of swords; and visages,
redd'ning with war,
Frowning and looking up from brooding villages and every dark'ning
city.
Ancient wonders frown over the kingdom, and cries of women and
babes are heard,
And tempests of doubt roll around me, and fierce sorrows, because
of the Nobles of France.
Depart! answer not! for the tempest must fall, as in years that are
passed away.'
Dropping a tear the old man his place left, and when he was
gone out
He set his face toward Geneva to flee; and the women and children
of the city
Kneel'd round him and kissed his garments and wept: he stood a
short space in the street,
Then fled; and the whole city knew he was fled to Geneva, and
the Senate heard it.
But the Nobles burn'd wrathful at Necker's departure, and wreath'd
their clouds and waters
In dismal volumes; as, risen from beneath, the Archbishop of Paris
arose
In the rushing of scales, and hissing of flames, and rolling of
sulphurous smoke: -
'Hearken, Monarch of France, to the terrors of heaven, and let thy
soul drink of my counsel!
Sleeping at midnight in my golden tower, the repose of the labours
of men
Wav'd its solemn cloud over my head. I awoke; a cold hand passed
over my limbs, and behold!
An aged form, white as snow, hov'ring in mist, weeping in the
uncertain light.
Dim the form almost faded, tears fell down the shady cheeks: at
his feet many cloth'd
In white robes, strewn in air censers and harps, silent they lay
prostrated;
Beneath, in the awful void, myriads descending and weeping thro'
dismal winds;
Endless the shady train shiv'ring desdended, from the gloom where
the aged form wept.
At length, trembling, the vision sighing, in a low voice like the
voice of the grasshopper, whisper'd:
"My groaning is heard in the abbeys, and God, so long worshipp'd,
departs as a lamp
Without oil; for a curse is heard hoarse thro' the land, from a
godless race
Descending to beasts; they look downward, and labour, and forget
my holy law;
The sound of prayer fails from lips of flesh, and the holy hymn
from thicken'd tongues;
For the bars of Chaos are burst; her millions prepare their fiery
way
Thro' the orbed abode of the holy dead, to root up and pull down
and remove,
And Nobles and Clergy shall fail from before me, and my cloud and
vision be no more;
The mitre become black, the crown vanish, and the sceptre and
ivory staff
Of the ruler wither among bones of death; they shall consume from
the thistly field,
And the sound of the bell, and voice of the sabbath, and singing of
the holy choir
Is turn'd into songs of the harlot in day, and cries of the virgin in
night.
They shall drop at the plough and faint at the harrow, unredeem'd,
unconfess'd, unpardon'd;
The priest rot in his surplice by the lawless lover, the holy beside the
accursed,
The King, frowning in purple, beside the grey ploughman, and their
worms embrace together."
The voice ceas'd: a groan shook my chamber. I slept, for the cloud
of repose returned;
But morning dawn'd heavy upon me. I rose to bring my Prince
heaven-utter'd counsel.
Hear my counsel, King! and send forth thy Generals; the command
of Heaven is upon thee!
Then do thou command, King! to shut up this Assembly in their
final home;
Let thy soldiers possess this city of rebels, that threaten to bathe
their feet
In the blood of Nobility, trampling the heart and the head; let the
Bastille devour
These rebellious seditious; seal them up, Anointed! in everlasting
chains.'
He sat down: a damp cold pervaded the Nobles, and monsters of
worlds unknown
Swam round them, watching to be delivered-when Aumont, whose
chaos-born soul
Eternally wand'ring, a comet and swift-falling fire, pale enter'd the
chamber.
Before the red Council he stood, like a man that returns from hollow
graves: -
'Awe-surrounded, alone thro' the army, a fear and a with'ring blight
blown by the north,
The Abbe de Sieyes from the Nation's Assembly, Princes and
Generals of France,
Unquestioned, unhindered! Awe-struck are the soldiers; a dark
shadowy man in the form
Of King Henry the Fourth walks before him in fires; the captains
like men bound in chains
Stood still as he pass'd: he is come to the Louvre, King, with a
message to thee!
The strong soldiers tremble, the horses their manes bow, and the
guards of thy palace are fled!'
Uprose awful in his majestic beams Bourbon's strong Duke; his
proud sword, from his thigh
Drawn, he threw on the earth: the Duke of Bretagne and the Earl
of Bourgogne
Rose inflam'd, to and fro in the chamber,' like thunder-clouds ready
to burst.
'What damp all our fires, spectre of Henry!' said Bourbon, 'and
rend the flames
From the head of our King? Rise, Monarch of France! command me,
and I will lead
This army of superstition at large, that the ardour of noble souls,
quenchless,
May yet burn in France, nor our shoulders be plough'd with the
furrows of poverty.'
Then Orleans, generous as mountains, arose and unfolded his robe,
and put forth
His benevolent hand, looking on the Archbishops, who changed as
pale as lead,
Would have risen but could not: his voice issued harsh grating;
instead of words harsh hissings
Shook the chamber; he ceas'd abash'd. Then Orleans spoke; all was
silent.
He breath'd on them, and said: 'O Princes of fire, whose flames are
for growth, not consuming,
Fear not dreams, fear not visions, nor be you dismay'd with sorrows
which flee at the morning!
Can the fires of Nobility ever be quench'd, or the stars by a
stormy night?
Is the body diseas'd when the members are healthful? can the man
be bound in sorrow
Whose ev'ry function is fill'd with its fiery desire? can the soul,
whose brain and heart
Cast their rivers in equal tides thro' the great Paradise, languish
because the feet,
Hands, head, bosom, and parts of love follow their high
breathing joy?
And can Nobles be bound when the people are free, or God weep
when his children are happy?
Have you never seen Fayette's forehead, or Mirabeau's eyes, or the
shoulders of Target,
Or Bailly the strong foot of France, or Clermont the terrible voice,
and your robes
Still retain their own crimson?- Mine never yet faded, for fire
delights in its form!
But go, merciless man, enter into the infinite labyrinth of another's
brain
Ere thou measure the circle that he shall run. Go, thou cold recluse,
into the fires
Of another's high flaming rich bosom, and return unconsum'd, and
write laws.
If thou canst not do this, doubt thy theories, learn to consider all
men as thy equals,
Thy brethren, and not as thy foot or thy hand, unless thou first
fearest to hurt them.'
The Monarch stood up; the strong Duke his sword to its golden
scabbard return'd;
The Nobles sat round like clouds on the mountains, when the storm
is passing away: -
'Let the Nation's Ambassador come among Nobles, like incense of
the valley!'
Aumont went out and stood in the hollow porch, his ivory wand
in his hand;
A cold orb of disdain revolv'd round him, and covered his soul
with snows eternal.
Great Henry's soul shuddered, a whirlwind and fire tore furious
from his angry bosom;
He indignant departed on horses of heav'n. Then the Abbe de
Sieyes rais'd his feet
On the steps of the Louvre; like a voice of God following a storm,
the Abbe follow'd
The pale fires of Aumont into the chamber; as a father that bows
to his son,
Whose rich fields inheriting spread their old glory, so the voice
of the people bowed
Before the ancient seat of the kingdom and mountains to be
renewed.
'Hear, heavens of France! the voice of the people, arising from
valley and hill,
O'erclouded with power. Hear the voice of valleys, the voice of
meek cities,
Mourning oppressed on village and field, till the village and field
is a waste.
For the husbandman weeps at blights of the fife, and blasting of
trumpets consume
The souls of mild France; the pale mother nourishes her child to
the deadly slaughter.
When the heavens were seal'd with a stone, and the terrible sun
clos'd in an orb, and the moon
Rent from the nations, and each star appointed for watchers of
night,
The millions of spirits immortal were bound in the rains of sulphur
heaven
To wander enslav'd; black, depress'd in dark ignorance, kept in
awe with the whip
To worship terrors, bread from the blood of revenge and breath
of desire
In bestial forms, or more terrible men; till the dawn of our peaceful
morning,
Till dawn, till morning, till the breaking of clouds, and swelling of
winds, and the universal voice;
Till man raise his darken'd limbs out of the caves of night. His
eyes and his heart
Expand-Where is Space? where, Sun, is thy dwelling? where
thy tent, faint slumb'rous Moon?
Then the valleys of France shall cry to the soldier: "Throw down
thy sword and musket,
And run and embrace the meek peasant." Her Nobles shall hear
and shall weep, and put off
The red robe of terror, the crown of oppression, the shoes of
contempt, and unbuckle
The girdle of war from the desolate earth. Then the Priest in
his thund'rous cloud
Shall weep, bending to earth, embracing the valleys, and putting
his hand to the plough,
Shall say: "No more I curse thee; but now I will bless thee:
no more in deadly black
Devour thy labour; nor lift up a cloud in thy heavens,
laborious plough;
That the wild raging millions, that wander in forests, and howl
in law-blasted wastes,
Strength madden'd with slavery, honesty bound in the dens
of superstition,
May sing in the village, and shout in the harvest, and woo
in pleasant gardens
Their once savage loves, now beaming with knowledge, with gentle
awe adorned;
And the saw, and the hammer, the chisel, the pencil, the pen,
and the instruments
Of heavenly song sound in the wilds once forbidden, to teach
the laborious ploughman
And shepherd, deliver'd from clouds of war, from pestilence,
from night-fear, from murder,
From filling, from stifling, from hunger, from cold,
from slander, discontent and sloth,
That walk in beasts and birds of night, driven back by the sandy
desert,
Like pestilent fogs round cities of men; and the happy earth sing
in its course,
The mild peaceable nations be opened to heav'n, and men walk
with their fathers in bliss."
Then hear the first voice of the morning: "Depart, clouds
of night, and no more
Return; be withdrawn cloudy war, troops of warriors depart,
nor around our peaceable city
Breathe fires; but ten miles from Paris let all be peace,
nor a soldier be seen!"'
He ended: the wind of contention arose, and the clouds cast their
shadows; the Princes
Like the mountains of France, whose aged trees utter an awful
voice, and their branches
Are shatter'd; till gradual a murmur is heard descending into
the valley,
Like a voice in the vineyards of Burgundy when grapes are shaken
on grass,
Like the low voice of the labouring man, instead of the shout
of joy;
And the palace appear'd like a cloud driven abroad; blood ran down
the ancient pillars.
Thro' the cloud a deep thunder, the Duke of Burgundy, delivers
the King's command: -
'Seest thou yonder dark castle, that moated around, keeps this
city of Paris in awe?
Go, command yonder tower, saying: "Bastille, depart! and take
thy shadowy course;
Overstep the dark river, thou terrible tower, and get thee up
into the country ten miles.
And thou black southern prison, move along the dusky road to
Versailles; there
Frown on the gardens" - and, if it obey and depart, then the
King will disband
This war-breathing army; but, if it refuse, let the Nation's
Assembly thence learn
That this army of terrors, that prison of horrors, are the bands
of the murmuring kingdom.'
Like the morning star arising above the black waves, when
a shipwreck'd soul sighs for morning,
Thro' the ranks, silent, walk'd the Ambassador back to the Nation's
Assembly, and told
The unwelcome message. Silent they heard; then a thunder roll'd
round loud and louder;
Like pillars of ancient halls and ruins of times remote,
they sat.
Like a voice from the dim pillars Mirabeau rose; the thunders
subsided away;
A rushing of wings around him was heard as he brighten'd,
and cried out aloud:
'Where is the General of the Nation?' The walls re-echo'd:
'Where is the General of the Nation?'
Sudden as the bullet wrapp'd in his fire, when brazen cannons
rage in the field,
Fayette sprung from his seat saying 'Ready!' Then bowing like
clouds, man toward man, the Assembly
Like a Council of Ardours seated in clouds, bending over
the cities of men,
And over the armies of strife, where their children are
marshall'd together to battle,
They murmuring divide; while the wind sleeps beneath,
and the numbers are counted in silence,
While they vote the removal of War, and the pestilence weighs
his red wings in the sky.
So Fayette stood silent among the Assembly, and the votes were
given, and the numbers numb'red;
And the vote was that Fayette should order the army to remove
ten miles from Paris.
The aged Sun rises appall'd from dark mountains, and gleams
a dusky beam
On Fayette; but on the whole army a shadow, for a cloud
on the eastern hills
Hover'd, and stretch'd across the city, and across the army,
and across the Louvre.
Like a flame of fire he stood before dark ranks, and before
expecting captains:
On pestilent vapours around him flow frequent spectres
of religious men, weeping
In winds; driven out of the abbeys, their naked souls shiver
in keen open air;
Driven out by the fiery cloud of Voltaire, and thund'rous rocks
of Rousseau,
They dash like foam against the ridges of the army, uttering
a faint feeble cry.
Gleams of fire streak the heavens, and of sulphur the earth,
from Fayette as he lifted his hand;
But silent he stood, till all the officers rush round him like
waves
Round the shore of France, in day of the British flag, when
heavy cannons
Affright the coasts, and the peasant looks over the sea
and wipes a tear:
Over his head the soul of Voltaire shone fiery; and over the army
Rousseau his white cloud
Unfolded, on souls of war, living terrors, silent list'ning
toward Fayette.
His voice loud inspir'd by liberty, and by spirits of the dead,
thus thunder'd: -
'The Nation's Assembly command that the Army remove ten miles
from Paris;
Nor a soldier be seen in road or in field, till the Nation
command return.'
Rushing along iron ranks glittering, the officers each to his
station
Depart, and the stern captain strokes his proud steed, and
in front of his solid ranks
Waits the sound of trumpet; captains of foot stand each by his
cloudy drum:
Then the drum beats, and the steely ranks move, and trumpets
rejoice in the sky.
Dark cavalry, like clouds fraught with thunder, ascend on the
hills, and bright infantry, rank
Behind rank, to the soul-shaking drum and shrill fife, along
the roads glitter like fire.
The noise of trampling, the wind of trumpets, smote the Palace
walls with a blast.
Pale and cold sat the King in midst of his Peers, and his noble
heart sunk, and his pulses
Suspended their motion; a darkness crept over his eyelids,
and chill cold sweat
Sat round his brows faded in faint death; his Peers pale like
mountains of the dead,
Cover'd with dews of night, groaning, shaking forests and floods.
The cold newt,
And snake, and damp toad on the kingly foot crawl, or croak
on the awful knee,
Shedding their slime; in folds of the robe the crown'd adder
builds and hisses
From stony brows: shaken the forests of France, sick the kings
of the nations,
And the bottoms of the world were open'd, and the graves
of archangels unseal'd:
The enormous dead lift up their pale fires and look over
the rocky cliffs.
A faint heat from their fires reviv'd the cold Louvre; the frozen
blood reflow'd.
Awful uprose the King; him the Peers foliow'd; they saw
the courts of the Palace
Forsaken, and Paris without a soldier, silent. For the noise
was gone up
And follow'd the army; and the Senate in peace sat beneath
morning's beam.
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The shadowy Daughter of Urthona stood before red Ore,
When fourteen suns had faintly journey'd o'er his dark abode:
His food she brought in iron baskets, his drink in cups of iron.
Crown'd with a helmet and dark hair the nameless Female stood;
A quiver with its burning stores, a bow like that of night,
When pestilence is shot from heaven-no other arms she need!
Invulnerable tho' naked, save where clouds roll round her loins
Their awful folds in the dark air: silent she stood as night;
For never from her iron tongue could voice or sound arise,
But dumb till that dread day when Ore ussay'd his fierce embrace.
'Dark Virgin,' said the hairy Youth, 'Thy father stern, abhorr'd,
Rivets my tenfold chains, while still on high my spirit soars;
Sometimes an eagle screaming in the sky, sometimes a lion
Stalking upon the mountains, and sometimes a whale, I lash
The raging fathomless abyss; anon a serpent folding
Around the pillars of Urthona, and round thy dark limbs
On the Canadian wilds I fold; feeble my spirit folds;
For chain'd beneath I rend these caverns: when thou bringest food
I howl my joy, and my red eyes seek to behold thy face -
In vain! these clouds roll to and fro, and hide thee from my sight.
Silent as despairing love, and strong as jealousy,
The hairy shoulders rend the links; free are the wrists of fire;
Round the terrific loins he seiz'd the panting, struggling womb;
It joy'd: she put aside her clouds and smiled her first-born smile,
As when a black cloud shows its lightnings to the silent deep.
Soon as she saw the Terrible Boy, then burst the virgin cry:-
'I know thee, I have found thee, and I will not let thee go:
Thou art the image of God who dwells in darkness of Africa,
And thou art fall'n to give me life in regions of dark death.
On my American plains I feel the struggling afflictions
Endur'd by roots that writhe their arms into the nether deep.
I see a Serpent in Canada who courts me to his love,
In Mexico an Eagle, and a Lion in Peru;
I see a Whale in the South Sea, drinking my soul away.
what limb-rending pains I feel! thy fire and my frost
Mingle in howling pains, in furrows by thy lightnings rent.
This is Eternal Death, and this the torment long foretold!'
The stern Bard ceas'd, asham'd of his own song; enrag'd he swung
His harp aloft sounding, then dash'd its shining frame against
A ruin'd pillar in glittering fragments; silent he turn'd away,
And wander'd down the vales of Kent in sick & dream lamentings.
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The Guardian Prince of Albion burns in his nightly tent:
Sullen fires across the Atlantic glow to America's shore,
Piercing the souls of warlike men who rise in silent night.
Washington, Franklin, Paine, and Warren, Gates, Hancock, and Green
Meet on the coast glowing with blood from Albion's fiery Prince.
Washington spoke: 'Friends of America! look over the Atlantic sea;
A bended bow is lifted in Heaven, and a heavy iron chain
Descends, link by link, from Albion's cliffs across the sea, to bind
Brothers and sons of America; till our faces pale and yellow,
Heads depress'd, voices weak, eyes downcast, hands work-bruis'd,
Feet bleeding on the sultry sands, and the furrows of the whip
Descend to generations, that in future times forget.'
The strong voice ceas'd; for a terrible blast swept over
the heaving sea:
The eastern cloud rent: on his cliffs stood Albion's wrathful Prince,
A dragon form, clashing his scales: at midnight he arose,
And flam'd red meteors round the land of Albion beneath;
His voice, his locks, his awful shoulders, and his glowing eyes
Appear to the Americans upon the cloudy night.
Solemn heave the Atlantic waves between the gloomy nations,
Swelling, belching from its deeps red clouds and raging fires.
Albion is sick! America faints! Enrag'd the Zenith grew.
As human blood shooting its veins all round the orbed heaven,
Red rose the clouds from the Atlantic in vast wheels of blood,
And in the red clouds rose a Wonder o'er the Atlantic sea-
Intense! naked! a Human fire, fierce glowing, as the wedge
Of iron heated in the furnace; his terrible limbs were fire,
With myriads of cloudy terrors, banners dark, and towers
Surrounded: heat but not light went thro' the murky atmosphere.
The King of England looking westward trembles at the vision.
Albion's Angel stood beside the Stone of Night, and saw
The Terror like a comet, or more like the planet red,
That once enclos'd the terrible wandering comets in its sphere.
Then, Mars, thou wast our centre, and the planets three flew round
Thy crimson disk; so, ere the Sun was rent from thy red sphere,
The Spectre glow'd, his horrid length staining the temple long
With beams of blood; and thus a voice came forth, and shook the temple: -
'The morning comes, the night decays, the watchmen leave their
stations;
The grave is burst, the spices shed, the linen wrapped up;
The bones of death, the cov'ring clay, the sinews shrunk and dry'd
Reviving shake, inspiring move, breathing, awakening,
Spring like redeemed captives, when their bonds and bars are burst.
Let the slave grinding at the mill run out into the field,
Let him look up into the heavens and laugh in the bright air;
Let the enchained soul, shut up in darkness and in sighing,
Whose face has never seen a smile in thirty weary years,
Rise and look out; his chains are loose, his dungeon doors are open;
And let his wife and children return from the oppressor's scourge.
They look behind at every step, and believe it is a dream,
Singing: "The Sun has left his blackness, and has found a fresher
morning,
And the fair Moon rejoices in the clear and cloudless night;
For Empire is no more, and now the Lion and Wolf shall cease."'
In thunders ends the voice. Then Albion's Angel wrathful burnt
Beside the Stone of Night; and, like the Eternal Lion's howl
In famine and war, reply'd: 'Art thou not Ore,
who serpent-form'd
Stands at the gate of Enitharmon to devour her children?
Blasphemous Demon, Antichrist, hater of Dignities,
Lover of wild rebellion, and transgressor of God's Law,
Why dost thou come to Angel's eyes in this terrific form?'
The Terror answer'd: T am Ore, wreath'd round the accursed tree:
The times are ended; shadows pass, the morning 'gins to break;
The fiery joy, that Urizen perverted to ten commands,
What night he led the starry hosts thro' the wide wilderness,
That stony Law I stamp to dust; and scatter Religion abroad
To the four winds as a torn book, and none shall gather
the leaves;
But they shall rot on desert sands, and consume in bottomless
deeps,
To make the deserts blossom, and the deeps shrink to their
fountains,
And to renew the fiery joy, and burst the stony roof;
That pale religious lechery, seeking Virginity,
May find it in a harlot, and in coarse-clad honesty
The underfil'd, tho' ravish'd in her cradle night and morn;
For everything that lives is holy, life delights in life;
Because the soul of sweet delight can never be defil'd.
Fires enwrap the earthly globe, yet Man is not consum'd;
Amidst the lustful fires he walks; his feet become like brass,
His knees and things like silver, and his breast and head like gold.
'Sound! sound! my loud war-trumpets, and alarm my Thirteen
Angels!
Loud howls the Eternal Wolf! the Eternal Lion lashes his tail!
America is dark'ned; and my punishing Demons, terrified,
Crouch howling before their caverns deep, like skins dry'd
in the wind.
They cannot smite the wheat, nor quench the fatness of the earth;
They cannot smite with sorrows, nor subdue the plough and spade;
They cannot wall the city, nor moat round the castle of princes;
They cannot bring the stubbed oak to overgrow the hills;
For terrible men stand on the shores, and in their robes I see
Children take shelter from the lightnings: there stands
Washington,
And Paine, and Warren, with their foreheads rear'd toward
the East -
But clouds obscure my aged sight. A vision from afar!
Sound! sound! my loud war-trumpets, and alarm my Thirteen Angels!
Ah, vision from afar! Ah, rebel form that rent the ancient
Heavens! Eternal Viper self-renew'd, rolling in clouds,
I see thee in thick clouds and darkness on America's shore,
Writhing in pangs of abhorred birth; red flames the crest
rebellious
And eyes of death; the harlot womb, oft opened in vain,
Heaves in enormous circles: now the times are return'd upon thee,
Devourer of thy parent, now thy unutterable torment renews.
Sound! sound! my loud war-trumpets, and alarm my Thirteen Angels!
Ah, terrible birth! a young one bursting! Where is the weeping
mouth,
And where the mother's milk? Instead, those ever-hissing jaws
And parched lips drop with fresh gore: now roll thou in the
clouds;
Thy mother lays her length outstretch'd upon the shore beneath.
Sound! sound! my loud war-trumpets, and alarm my Thirteen
Angels!
Loud howls the Eternal Wolf! the Eternal Lion lashes his tail!'
Thus wept the Angel voice, and as he wept the terrible blasts
Of trumpets blew a loud alarm across the Atlantic deep.
No trumpets answer; no reply of clarions or of fifes:
Silent the Colonies remain and refuse the loud alarm.
On those vast shady hills between America and Albion's shore,
Now barr'd out by the Atlantic sea, call'd Atlantean hills,
Because from their bright summits you may pass to the Golden
World,
An ancient palace, archetype of mighty Emperies,
Rears its immortal pinnacles, built in the forest of God
By Ariston, the King of Beauty, for his stolen bride.
Here on their magic seats the Thirteen Angels sat perturb'd,
For clouds from the Atlantic hover o'er the solemn roof.
Fiery the Angels rose, and as they rose deep thunder roll'd
Around their shores, indignant burning with the fires of Ore;
And Boston's Angel cried aloud as they flew thro' the dark
night.
He cried: 'Why trembles honesty; and, like a murderer,
Why seeks he refuge from the frowns of his immortal station?
Must the generous tremble, and leave his joy to the idle,
to the pestilence
That mock him? Who commanded this? What God? What Angel?
To keep the gen'rous from experience till the ungenerous
Are unrestrain'd performers of the energies of nature;
Till pity is become a trade, and generosity a science
That men get rich by; and the sandy desert is giv'n
to the strong?
What God is he writes laws of peace, and clothes him in a tempest?
What pitying Angel lusts for tears, and fans himself with sighs?
What crawling villain preaches abstinence and wraps himself
In fat of lambs? No more I follow, no more obedience pay!'
So cried he, rending off his robe and throwing down
his sceptre
In sight of Albion's Guardian; and all the Thirteen Angels
Rent off their robes to the hungry wind, and threw their golden
sceptres
Down on the land of America; indignant they descended
Headlong from out their heav'nly heights, descending swift
as fires
Over the land; naked and flaming are their lineaments seen
In the deep gloom; by Washington and Paine and Warren they
stood;
And the flame folded, roaring fierce within the pitchy night,
Before the Demon red, who burnt towards America,
In black smoke, thunders, and loud winds, rejoicing in its terror,
Breaking in smoky wreaths from the wild deep, and gath'ring thick
In flames as of a furnace on the land from North to South,
What time the Thirteen Governors, that England sent, convene
In Bernard's house. The flames cover'd the land; they rouse;
they cry;
Shaking their mental chains, they rush in fury to the sea
To quench their anguish; at the feet of Washington down fall'n
They grovel on the sand and writhing lie, while all
The British soldiers thro' the Thirteen States sent up a howl
Of anguish, threw their swords and muskets to the earth, and run
From their encampments and dark castles, seeking where to hide
From the grim flames, and from the visions of Ore, in sight
Of Albion's Angel; who, enrag'd, his secret clouds open'd
From North to South, and burnt outstretch'd on wings of wrath,
cov'ring
The eastern sky, spreading his awful wings across the heavens.
Beneath him roll'd his num'rous hosts, all Albion's Angels camp'd
Darken'd the Atlantic mountains; and their trumpets shook
the valleys,
Arm'd with diseases of the earth to cast upon the Abyss-
Their numbers forty millions, must'ring in the eastern sky.
In the flames stood and view'd the armies drawn out in the sky,
Washington, Franklin, Paine, and Warren, Allen, Gates, and Lee,
And heard the voice of Albion's Angel give the thunderous
command;
His plagues, obedient to his voice, flew forth out of their
clouds,
Falling upon America, as a storm to cut them off,
As a blight cuts the tender corn when it begins to appear.
Dark is the heaven above, and cold and hard the earth beneath:
And, as a plague-wind, fill'd with insects, cuts off man
and beast,
And, as a sea o'erwhelms a land in the day of an earthquake,
Fury, rage, madness, in a wind swept through America;
And the red flames of Ore, that folded roaring, fierce, around
The angry shores; and the fierce rushing of th' inhabitants
together!
The citizens of New York close their books and lock their chests;
The mariners of Boston drop their anchors and unlade;
The scribe of Pennsylvania casts his pen upon the earth;
The builder of Virginia throws his hammer down in fear.
Then had America been lost, o'erwhelm'd by the Atlantic,
And Earth had lost another portion of the Infinite;
But all rush together in the night in wrath and raging fire.
The red fires rag'd! The plagues recoil'd! Then roll'd they
back with fury
On Albion's Angels: then the Pestilence began in streaks of red
Across the limbs of Albion's Guardian; the spotted plague smote
Bristol's,
And the Leprosy London's Spirit, sickening all their bands:
The millions sent up a howl of anguish and threw off their
hammer'd mail,
And cast their swords and spears to earth, and stood, a naked
multitude:
Albion's Guardian writhed in torment on the eastern sky,
Pale, quiv'ring toward the brain his glimmering eyes, teeth
chattering,
Howling and shuddering, his legs quivering, convuls'd each muscle
and sinew:
Sick'ning lay London's Guardian, and the ancient mitred York,
Their heads on snowy hills, their ensigns sick'ning in the sky.
The plagues creep on the burning winds, driven by flames of Ore,
And by the fierce Americans rushing together in the night,
Driven o'er the Guardians of Ireland, and Scotland and Wales.
They, spotted with plagues, forsook the frontiers; and their
banners, sear'd
With fires of hell, deform their ancient Heavens with shame
and woe.
Hid in his caves the Bard of Albion felt the enormous plagues,
And a cowl of flesh grew o'er his head, and scales on his back
and ribs;
And, rough with black scales, all his Angels fright their ancient
heavens.
The doors of marriage are open, and the Priests, in rustling
scales,
Rush into reptile coverts, hiding from the fires of Ore,
That play around the golden roofs in wreaths of fierce desire,
Leaving the Females naked and glowing with the lusts of youth.
For the Female Spirits of the dead, pining in bonds of religion,
Run from their fetters; reddening, and in long-drawn arches
sitting,
They feel the nerves of youth renew, and desires of ancient
times
Over their pale limbs, as a vine when the tender grape appears.
Over the hills, the vales, the cities rage the red flames
fierce:
The Heavens melted from North to South; and Urizen, who sat
Above all heavens, in thunders wrapp'd, emerg'd his leprous head
From out his holy shrine, his tears in deluge piteous
Falling into the deep sublime; flagg'd with grey-brow'd snows
And thunderous visages, his jealous wings wav'd over the deep;
Weeping in dismal howling woe, he dark descended, howling
Around the smitten bands, clothed in tears and trembling,
shudd'ring, cold.
His stored snows he poured forth, and his icy magazines
He open'd on the deep, and on the Atlantic sea, white,
shiv'ring;
Leprous his limbs, all over white, and hoary was his visage;
Weeping in dismal howlings before the stern Americans,
Hiding the Demon red with clouds and cold mists from the earth;
Till Angels and weak men twelve years should govern o'er the
strong;
And then their end should come, when France receiv'd the Demon's
light.
Stiff shudderings shook the heav'nly thrones! France, Spain,
and Italy
In terror view'd the bands of Albion, and the ancient Guardians,
Fainting upon the elements, smitten with their own plagues!
They slow advance to shut the five gates of their law-built
Heaven,
Filled with blasting fancies and with mildews of despair,
With fierce disease and lust, unable to stem the fires of Ore.
But the five gates were consum'd, and their bolts and hinges
melted;
And the fierce flames burnt round the heavens, and round
the abodes of men.
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'Five windows light the cavern'd Man: thro' one he breathes the air;
Thro' one hears music of the spheres; thro' one the Eternal Vine
Flourishes, that he may receive the grapes; thro' one can look
And see small portions of the Eternal World that ever groweth;
Thro' one himself pass out what time he please, but he will not;
For stolen joys are sweet, and bread eaten in secret pleasant.'
So sang a Fairy, mocking, as he sat on a streak'd tulip,
Thinking none saw him: when he ceas'd I started from the trees,
And caught him in my hat, as boys knock down a butterfly.
'How know you this,' said I, 'small Sir? where did you learn
this song?'
Seeing himself in my possession, thus he answer'd me:
'My Master, I am yours! command me, for I must obey.'
'Then tell me, what is the Material World, and is it dead?'
He, laughing, answer'd: 'I will write a book on leaves
of flowers,
If you will feed me on love-thoughts, and give me now
and then
A cup of sparkling poetic fancies; so, when I am tipsy,
I'll sing to you to this soft lute, and show you all alive
The World, when every particle of dust breathes forth its joy.'
I took him home in my warm bosom: as we went along
Wild flowers I gathered; and he show'd me each Eternal Flower:
He laugh'd aloud to see them whimper because they were
pluck'd.
They hover'd round me like a cloud of incense. When I came
Into my parlour and sat down, and took my pen to write,
My Fairy sat upon the table, and dictated EUROPE.
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The nameless Shadowy Female rose from out the breast of Ore,
Her snaky hair brandishing in the winds of Enitharmon;
And thus her voice arose: -
'O mother Enitharmon, wilt thou bring forth other sons,
To cause my name to vanish, that my place may not be found?
For I am faint with travel,
Like the dark cloud disburden'd in the day of dismal thunder.
'My roots are brandish'd in the heavens, my fruits in earth
beneath
Surge, foam, and labour into life, first born and first consum'd!
Consumed and consuming!
Then why shouldst thou, Accursed Mother, bring me into life?
'I wrap my turban of thick clouds around my lab'ring head,
And fold the sheety waters as a mantle round my limbs;
Yet the red sun and moon
And all the overflowing stars rain down prolific pains.
'Unwilling I look up to heaven, unwilling count the stars:
Sitting in fathomless abyss of my immortal shrine
I seize their burning power,
And bring forth howling terrors, all-devouring fiery kings,
'Devouring and devoured, roaming on dark and desolate mountains,
In forests of Eternal Death, shrieking in hollow trees.
Ah, mother Enitharmon!
Stamp not with solid form this vig'rous progeny of fires.
'I bring forth from my teeming bosom myriads of flames,
And thou dost stamp them with a signet; then they roam abroad,
And leave me void as death.
Ah! I am drown'd in shady woe and visionary joy.
'And who shall bind the Infinite with an eternal band
To compass it with swaddling bands? and who shall cherish it
With milk and honey?
I see it smile, and I roll inward, and my voice is past.'
She ceas'd, and roll'd her shady clouds
Into the secret place.
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The deep of winter came,
What time the Secret Child
Descended through the orient gates of the Eternal day:
War ceas'd, and all the troops like shadows fled to their
abodes.
Then Enitharmon saw her sons and daughters rise around;
Like pearly clouds they meet together in the crystal
house;
And Los, possessor of-ihe Moon, joy'd in the peaceful night,
Thus speaking, while his num'rous sons shook their bright fiery
wings: -
'Again the night is come,
That strong Urthona takes his rest;
And Urizen, unloos'd from chains,
Glows like a meteor in the distant North.
Stretch forth your hands and strike the elemental
strings!
Awake the thunders of the deep!
'The shrill winds wake,
Till all the sons of Urizen look out and envy Los.
Seize all the spirits of life, and bind
Their warbling joys to our loud strings!
Bind all the nourishing sweets of earth
To give us bliss, that we may drink the sparkling wine
of Los!
And let us laugh at war,
Despising toil and care,
Because the days and nights of joy in lucky
hours renew.
'Arise, Ore, from thy deep den!
First-born of Enitharmon, rise!
And we will crown thy head with garlands of the ruddy vine;
For now thou art bound,
And I may see thee in the hour of bliss, my eldest-born.'
The horrent Demon rose, surrounded with red stars of fire,
Whirling about in furious circles round the Immortal Fiend.
Then Enitharmon down descended into his red light,
And thus her voice rose to her children: the distant heavens
reply: -
'Now comes the night of Enitharmon's joy!
Who shall I call? Who shall I send,
That Woman, lovely Woman, may have dominion?
Arise, Rintrah! thee I call, and Palamabron, thee!
Go! tell the Human race that Woman's love is Sin;
That an Eternal life awaits the worms of sixty winters,
In an allegorical abode, where existence hath never come.
Forbid all Joy; and, from her childhood, shall the little
Female
Spread nets in every secret path.
'My weary eyelids draw towards the evening; my bliss is yet
but new.
'Arise! O Rintrah, eldest-born, second to none but Ore!
lion Rintrah, raise thy fury from thy forests black!
Bring Palamabron, horned priest, skipping upon
the mountains,
And silent Elynittria, the silver-bowed queen.
Rintrah, where hast thou hid thy bride?
Weeps she in desert shades?
Alas! my Rintrah, bring the lovely jealous
Ocalythron.
'Arise, my son! bring all thy brethren,
thou King of Fire!
Prince of the Sun! I see thee with thy innumerable
race,
Thick as the summer stars;
But each, ramping, his golden mane shakes,
And thine eyes rejoice because of strength, Rintrah, furious
King!'
Enitharmon slept
Eighteen hundred years. Man was a dream,
The night of Nature and their harps unstrung!
She slept in middle of her nightly song
Eighteen hundred years, a Female dream.
Shadows of men in fleeting bands upon the winds
Divide the heavens of Europe;
Till Albion's Angel, smitten with his own plagues, fled with
his bands.
The cloud bears hard on Albion's shore,
Fill'd with immortal Demons of futurity:
In council gather the smitten Angels of Albion;
The cloud bears hard upon the council-house,
down rushing
On the heads of Albion's Angels.
One hour they lay buried beneath the ruins of that hall;
But as the stars rise from the Salt Lake, they arise in pain,
In troubled mists, o'erclouded by the terrors of struggling
times.
In thoughts perturb'd they rose from the bright ruins, silent
following
The fiery King, who sought his ancient temple,
serpent-form'd,
That stretches out its shady length along
the Island white.
Round him roll'd his clouds of war; silent the Angel went
Along the infinite shores of Thames to golden
Verulam.
There stand the venerable porches, that high-towering
rear
Their oak-surrounded pillars, form'd of massy stones, uncut
With tool, stones precious!-such eternal in the heavens,
Of colours twelve (few known on earth) give light
in the opaque,
Plac'd in the order of the stars; when the five senses
whelm'd
In deluge o'er the earth-born man, then turn'd the fluxile
eyes
Into two stationary orbs, concentrating all things:
The ever-varying spiral ascents to the Heavens of Heavens
Were bended downward, and the nostrils' golden gates shut,
Turn'd outward, barr'd, and petrify'd against the Infinite.
Thought chang'd the Infinite to a Serpent, that which
pitieth
To a devouring flame; and Man fled from its face and hid
In forests of night; then all the eternal forests were divided
Into earths, rolling in circles of Space, that like an ocean
rush'd
And overwhelmed all except this finite wall of flesh.
Then was the Serpent temple form'd, image of Infinite, |
Shut up in finite revolutions, and Man became an Angel,
Heaven a mighty circle turning, God a tyrant crown'd.
Now arriv'd the ancient Guardian at the southern porch,
That planted thick with trees of blackest leaf,
and in a vale
Obscure enclos'd the Stone of Night; oblique it stood, o'erhung
With purple flowers and berries red, image
of that sweet South,
Once open to the heavens, and elevated on the human neck,
Now overgrown with hair, and cover'd with a stony roof.
Downward 'tis sunk beneath th' attractive North, that round
the feet,
A raging whirlpool, draws the dizzy enquirer to his grave.
Albion's Angel rose upon the Stone of Night.
He saw Urizen on the Atlantic;
And his brazen Book,
That Kings and Priests had copied on Earth,
Expanded from North to South.
And the clouds and fires pale roll'd round in the night
of Enitharmon,
Round Albion's cliffs and London's walls: still Enitharmon slept.
Rolling volumes of grey mist involve Churches,
Palaces, Towers;
For Urizen unclasp'd his Book, feeding his soul with pity.
The youth of England, hid in gloom, curse the pain'd heavens,
compell'd
Into the deadly night to see the form
of Albion's Angel.
Their parents brought them forth, and Aged Ignorance preaches*
canting,
On a vast rock, perceiv'd by those senses that are clos'd front
thought -------
Bleak, dark, abrupt it stands, and overshadows London city.
They saw his bony feet on the rock, the flesh consum'd
in flames;
They saw the Serpent temple lifted above, shadowing the Island
white;
They heard the voice of Albion's Angel, howling in flames of Ork,
Seeking the trump of the Last Doom.
Above the rest the howl was heard from Westminster, louder and
louder:
The Guardian of the secret codes forsook his ancient mansion,
Driven out by the flames of Ore; his furr'd robes
and false locks
Adhered and grew one with his flesh and nerves, and veins shot
thro' them.
With dismal torment sick, hanging upon the wind, he fled
Grovelling, along Great George Street, thro' the Park gate:
all the soldiers
Fled from his sight: he dragg'd his torments to the wilderness.
Thus was the howl thro' Europe!
For Ore rejoie'd to hear the howling shadows;
But Palamabron shot his lightnings, trenching down his
wide back;
And Rintrah hung with all his legions in the nether deep.
Enitharmon laugh'd in her sleep to see (O woman's triumph!)
Every house a den, every man bound: the shadows are fill'd
With spectres, and the windows wove over with curses of iron:
Over the doors 'Thou shalt not,' and over the chimneys 'Fear' is
written:
With bands of iron round their necks fasten'd into the walls
The citizens, in leaden gyves the inhabitants of suburbs
Walk heavy; soft and bent are the bones
of villagers.
Between the clouds of Urizen the flames of Ore roll heavy
Around the limbs of Albion's Guardian, his flesh consuming:
Howlings and hissings, shrieks and groans, and voices of despair
Arise around him in the cloudy heavens of Albion. Furious,
The red-limb'd Angel seiz'd in horror
and torment
The trump of the Last Doom; but he could not blow
the iron tube!
Thrice he assay'd presumptuous to awake
the dead to Judgement.
A mighty Spirit leap'd from the land of Albion,
Nam'd Newton: he seiz'd the trump, and blow'd the enormous
blast!
Yellow as leaves of autumn, the myriads
of Angelic hosts
Fell thro' the wintry skies, seeking their graves,
Rattling their hollow bones in howlings
and lamentation.
Then Enitharmon woke, nor knew that she had
slept;
And eighteen hundred years were fled
As if they had not been.
She call'd her sons and daughters
To the sports of night
Within her crystal house,
And thus her song proceeds: -
'Arise, Ethinthus! tho' the earth-worm call,
Let him call in vain,
Till the night of holy shadows
And human solitude is past!
'Ethinthus, Queen of Waters, how thou shinest
in the sky!
My daughter, how do I rejoice! for thy children flock
around,
Like the gay fishes on the wave, when the cold moon drink"
dew.
Ethinthus! thou art sweet as comforts to my
fainting soul,
For now thy waters warble round the feet of Enitharmon.
'Manatha-Varcyon! I behold thee flaming in my
halls.
Light of thy mother's soul! I see thy lovely eagles round;
Thy golden wings are my delight, and thy flames of soft
delusion.
'Where is my luring bird of Eden? Leutha,
silent love!
Leutha, the many-colour'd bow delights upon thy wings!
Soft soul of flowers, Leutha!
Sweet smiling Pestilence! I see thy blushing light;
Thy daughters, many changing,
Revolve like sweet perfumes ascending, Leutha,
Silken Queen!
'Where is the youthful Antamon, Prince of the Pearly Dew?
Antamon! why wilt thou leave thy mother Enitharmon?
Alone I see thee, crystal form,
Floating upon the bosom'd air,
With lineaments of gratified desire.
My Antamon! the seven churches of Leutha seek thy love.
'I hear the soft Oothoon in Enitharmon's tents;
Why wilt thou give up woman's secrecy,
my melancholy child?
Between two moments Bliss is ripe.
Theotormon! robb'd of joy, I see thy salt
tears flow
Down the steps of my crystal house.
'Sotha and Thiralatha! secret dwellers of dreamful caves,
Arise and please the horrent Fiend with your
melodious songs;
Still all your thunders, golden-hoof d, and bind your horses
black.
Ore! smile upon my children,
Smile, son of my afflictions!
Arise, Ore, and give our mountains joy
of thy red light!
She ceas'd; for all were forth at sport beneath the solemn moon
Waking the stars of Utizen with their immortal
songs;
That Nature felt thro' all her pores the enormous revelry,
Till Morning oped the eastern gate;
Then every one fled to his station, and Enitharmon wept.
But terrible Ore, when he beheld the morning
in the East,
Shot from the heights of Enitharmon,
And in the vineyards of red France appear'd the light
of his fury.
The Sun glow'd fiery red!
The furious Terrors flew around
On golden chariots, raging with red wheels,
dropping with blood!
The Lions lash their wrathful tails!
The Tigers couch upon the prey and suck the ruddy tide;
And Enitharmon groans and cries in anguish and dismay.
Then Los arose: his head he rear'd, in snaky
thunders clad;
And with a cry that shook all Nature
to the utmost pole,
Call'd all his sons to the strife of blood.
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And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England's mountains green?
And was the holy Lamb of God
On England's pleasant pastures seen?
And did the Countenance Divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among these dark Satanic Mills?
Bring me my Bow of burning gold:
Bring me my Arrows of desire:
Bring me my Spear: clouds unfold!
Bring me my Chariot of fire.
I will not cease from Mental Fight,
Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England's green & pleasant Land.
?
?
?
?
, ,
?
.
,
.
.
Thou hearest the Nightingale begin the Song of Spring.
The Lark sitting upon his earthy bed, just as the morn
Appears, listens silent; then springing from the waving
Cornfield, loud
He leads the Choir of Day: trill, trill, trill, trill,
Mounting upon the wings of light into the Great Expanse,
Reechoing against the lovely blue & shining heavenly Shell,
His little throat labours with inspiration; every feather
On throat & breast & wings vibrates with the effluence
Divine
All Nature listens silent to him, & the awful Sun
Stands still upon the Mountain looking
on this little Bird
With eyes of soft humility & wonder, love & awe,
Then loud from their green covert all the Birds begin
their Song:
The Thrush, the Linnet & the Goldfinch, Robin & the Wren
Awake the Sun from his sweet reverie upon
the Mountain.
The Nightingale again assays his song, & thro' the day
And thro' the night warbles luxuriant, every Bird
of Song
Attending his loud harmony with admiration & love.
This is a Vision of the lamentation of Beulah
over Ololon.
, -
, , .
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-
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-
.
,
.
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Thou perceivest the Flowers put forth their precious Odours,
And none can tell how from so small a center comes such sweets,
Forgetting that within that Center Eternity expands
Its ever during doors that Og & Anak fiercely guard.
First, e'er the morning breaks, joy opens in the flowery bosoms,
Joy even to tears, which the Sun rising dires,
first the Wild Thyme
And Meadow-sweet, downy & soft waving among the reeds,
Light springing on the air, lead the sweet Dance: they wake
The Honeysuckle sleeping on the Oak; the flaunting beauty
Revels along upon the wind; the White-thorn, lovely May,
Opens her many lovely eyes listening; the Rose still sleeps
None dare to wake her; soon she bursts her crimson curtain'd bed
And comes forth in the majesty of beauty; every Flower,
The Pink, the Jessamine, the Wall-flower, the Carnation,
The Jonquil, the mild Lilly, opes her heavens; every Tree
And Flower & Herb soon fill the air with an innumerable Dance,
Yet all in order sweet & lovely. Men are sick with Love,
Such is a Vision of the lamentation of Beulah over Ololon.
, .
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...
. .
{*}
{* : Damon S.
F. The Blake Dictionary: The Ideas and Symbols of William Blake, Providence,
1965; Beer, John. Blake's Visionary Universe, Manchester, 1969; Erdman D. V.
Blake: Prophet Against Empire, N. Y., 1977. .
The Complete Poems of William Blake, Ed. by Alicia
Ostriker, Penguin Books, 1977.}
XIX .
, " ".
(.
, . 6-7).
1925 . .
, .
. .
60- : Geoffrey Keynes (Ed.).
The Complete Writing of William Blake, Oxford, 1966; Geoffrey Keynes (Ed.).
The Letters of William Blake, Hart-Davis, 1968.
. .
{The Poems of William Blake, Ed. by W. B. Yeats, Lnd. 1905), .
{The Portable Blake, Ed. by A. Kazin, N. Y., 1946)
. .
1834 .,
"" -
,
"". 1900 . .
( " ", , 1921). 10-
. ,
. 1965 . "
. ". .
: " "
(" ", ., 1975) ,
150- ( . , ., 1978).
-,
(
; ,
).
The Poetical Works
of William Blake, Ed. with an Introduction and Textual Notes by John
Sampson, Lnd., Oxford University Press, 1934. .
, ,
, ,
, .
XVIII - XIX .
(art, doth,
hast, wilt, canst, seeketh . .; thou, thee, thy, thyself),
(desart, thro, giv'n, watry, eyne
.), . " " (eye-rhyme),
, '
.
,
,
("And
builds a Hell in Heavens despite" . .).
,
.
.
: (Urizen) -
, , ,
; (Los, sol - "") - " ",
; (Ore, cor -
"") - .
(. . "
").
,
,
.
,
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.
1783 . , .
(John Flaxman) . (A. S. Mathew),
. ,
, , ,
, 22
.
. ;
, ,
. ,
,
.
1.
, ,
14 .
the Prince of Love - ,
my golden wing - , ,
. :
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.
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,
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,
.
,
,
.
2.
. " ",
:
, (. .
"" " ").
...languish'd head - (John Milton, 16081674):
"" (Comus, 1634, 1. 744); " " {Samson Agonistes, 1671, 1.
119)
5.
mount Hecla - ,
6.
" ", .
(Thomas Percy, 1729-1811) "
" (Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, 1765), ,
, ,
" ". ,
XVIII .
...the night is a-cold - . " " ( III, . 4): "Poor
Tom's a-cold"
Like a fiend in a cloud - - ,
(. " " "" " ",
" " - "-")
7.
Ida - , . , ; ,
Fair Nine -
8. BLIND MAN'S BUFF
8.
, "
" {Love's Labour's Lost, Act V, Sc. 2): "When icicles hang by the wall
/ And Dick the shepherd blows his nail."
9.
(Thomas Chatterton,
1752-1770),
. " " (Miscellanies in
Prose and Verse, 1778 " " (Gordred Covan),
, . .
,
1776 . ,
" " (. . "").
Like blazing comets - , "
IV" ( I, . 1), "like the meteors of a troubled
heaven"
10. FROM "KING EDWARD THE THIRD"
10.
(. VI) " III",
, , " V".
, , (Thomas Cooke. Life of King
Edward III of England, Lnd., 1734), III "
" ("a gallant and illustrious Murderer"), ,
, .
, " ": -
, - ,
(. . "").
Trojan Brutus - , , ,
, , ,
prevented - . prefigured, anticipated
11. FROM "AN ISLAND IN THE MOON"
11. " "
,
XVIII ., 1784 .
, "
".
. 9-
11- :
( ) (,
, . . " ").
Sir Isaac Newton -
Doctor South / Or Sherlock upon Death -
(1634-1716) (1641-1707);
, , A Practical Discourse
concerning Death, 1689.
Sutton - (1532-1611), ,
"".
SONGS OF INNOCENCE AND OF EXPERIENCE
Shewing the Two Contrary States of the Human Soul
" " 1784-1790 .,
1789 . (31 , 21 ).
" ", " ", " "
" ".
" " 17901792 .,
" " 1794 . (54 ,
27 ).
.
" " "
" 4 : " ", "
", "", " ". " "
1803 .
""
, 1645 .
L'Allegro Penseroso,
.
(Isaac Watts, 1674-1748) "
" {Divine Songs Attempted in Easy Language for the
Use of Children, 1715). , ,
, .
.
1794 . ,
. ,
.
13. INTRODUCTION
13.
:
. .
:
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.
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15.
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.
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.
.
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,
.
,
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.
, .
16.
: "
: ,
" ( , I, 29). .
" " {There is No Natural
Religion): "Therefore God becomes as we are, that we may be as He is."
. .
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17.
(. . . 503) Praise for Birth and
Education in a Christian Land Praise for the Gospel
, , .
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to bear the beams of love - . Grace Shining and
Nature Fainting: "Nor is my soul refined enough / To bear the beaming of his
love, / And feel his warmer smiles."
Is but a cloud - . . " "; .
"", II, . 122-123
19.
.
(., , "
" - Charles Lamb, 1775-1834). 1824 .
.
Chimney Sweepers' Friend and Climbing Boys Album. .
.
. :
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'weep! 'weep! 'weep! -
"sweep"
20.
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. .
.
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.
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!"
, .
.
,
.
And away the vapour flew - "vapour"
" ", (. will-o'-the wisp),
"wandr'ng light" . ,
, ,
: .
21.
. .
. :
,
,
.
.
,
,
,
.
23.
""
Cradle Hymn. ,
,
("How much better thou'rt attended / Than the Son of God could be...
Here's no ox anear thy bed"),
("Sweet babe once like thee, / Thy maker lay and wept for me").
24.
all must love - "must"
, , should,
do.
25.
. :
, , , ,
- , , , ?
.
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- , !
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, .
, .
, ,
, .
. ,
.
Holy Thursday - (
). .
.
mighty wind - . Acts, II, 2-4
26.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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And now beside thee... - . , II, 6: "
, ; ,
, , "
...life's river - . , 22,1: "
, , ,
"
30.
The Ant, or Emmet
.
hie = hasten
31. ON ANOTHER'S SORROW
31.
Wiping all our tears away - . , 7. 17:
"... "
32.
,
,
. ,
, .
Calling the lapsed soul -
The starry pole - .
.
Earth, Earth, return! - . 22, 29: ", , ,
! "
The starry floor, / The wat'ry shore -
, " (. . . 505) ",
starry Jealousy the heavy chain
33. EARTH'S ANSWER
33.
:
,
.
35.
" ". .
. . :
,
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.
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,
,
,
.
,
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,
.
36.
Grave = engrave
And the desart wild / Become a garden mild -
,
,
. .
, 35, I: " ,
, , ".
Lyca - , ,
(. " ").
, - .
37. THE LITTLE GIRL FOUND
37.
allay = put to rest
38.
" ".
39. NURSE'S SONG
39.
" ".
40.
- ,
,
, (
). . :
, !
, ,
,
.
41.
XVIII . "fly" .
. . :
,
.
- :
.
, ,
?
,
,
.
,
, ,
,
, -
, -
.
Am not I / A fly like thee? - . . (Thomas Gray, 17161771) Ode
on the Spring: "Poor Moralist! and what art Thou? A solitary fly!"
42.
" ".
43.
"" " ".
""
-.
, . . (S. F. Damon):
, ,
, , ,
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. :
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.
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forests of the night - ("") ("")
45. ! !..
Who countest the steps of the sun - ""
, , ,
.
46.
. :
,
.
,
, , .
. :
.
,
.
47.
, ,
,
. .
.
. :
,
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, , , -
.
,
" !" - .
,
.
, ,
,
,
.
48.
. , :
, ,
;
,
.
,
,
,
;
-
, ;
,
.
, ,
, ,
,
, !
49.
. , :
,
.
,
.
,
, -
, -
.
,
- .
-
,
- ,
- .
each charter'd street ... charter'd Thames -
"charter", ,
.
50.
" " " ".
51. -
"-" " ".
53.
" " "
" " ".
Obedience to Parents.
55.
" " (6, 4).
"" "". ,
, .
, ,
; : "It is raised a spiritual
body" (I Corinthians, 15, 44).
FROM "THE ROSSETTI MANUSCRIPTS"
" "
,
1789 1811 . 1847
. .
" ", ,
, , . .
, . ,
,
.
58. NEVER SEEK TO TELL THY LOVE...
58. ...
. , :
;
,
.
,
-
, ,
.
,
,
, ,
.
59. I SAW A CHAPEL ALL OF GOLD...
59. ...
, -"", ,
,
.
. . . :
-
. ,
, .
, .
,
.
,
, .
,
.
.
.
.
61. I HEARD AN ANGEL SINGING...
61. ...
"
" " ".
" " " ".
62.
"" "
".
. .
64. -
"
".
But the time of youth is fled / And grey hairs are on my head -
" "
"" (" ").
67.
,
. Nobodaddy - (Daddy Nobody
Father of All).
. .
. :
!
, ,
, ,
?
,
, ,
, - ?
,
?
71. MERLIN'S PROPHECY
71.
Merlin's Prophecy - .
" " ( III, . 2): "This prophecy Merlin shall make;
for I live before his time." - .
73. WHY SHOULD I CARE FOR THE MEN OF THAMES...
73.
1775-1783 .
(. "").
charter'd streams - . . ""
80. LET THE BROTHELS OF PARIS BE OPENED...
80. , !..
1789 .
Queen of France - - (1755-1793),
XVI. ,
(Edmund Burke, 1729-1797) " "
{Reflections on the Revolution in France, 1790),
.
...old Nobodaddy - . . " ".
, -
, XVI 1789 ., ,
, 1791 . ( 1795
.).
suckers - . -
Fayette - (1757-1834),
,
1775-1783 .
, .
, ,
. ,
(1793-1797). . "
".
81. MY SPECTRE AROUND ME NIGHT AND DAY...
81.
. .
Spectre ... Emanation - . , "
.
- , . . ,
" (N. Frye. Fearful Symmetry, 1947). .
, . :
,
() . ,
, - ,
, . ""
: " ,
, , , ,
". ,
, , -
"" , ,
, -
,
. . .
"".
This the Wine, and this the Bread - , 26, 26-28; , 14,
22-24; , 22, 19-20.
. :
, ,
-
.
, ,
, .
, ,
-
, ,
.
?
,
.
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.
,
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.
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82. WHEN KLOPSTOCK ENGLAND DEFIED...
82. , ...
(1724-1803)
The German Museum 1800 .
, " "
.
, , ""
. . .
For old Nobodaddy aloft / ...and belch'd and cough'd -
" , !"; Nobodaddy - .
. " "
Lambeth - , , 1791-1800 .
83. MOCK ON, MOCK ON, VOLTAIRE, ROUSSEAU...
83. , ! , !..
,
, 1789 .
, .
The Atoms of Democritus -
(. 470 460 . . - ),
,
Newton's Particles -
85. ON THE VIRGINITY OF THE VIRGIN MARY AND JOHANNA SOUTHCOTT
85.
(1750-1814) - ,
. 1813 . ,
, .
.
86.
...the Western path -
The war of swords and spears / Melted by dewy tears - ,
, ,
(. "": "When the stars threw down
their spears / And water'd heaven with their tears")
, "
", . X. ,
, 1809
. (. . "
"), , ,
(. , . 9, ).
89. HERE LIES JOHN TROT, THE FRIEND OF ALL MANKIND...
89. , , ...
- ,
92. ...
, 1806 .,
49 .
93. ALL PICTURES THAT'S PANTED WITH SENSE AND WITH THOUGHT...
93. ...
pant = paint; , . X.
Fuseli - (1741-1825), ,
; ;
they can't see an outline - .
"" ,
"" (.
. " ").
94. WHY WAS CUPID A BOY...
94.
woman into a statue of stone - ,
95. I ASKED MY DEAR FRIEND ORATOR PRIGG...
95. ...
panter - . . "
..."
96. HAVING GIVEN GREAT OFFENCE BY WRITING IN PROSE...
96.
1809 . (. , . 7).
as soft as Bartoloze - (Bartolozzi, 1727-1815),
, ;
; "" ,
Dryden, in rime - 1674 . (John Dryden, 1631-1700)
The State of Innocence no
" ", .
: "
, ,
".
Tom Cooke cut Hogarth down with his clean graving -
(Cooke, 1744-1818)
,
Hayley - . ; . , . 6,
Homer is ... improv'd by Pope - ""
"",
(1688-1744). ,
.
Stothard - (1755-1834;, ,
" " ,
poor Schiavonetti died of the Cromek -
(1770-1812) .
99. I ROSE UP AT THE DAWN OF DAY...
99. , ...
the Throne of Mammon - mammon - - "" (. ,
6, 24; , 16, 9-13);
,
11 , 1868 .
. .
. 1801-1803 .
100.
. , :
,
-
.
,
,
-
.
,
.
-
,
.
101.
"" , ""
"" " ": -
- , .
102. THE MENTAL TRAVELLER
102.
, "" -
, "" - .
,
, .
. , , (,
, ); -
- ( ,
), (, ) -
, - ,
, . . , ",
, ".
, "" -
, .
.
(Eden) - ; (Generation) -
,
; (Beulah) - ,
, ; (Ulro) -
, .
"": - , - , -
, - . ""
,
,
,
. ,
(. .
. 498).
Just as we reap in joy the fruit / Which we in bitter tears did sow -
: "They that sow in tears shall reap in joy"
{Psalms, 126, 5)
105.
"" " ".
(. ),
, ,
- - .
:
- .
. . . :
.
.
,
:
.
,
, -
,
.
,
, .
- .
, !
, , .
.
- .
.
.
,
.
, ,
, .
Surrey Dower - ,
, ,
1791-1800 .
a weeping Babe - . ""
107. AUGURIES OF INNOCENCE
107.
(Ch. Smart, 1722-1771) " " (A Song to David,
1763) Jubilitate Agno,
. . .
.
. :
,
- ,
-
- .
The game-cock dipt -
1849 . chafer = dark beetle
108. LONG JOHN BROWN AND LITTLE MARY BELL
108.
, ,
"".
109.
Then what have I to do with thee - . . "
" (" ")
1789 ., 15 .
"" " ".
, , "", "", ,
, . ,
, . , -
,
. " "
( - ,
- , - ), , -
,
; .
Thel - .-. "", ""; . .
" " " "
Seraphim - -; , ,
- (1486-1535) "
" , ,
.
.
the river of Adona - , ,
" "
the voice / Of Him that walketh - cp. Genesis, 3, 8: "And they heard
the voice of the Lord God walking in the garden in the cool of the day"
the vales of Har - . -
(Heva) - .
Luvah = ; . . -
, .
Worm - . . " " " "
to her own grave-plot - . .
and there she sat down - . Psalms, 137, I: "By the rivers of Babylon,
there we sat down, yea, we wept..."
THE MARRIAGE OF HEAVEN AND HELL
1790 . " " ,
1792-1793 . ,
(1688-1722; .
, . 12-13). 1789 .
, . 80- .
,
(
" ").
.
.
Rintrah - , (. . . 498),
, ,
swag = sag, sway
Where lions roam - . (24) (5
32),
As a new heaven is begun, and it is now thirty-three years since its
advent... - 1757 ., ,
" ". ,
1757 . 33 ,
. . , , ,
the dominion of Edom - , ,
. :
", , " (,
27^39-40)
Isiah XXXIV and XXXV chap. -
,
Good is Heaven. Evil is Hell. - .
" ": "Heaven and Hell are born
together."
The Governor of Reason is call'd Messiah - " "
, ,
Milton's Messiah is called Satan - ,
,
This is shown in the Gospel - . , 14, 16-17, 26
Proverbs of Hell - (Book of Proverbs)
, ,
"" (1788) . . (1741-1801)
this firm persuasion removed mountains - . : "
: "
", " ( , 17, 20)
our great poet, King David -
I also asked Isaiah what made him go naked and barefoot three years -
. , 20
I then asked Ezekiel why he ate dung... - . , 4
the cherub with his flaming sword - "
,
" (, 3, 24)
the doors of perception -
...chinks of his cavern -
("", VII)
...Parable of sheep and goats! - . , 25, 32-33; 10, 34
...between saturn and the fixed stars -
Paracelsus - (1493-1541),
;
Jacob Rehmen - (1575-1624), (.
, . 20)
...Did He not mock at the sabbath - . , 2, 27; ,
8-22; 11; , 27, 13-14; "
" {The Everlasting Gospel, . 1818)
Jesus was all virtue - "virtue"
, "vir" - ""
A Song of Liberty - (1789)
. ,
1792 .,
,
1793 .
, - ; ,
,
.
dungeon -
thy keys -
starry king - . . .
"" (" ").
the hoary element -
Urthona's dens - , , ,
; ,
VISIONS OF THE DAUGHTERS OF ALBION
1793 ., 17 ( -
" "). : "Visions of the
Daughters of Albion. The Eye sees more than the Heart knows. Printed by
Willm Blake. 1793."
" ":
, (,
) ,
,
.
, ,
, , ,
- , . :
( , )
( -
, ,
, ),
( . βρόμιος - ""; .
, ; " " -
). ,
.
Leutha - , , ,
, ,
Stamp'd with my signet - . .
Theotormon's Eagles - , ;
The Father of Jealousy -
one Law for both the lion and the ox? - .
" "
.
: "The French Revolution. A Poem in Seven Books. Book the First.
London. Printed for J. Johnson. N 72. St. Paul's Church-yard, MDCCXCI."
, "
",
, , .
- 14
1789 . 1789 . ,
, , . -
- .
. .
the Prince - XVI (1754-1793)
Necker - (1732-1804), ,
XVI 1777-1781 1788-1790 . .
1789 .
...five thousand years - ,
, , 4004 . . .
6000 . , 1804 .
. , ,
, .
Forty men -
the Commons - ,
1789 .
in the Louvre - ,
Hide from the living - . , 6, 15-16
Duke of Burgundy -
1714 .
Atlantic mountains = Atlantean Hills, . . ""
starry hosts - . . . 535
Fayette - (. . " ,
!"). 15
1789 .
Necker... leave the kingdom -
11 1789 .
the Archbishop - . , 4, 17: " ?
?"
Aumont - (1723-1799)
14
Abbe de Sieyes - (1748-1836),
, "
"
King Henry the Fourth - IV (1553-1610), ,
;
Bourbon ... Duke of Bretagne... Earl of Bourgogne -
.
Orleans - (1747-1793)
.
, .
instead of words harsh hissings - . " ", X, 517-519
Mirabeau ... Target ... Bailly ... Clermont -
:
(1749-1791), (1736-1793),
- (1757-1792) , , (1746-1794)
...Great Henry's soul - IV (. )
...nor a soldier be seen -
, (8 1789 .)
black southern Prison - , - ,
; 29 , 11
the General of the Nation - ; . .
" , !"
...ten miles from Paris -
1793 ., 15 .
: "America. A Prophecy. Lambeth. Printed by
William Blake in the year 1793."
1775-1783 ., .
- -
"" " " . ,
, ,
.
, , , ,
. ,
-
.
. .
The shadowy Daughter of Urthona - . "" Shadowy Female:
- . . . 547; - .
.
...an eagle ... a lion ... a whale ... a serpent -
-
Washington ... Greene - ,
: (1732-1799),
(17061790), (1737-1809),
(1741-1775), (17287-1806), (1737-1793),
(1742-1786).
The morning comes... -
" ",
,
Lion and Wolf -
Ore ... serpent-form'd - ,
Enitharmon - . . " "
Thirteen Angels -
Atlantean hills = Atlantic mountains - ,
( ), -
; -
Ariston - , - ,
. - .
Bostons Angel - - ,
Bernards house - ,
1760-1769 .;
The Bard of Albion - - (William
Whitehead, 1715-1785),
Allen ... and Lee - (1738-1789), ,
, (1731-1782),
the Pestilence began -
, ,
III
a wine... the tender grape - . , 2,13
twelve years - 1777 . ( ) 1789 .
( )
the five gates -
1794 ., 12 .
: "Europe. A Prophecy. Lambeth. Printed by Willm Blake, 1794."
"" "".
(. . " ")
.
, .
. .
Five windows -
The nameless Shadowy Female - ,
, : ,
. . . "".
Los, possessor of the Moon -:
, -
Urthona - . . " "
Arise, Ore - ,
,
That Woman ... may have dominion - ,
.
.
Rintrah - . . " "
Palamabron - , , ,
Elynittria - , (. )
Ocalythron - , (. )
the council-house -
his ancient temple, serpent-form'd ... Verulam -
...deluge - ,
God a tyrant crown'd - ,
,
XVIII .
Stone of Night ... attractive North -
, -
Palamabron shot ... / And Rintrah hung - ,
(1759-1806)
(1729-1797),
A mighty Spirit ... / Nam'd Newton - . . "
"
Ethinthus - , ,
Manatha-Varcyon -
Leutha - . . " "
Antamon - , ,
Oothoon - . . " "
Theotormon - . . " "
Sotha - , , , -
Thiralatha -
Then Los arose - .
""
1809 . ( 1804 .); 4
. : "Milton. A Poem in two books. The
Author and Painter William Blake, 1804. To Justify the Ways of God to Men."
"" " "
. . ,
XIX . , ,
( ,
). ""
, ""
. " "
. , -
, , ,
- .
Jerusalem - . , . 21
Og & Anak - - , , -
.
1757, 28 - .
1767 - .
1771 - .
1776-1777 - " ",
1779 -
.
1780 - ,
. .
1782 - .
, .
1783 - " ".
1784 -
-. -
. " ", .
.
1788-1789 - , "
" ( " ",
). (" ").
" " "".
1789 - " ". " ". .
" ".
1790 - " ".
1791 - " ". .
. " ". "". ,
,
.
1794 - " ". "". " ".
1795 - " ". " ".
1796 - " " .
1797-1799 - -
.
1800-1803 - ,
().
1803, - .
1805 - "" . . . X.
.
1807-1808 - " " .
1808-1809 - "" (" ",
1804 .).
1809, - -
.
1810 - " " .
1811-1817 - . " " ,
.
1818 - ,
.
1820 - "" (" ",
1804 .).
1821 - . " "
().
1822 - (25
).
1825 - " " (
1826 .).
1825-1826 - . "
" .
1827, 12 - . 18
1831 .
Last-modified: Tue, 17 Oct 2006 16:36:08 GMT