Text

The Argument

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 wanderd in woe,

Along the vales of Leutha seeking flowers to comfort her;

And thus she spoke to the bright Marygold 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 & closd 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 Theotormons reign, took her impetuous course.

Bromion rent her with his thunders. on his stormy bed

Lay the faint maid, and soon her woes appalld his thunders hoarse

Bromion spoke. behold this harlot here on Bromions bed,

And let the jealous dolphins sport around the lovely maid;

Thy soft American plains are mine, and mine thy north & south:

Stampt 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 maist marry Bromions harlot, and protect the child

Of Bromions rage, that Oothoon shall put forth in nine moons time

Then storms rent Theotormons limbs; he rolld his waves around.

And folded his black jealous waters round the adulterate pair

Bound back to back in Bromions caves terror & meekness dwell

At entrance Theotormon sits wearing the threshold hard

With secret tears; beneath him sound like waves on a desart 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 Theotormons 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 Theotormon on my pure transparent breast.

The Eagles at her call descend & rend their bleeding prey;

Theotormon severely smiles. her soul reflects the smile;

As the clear spring mudded with feet of beasts grows pure & smiles.

The Daughters of Albion hear her woes. & eccho back her sighs.

Why does my Theotormon sit weeping upon the threshold;

And Oothoon hovers by his side, perswading him in vain:

I cry arise O 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 & day were all that I could see;

They told me that I had five senses to inclose me up.

And they inclos’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 shddow, 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 & 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 tyger 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: & 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 defild when I reflect thy image pure?

Sweetest the fruit that the worm feeds on. & the soul prey’d on by woe

The new wash’d lamb ting’d with the village smoke & the bright swan

By the red earth of our immortal river: I bathe my wings.

And I am white and pure to hover round Theotormons breast.

Then Theotormon broke his silence. and he answered.

Tell me what is the night or day to one o’erflowd with woe?

Tell me what is a thought? & of what substance is it made?

Tell me what is a joy? & 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! & where the ancient loves?

And when will they renew again & the night of oblivion past?

That I might traverse times & spaces far remote and bring

Comforts into a present sorrow and a night of pain

Where goest thou O 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 desart 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 unpercievd, 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 renewd,

The Daughters of Albion hear her woes, & eccho 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? & the narrow eyelids mock

At the labour that is above payment, and wilt thou take the ape

For thy councellor? 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 & gins & traps. & how does he surround him

With cold floods of abstraction, and with forests of solitude,

To build him castles and high spires. where kings & priests may dwell.

Till she who burns with youth. and knows no fixed lot; is bound

In spells of law to one she loaths: 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; & 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 & die a meteor & are no more.

Till the child dwell with one he hates. and do the deed he loaths

And the impure scourge force his seed into its unripe birth

E’er 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 ravens 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 & despise the treasures beneath?

But the mole knoweth what is there, & the worm shall tell it thee.

Does not the worm erect a pillar in the mouldering church yard?

And a palace of eternity in the jaws of the hungry grave

Over his porch these words are written. Take thy bliss O Man!

And sweet shall be thy taste & 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 & 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; & 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:

Once 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 is Oothoon a whore indeed! and all the virgin joys

Of life are harlots: and Theotormon is a sick mans 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 where ever 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. & 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 seekest 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 non-entity.

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 & view their wanton play

In lovely copulation bliss on bliss with Theotormon:

Red as the rosy morning, lustful as the firstborn 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 tyger, 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 & gold.

And trees. & birds. & beasts. & men. behold their eternal joy.

Arise you little glancing wings, and sing your infant joy!

Arise and drink your bliss, for every thing that lives is holy!

Thus every morning wails Oothoon. but Theotormon sits

Upon the margind ocean conversing with shadows dire.

The Daughters of Albion hear her woes, & eccho back her sighs.

Text

What is Man!

1 I found him beneath a Tree

2 Water

3 Earth

4 Air

5 Fire.

6 At length for hatching ripe he breaks the shell

7 Alas!

8 My Son! my Son!

9 I want! I want!

10 Help! Help!

11 Aged Ignorance

12 Does thy God O Priest take such vengeance as this?

13 Fear & Hope are — Vision

14 The Traveller hasteth in the Evening

15 Death's Door

16 I have said to the Worm Thou art my mother & my sister

Text

Preludium

The shadowy daughter of Urthona stood before red Orc.

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 & 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 Orc assay’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, & 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 chaind 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 & fro, & 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 siez’d the panting struggling womb; 

It joy’d: she put aside her clouds & smiled her firstborn smile; 

As when a black cloud shews its light’nings to the silent deep.

Soon as she saw the terrible boy then burst the virgin cry.

I know thee, I have found thee, & 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.

O what limb rending pains I feel. thy fire & 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 glittring fragments; silent he turn’d away, 

And wander’d down the vales of Kent in sick & drear lamentings.

A Prophecy

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 & Warren, Gates, Hancock & Green; 

Meet on the coast glowing with blood from Albions fiery Prince.

Washington spoke; Friends of America look over the Atlantic sea; 

A bended bow is lifted in heaven, & a heavy iron chain 

Descends link by link from Albions cliffs across the sea to bind 

Brothers & sons of America, till our faces pale and yellow; 

Heads deprest, 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 Albions 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 & 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 & towers 

Surrounded; heat but not light went thro’ the murky atmosphere

The King of England looking westward trembles at the vision

Albions Angel stood beside the Stone of night, and saw 

The terror like a comet, or more like the planet red

That once inclos’d the terrible wandering comets in its sphere.

Then Mars thou wast our center, & the planets three flew round 

Thy crimson disk; so e’er the Sun was rent from thy red sphere; 

The Spectre glowd his horrid length staining the temple long 

With beams of blood; & 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 & dry’d.

Reviving shake, inspiring move, breathing! awakening!

Spring like redeemed captives when their bonds & bars are burst;

Let the slave grinding at the mill, run out into the field: 

Let him look up into the heavens & laugh in the bright air; 

Let the inchained 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 opressors scourge; 

They look behind at every step & believe it is a dream.

Singing. The Sun has left his blackness, & has found a fresher morning 

And the fair Moon rejoices in the clear & cloudless night; 

For Empire is no more, and now the Lion & Wolf shall cease.

In thunders ends the voice. Then Albions Angel wrathful burnt 

Beside the Stone of Night; and like the Eternal Lions howl 

In famine & war, reply’d. Art thou not Orc, 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 transgresser of Gods Law; 

Why dost thou come to Angels eyes in this terrific form?

The terror answerd: I am Orc, 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, & none shall gather the leaves; 

But they shall rot on desart sands, & consume in bottomless deeps; 

To make the desarts blossom, & the deeps shrink to their fountains, 

And to renew the fiery joy, and burst the stony roof.

That pale religious letchery, seeking Virginity,

May find it in a harlot, and in coarse-clad honesty

The undefil’d tho’ ravish’d in her cradle night and morn: 

For every thing that lives is holy, life delights in life; 

Because the soul of sweet delight can never be defil’d.

Fires inwrap the earthly globe, yet man is not consumd; 

Amidst the lustful fires he walks: his feet become like brass, 

His knees and thighs like silver, & his breast and head like gold.

Sound! sound! my loud war-trumpets & alarm my Thirteen Angels!

Loud howls the eternal Wolf! the eternal Lion lashes his tail!

America is darkned; 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 plow 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, & in their robes I see 

Children take shelter from the lightnings, there stands Washington 

And Paine and Warren with their foreheads reard toward the east 

But clouds obscure my aged sight. A vision from afar!

Sound! sound! my loud war-trumpets & 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 & alarm my thirteen Angels!

Ah terrible birth! a young one bursting! where is the weeping mouth?

And where the mothers 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 & alarm my thirteen Angels!

Loud howls the eternal Wolf: the eternal Lion lashes his tail!

Thus wept the Angel voice & 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 & Albions 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, & as they rose deep thunder roll’d 

Around their shores: indignant burning with the fires of Orc 

And Bostons 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 & 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 unrestraind performers of the energies of nature; 

Till pity is become a trade, and generosity a science, 

That men get rich by, & the sandy desart is giv’n to the strong 

What God is he, writes laws of peace, & clothes him in a tempest 

What pitying Angel lusts for tears, and fans himself with sighs 

What crawling villain preaches abstinence & wraps himself 

In fat of lambs? no more I follow, no more obedience pay.

So cried he, rending off his robe & throwing down his scepter.

In sight of Albions Guardian, and all the thirteen Angels 

Rent off their robes to the hungry wind, & threw their golden scepters 

Down on the land of America. indignant they descended 

Headlong from out their heav’nly heights, descending swift as fires 

Over the land; naked & flaming are their lineaments seen 

In the deep gloom, by Washington & Paine & 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, & 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 Bernards house; the flames coverd the land, they rouze 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 & muskets to the earth & ran 

From their encampments and dark castles seeking where to hide 

From the grim flames; and from the visions of Orc; in sight 

Of Albions Angel; who enrag’d his secret clouds open’d 

From north to south, and burnt outstretchd 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 Albions Angels camp’d 

Darkend the Atlantic mountains & 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 & view’d the armies drawn out in the sky 

Washington Franklin Paine & Warren Allen Gates & Lee: 

And heard the voice of Albions 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, & cold & hard the earth beneath; 

And as a plague wind fill’d with insects cuts off man & 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 Orc that folded roaring fierce around 

The angry shores, and the fierce rushing of th’inhabitants together: 

The citizens of New-York close their books & lock their chests; 

The mariners of Boston drop their anchors and unlade; 

The scribe of Pensylvania 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 rolld they back with fury

On Albions Angels; then the Pestilence began in streaks of red 

Across the limbs of Albions Guardian, the spotted plague smote Bristols

And the Leprosy Londons Spirit, sickening all their bands: 

The millions sent up a howl of anguish and threw off their hammerd mail, 

And cast their swords & spears to earth, & stood a naked multitude.

Albions Guardian writhed in torment on the eastern sky 

Pale quivring toward the brain his glimmering eyes, teeth chattering 

Howling & shuddering his legs quivering; convuls’d each muscle & sinew 

Sick’ning lay Londons Guardian, and the ancient miter’d York 

Their heads on snowy hills, their ensigns sick’ning in the sky

The plagues creep on the burning winds driven by flames of Orc, 

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 & their banners seard 

With fires of hell, deform their ancient heavens with shame & woe.

Hid in his caves the Bard of Albion felt the enormous plagues.

And a cowl of flesh grew o’er his head & scales on his back & 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 Orc, 

That play around the golden roofsin 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, & 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 wrap’d, emerg’d his leprous head 

From out his holy shrine, his tears in deluge piteous 

Falling into the deep sublime! flag’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 & 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 & cold mists from the earth; 

Till Angels & weak men twelve years should govern o’er the strong: 

And then their end should come, when France reciev’d the Demons light.

Stiff shudderings shook the heav’nly thrones! 

France Spain & 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 Orc; 

But the five gates were consum’d, & their bolts and hinges melted 

And the fierce flames burnt round the heavens, & round the abodes of men

* * *FINIS* * *

Text

SONGS OF INNOCENCE

Introduction

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 chear,

Piper pipe that song again—

So I piped, he wept to hear.

Drop thy pipe thy happy pipe

Sing thy songs of happy chear,

So I sung 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

The Shepherd

How sweet is the Shepherds 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 lambs innocent call,

And he hears the ewes tender reply,

He is watchful while they are in peace,

For they know when their Shepherd is nigh.

The Ecchoing Green

The Sun does arise,

And make happy the skies.

The merry bells ring

To welcome the Spring.

The sky-lark and thrush,

The birds of the bush,

Sing louder around,

To the bells chearful sound.

While our sports shall be seen

On the Ecchoing 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 & boys,

In our youth-time were seen,

On the Ecchoing 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

.

The Lamb

Little Lamb who made thee

Dost thou know who made thee

Gave thee life & bid thee feed.

By the stream & o’er the mead;

Gave thee clothing of delight,

Softest clothing wooly 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 & he is mild,

He became a little child:

I a child & thou a lamb,

We are called by his name.

Little Lamb God bless thee.

Little Lamb God bless thee.

The Little Black Boy

My mother bore me in the southern wild,