The Portable William Blake (32 page)

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Authors: William Blake

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Darken’d 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 Albion’s Angel give the thunderous command;
His plagues, obedient to his voice, new 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 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 & spears to earth, & 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 & shuddering, his legs quivering, convuls’d each muscle & sinew:
Sick’ning lay London’s Guardian, and the ancient miterd 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, sear’d
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 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, & 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 receiv’d the Demon’s 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 Ore.
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
EUROPE
(1794)
A PROPHECY
“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 recieve 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 & 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 & give me now and then
A cup of sparkling poetic fancies; so, when I am tipsie,
I’ll sing to you to this soft lute, and shew you all alive
The world, where every particle of dust breathes forth its joy.”
 
I took him home in my warm bosom: as we went along
Wild flowers I gather’d, & he shew’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.
PRELUDIUM
The nameless shadowy female rose from out the breast of Orc,
Her snaky hair brandishing in the winds of Enitharmon;
And thus her voice arose:
 
“0 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 travail,
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 bom & first con-sum’ 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 sieze their burning power
And bring forth howling terrors, all devouring fiery kings,
 
“Devouring & 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, & I roll inward, & my voice is past.”
She ceast, & roll’d her shady clouds
Into the secret place.
A PROPHECY
The deep of winter came,
What time the secret child
Descended thro’ the orient gates of the eternal day:
War ceas’d, & all the troops like shadows fled to their abodes.
 
Then Enitharmon saw her sons & daughters rise around;
Like pearly clouds they meet together in the crystal house;
And Los, possessor of the 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.
Sieze 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, O Orc, 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, O Rintrah, thee I call! & 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, & 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!
O lion Rintrah, raise thy fury from thy forests black!
Bring Palamabron, homed priest, skipping upon the mountains,
And silent Elynittria, the silver bowed queen.
Rintrah, where hast thou hid thy bride?
Weeps she in desart shades?
Alas! my Rintrah, bring the lovely jealous Ocalythron.
 
“Arise, my son! bring all thy brethren, O 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, O 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 strugling 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 opake,

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