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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, О 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, О 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!
О 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,
О 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, О 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, О Leutha,
Silken Queen!
'Where is the youthful Antamon, Prince of the Pearly Dew?
О 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.
О 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, О 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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