William Blake
William Blake
William Blake
William Blake
- poems -
Publication Date:
2004
Publisher:
Poemhunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive
William Blake(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
Despite these known influences, the singularity of Blake's work makes him
difficult to classify. The 19th century scholar William Rossetti characterised Blake
as a "glorious luminary," and as "a man not forestalled by predecessors, nor to
be classed with contemporaries, nor to be replaced by known or readily
surmisable successors".
William Blake and his works have been extensively discussed and criticised over
the twentieth and now this century, however previous to that he was barely
known. He first became known in 1863 with Alexander Gilchrist’s biography “Life”
and only fully appreciated and recognised at the beginning of the twentieth
century. It seems his art had been too adventurous and unconventional for the
late eighteenth and early nineteenth century, maybe you could even say he was
ahead of his time? Either way, today he is a hugely famous figure of Romantic
literature, whose work is open to various interpretations, which has been known
to take a lifetime to establish. As well as his works being difficult to interpret,
him as a person has also provoked much debate. Henry Crabb Robinson, who
was a diarist and friend of Blake’s at the end of his life asked the question many
students of Blake are still unable to conclusively answer:
Born on 28th November 1757 in Soho in London, he had a grounded and happy
upbringing. Although always a well read and intelligent man, Blake left school at
the early age of ten to attend the Henry Pars Drawing Academy for five years.
The artists he admired as a child included Raphael, Michelangelo, Giulio, Romano
and Dürer. He started writing poetry at the age of twelve and in 1783 his friends
paid for his first collection of verses to be printed, which was entitled “Poetical
Sketches” and is now seen as a major poetical event of the 18th century. Despite
his obvious talents as a poet, his official profession was as an engraver because
he could not afford to do a painter’s apprenticeship and therefore began his
apprenticeship with the engraver James Basire in 1772. After completing his
apprenticeship six years later, he joined the Royal Academy of Art. At this point
his art and engraving remained separate – he wrote and drew for pleasure and
simply engraved to earn a living. In 1784 he opened his own shop and in the
same year completed “Island in the Moon”, which ridiculed his contemporaries of
the art and literature social circles he mixed with. Two years previous to this, he
married Catherine Boucher.
One of Blake’s main influences was the society in which he lived. He lived during
revolutionary times and witnessed the downfall of London during Britain’s war
with republican France. His disgust with society grew as he matured and 'The
Songs of Innocence and Experience' depict this transition. As well as having
radical religious ideas for the time (he did not believe in “religion of nature or
reason, but thought man’s nature was imaginative and mystical” (Lister 1968,
p.27)), he also had radical political ideas due to the day-to-day poverty he was
forced to witness.
“Living near the end of a century, born in a period of imperialistic wars, coming
to maturity during the American Revolution and to the full bloom of his genius
during the French Revolution, aware of impending economic change and sick to
Blake’s preoccupation with good and evil as well as his strong philosophical and
religious beliefs remained throughout his life and he never stopped depicting
them in his poetry and engravings. He died at the age of sixty-nine in 1827 and
although the Blake family name died with him, his legacy as a fascinating,
complex man of many artistic talents will no doubt remain strong well into this
century. Other famous works include 'Europe', 'America', 'Visions of the
Daughters of Albion' and 'The Book of Urizen'.
Although Blake is not well known for being a specifically grotesque artist, it is his
experiences and disgust with London society in the late eighteenth century that
clearly emulates elements of the grotesque. As it would be impossible to discuss
all of Blake’s works, this study will focus on 'Songs of Innocence and Experience',
particularly 'Songs of Experience' to learn how he portrayed his views on society
and how the grotesque falls into that.
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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.
O what limb-rending pains I feel! thy fire and my frost
Mingle in howling pains, in furrows by thy lightnings rent.
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But in the Wine-presses the human grapes sing not nor dance:
They howl and writhe in shoals of torment, in fierce flames consuming,
In chains of iron and in dungeons circled with ceaseless fires,
In pits and dens and shades of death, in shapes of torment and woe:
The plates and screws and racks and saws and cords and fires and cisterns
The cruel joys of Luvah's Daughters, lacerating with knives
And whips their victims, and the deadly sport of Luvah's Sons.
They dance around the dying and they drink the howl and groan,
They catch the shrieks in cups of gold, they hand them to one another:
These are the sports of love, and these the sweet delights of amorous play,
Tears of the grape, the death sweat of the cluster, the last sigh
Of the mild youth who listens to the luring songs of Luvah.----
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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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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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But in the Wine-presses the human grapes sing not nor dance:
They howl and writhe in shoals of torment, in fierce flames consuming,
In chains of iron and in dungeons circled with ceaseless fires,
In pits and dens and shades of death, in shapes of torment and woe:
The plates and screws and racks and saws and cords and fires and cisterns
The cruel joys of Luvah's Daughters, lacerating with knives
And whips their victims, and the deadly sport of Luvah's Sons.
They dance around the dying and they drink the howl and groan,
They catch the shrieks in cups of gold, they hand them to one another:
These are the sports of love, and these the sweet delights of amorous play,
Tears of the grape, the death sweat of the cluster, the last sigh
Of the mild youth who listens to the luring songs of Luvah.
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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:
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Samson, the strongest of the children of men, I sing; how he was foiled by
woman's arts, by a false wife brought to the gates of death! O Truth! that shinest
with propitious beams, turning our earthly night to heavenly day, from presence
of the Almighty Father, thou visitest our darkling world with blessed feet,
bringing good news of Sin and Death destroyed! O whiterobed Angel, guide my
timorous hand to write as on a lofty rock with iron pen the words of truth, that all
who pass may read. -- Now Night, noontide of damned spirits, over the silent
earth spreads her pavilion, while in dark council sat Philista's lords; and, where
strength failed, black thoughts in ambush lay. Their helmed youth and aged
warriors in dust together lie, and Desolation spreads his wings over the land of
Palestine: from side to side the land groans, her prowess lost, and seeks to hide
her bruised head under the mists of night, breeding dark plots. For Dalila's fair
arts have long been tried in vain; in vain she wept in many a treacherous tear.
`Go on, fair traitress; do thy guileful work; ere once again the changing moon
her circuit hath performed, thou shalt overcome, and conquer him by force
unconquerable, and wrest his secret from him. Call thine alluring arts and
honest-seeming brow, the holy kiss of love, and the transparent tear; put on fair
linen that with the lily vies, purple and silver; neglect thy hair, to seem more
lovely in thy loose attire; put on thy country's pride, deceit, and eyes of love
decked in mild sorrow; and sell thy lord for gold.' For now, upon her sumptuous
couch reclined in gorgeous pride, she still entreats, and still she grasps his
vigorous knees with her fair arms. `Thou lov'st me not! thou'rt war, thou art not
love! O foolish Dalila! O weak woman! it is death clothed in flesh thou lovest, and
thou hast been encircled in his arms! Alas, my lord, what am I calling thee? Thou
art my God! To thee I pour my tears for sacrifice morning and evening. My days
are covered with sorrow, shut up, darkened! By night I am deceived! Who says
that thou wast born of mortal kind? Destruction was thy father, a lioness suckled
thee, thy young hands tore human limbs, and gorged human flesh. Come hither,
Death; art thou not Samson's servant? 'Tis Dalila that calls, thy master's wife;
no, stay, and let thy master do the deed: one blow of that strong arm would
ease my pain; then should I lay at quiet and have rest. Pity forsook thee at thy
birth! O Dagon furious, and all ye gods of Palestine, withdraw your hand! I am
but a weak woman. Alas, I am wedded to your enemy! I will go mad, and tear
my crisped hair; 1000 I'll run about, and pierce the ears o' th' gods! O Samson,
hold me not; thou lovest me not! Look not upon me with those deathful eyes!
Thou wouldst my death, and death approaches fast.' Thus, in false tears, she
bath'd his feet, and thus she day by day oppressed his soul: he seemed a
mountain; his brow among the clouds; she seemed a silver stream, his feet
embracing. Dark thoughts rolled to and fro in his mind, like thunder clouds
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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, to welcome in the year.
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1.1 The daughters of the Seraphim led round their sunny flocks,
1.2 All but the youngest: she in paleness sought the secret air,
1.3 To fade away like morning beauty from her mortal day:
1.4 Down by the river of Adona her soft voice is heard,
1.5 And thus her gentle lamentation falls like morning dew:
1.6 'O life of this our spring! why fades the lotus of the water,
1.7 Why fade these children of the spring, born but to smile and fall?
1.8 Ah! Thel is like a wat'ry bow, and like a parting cloud;
1.9 Like a reflection in a glass; like shadows in the water;
1.10 Like dreams of infants, like a smile upon an infant's face;
1.11 Like the dove's voice; like transient day; like music in the air.
1.12 Ah! gentle may I lay me down, and gentle rest my head,
1.13 And gentle sleep the sleep of death, and gentle hear the voice
1.14 Of him that walketh in the garden in the evening time.'
1.15 The Lily of the valley, breathing in the humble grass,
1.16 Answer'd the lovely maid and said: 'I am a wat'ry weed,
1.17 And I am very small and love to dwell in lowly vales;
1.18 So weak, the gilded butterfly scarce perches on my head.
1.19 Yet I am visited from heaven, and he that smiles on all
1.20 Walks in the valley and each morn over me spreads his hand,
1.21 Saying, 'Rejoice, thou humble grass, thou new-born lily-flower,
1.22 Thou gentle maid of silent valleys and of modest brooks;
1.23 For thou shalt be clothed in light, and fed with morning manna,
1.24 Till summer's heat melts thee beside the fountains and the springs
1.25 To flourish in eternal vales.' Then why should Thel complain?
1.26 Why should the mistress of the vales of Har utter a sigh?'
1.27 She ceas'd and smil'd in tears, then sat down in her silver shrine.
1.28 Thel answer'd: 'O thou little virgin of the peaceful valley,
1.29 Giving to those that cannot crave, the voiceless, the o'ertired;
1.38 'Queen of the vales,' the Lily answer'd, 'ask the tender cloud,
1.39 And it shall tell thee why it glitters in the morning sky,
1.40 And why it scatters its bright beauty thro' the humid air.
1.41 Descend, O little Cloud, and hover before the eyes of Thel.'
1.42 The Cloud descended, and the Lily bow'd her modest head
1.43 And went to mind her numerous charge among the verdant grass.
II
2.1 'O little Cloud,' the virgin said, 'I charge thee tell to me
2.2 Why thou complainest not when in one hour thou fade away:
2.3 Then we shall seek thee, but not find. Ah! Thel is like to thee:
2.4 I pass away: yet I complain, and no one hears my voice.'
2.5 The Cloud then shew'd his golden head and his bright form emerg'd,
2.6 Hovering and glittering on the air before the face of Thel.
2.7 'O virgin, know'st thou not our steeds drink of the golden springs
2.8 Where Luvah doth renew his horses? Look'st thou on my youth,
2.9 And fearest thou, because I vanish and am seen no more,
2.10 Nothing remains? O maid, I tell thee, when I pass away
2.11 It is to tenfold life, to love, to peace and raptures holy:
2.12 Unseen descending, weigh my light wings upon balmy flowers,
2.13 And court the fair-eyed dew to take me to her shining tent:
2.14 The weeping virgin trembling kneels before the risen sun,
2.15 Till we arise link'd in a golden band and never part,
2.16 But walk united, bearing food to all our tender flowers.'
2.17 'Dost thou, O little Cloud? I fear that I am not like thee,
2.18 For I walk thro' the vales of Har, and smell the sweetest flowers,
2.19 But I feed not the little flowers; I hear the warbling birds,
2.20 But I feed not the warbling birds; they fly and seek their food:
2.24 The Cloud reclin'd upon his airy throne and answer'd thus:
2.25 'Then if thou art the food of worms, O virgin of the skies,
2.26 How great thy use, how great thy blessing! Every thing that lives
2.27 Lives not alone nor for itself. Fear not, and I will call
2.28 The weak worm from its lowly bed, and thou shalt hear its voice,
2.29 Come forth, worm of the silent valley, to thy pensive queen.'
2.30 The helpless worm arose, and sat upon the Lily's leaf,
2.31 And the bright Cloud sail'd on, to find his partner in the vale.
III
3.1 Then Thel astonish'd view'd the Worm upon its dewy bed.
3.2 'Art thou a Worm? Image of weakness, art thou but a Worm?
3.3 I see thee like an infant wrapped in the Lily's leaf
3.4 Ah! weep not, little voice, thou canst not speak, but thou canst weep.
3.5 Is this a Worm? I see thee lay helpless and naked, weeping,
3.6 And none to answer, none to cherish thee with mother's smiles.'
3.7 The Clod of Clay heard the Worm's voice and rais'd her pitying head:
3.8 She bow'd over the weeping infant, and her life exhal'd
3.9 In milky fondness: then on Thel she fix'd her humble eyes.
3.10 'O beauty of the vales of Har! we live not for ourselves.
3.11 Thou seest me the meanest thing, and so I am indeed.
3.12 My bosom of itself is cold, and of itself is dark;
3.13 But he, that loves the lowly, pours his oil upon my head,
3.14 And kisses me, and binds his nuptial bands around my breast,
3.15 And says: 'Thou mother of my children, I have loved thee
3.16 And I have given thee a crown that none can take away.'
3.17 But how this is, sweet maid, I know not, and I cannot know;
3.18 I ponder, and I cannot ponder; yet I live and love.'
3.19 The daughter of beauty wip'd her pitying tears with her white veil,
3.20 And said: 'Alas! I knew not this, and therefore did I weep.
3.21 That God would love a Worm I knew, and punish the evil foot
3.22 That wilful bruis'd its helpless form; but that he cherish'd it
3.26 'Queen of the vales,' the matron Clay answer'd, 'I heard thy sighs,
3.27 And all thy moans flew o'er my roof, but I have call'd them down.
3.28 Wilt thou, O Queen, enter my house? 'Tis given thee to enter
3.29 And to return: fear nothing, enter with thy virgin feet.'
IV
4.1 The eternal gates' terrific porter lifted the northern bar:
4.2 Thel enter'd in and saw the secrets of the land unknown.
4.3 She saw the couches of the dead, and where the fibrous roots
4.4 Of every heart on earth infixes deep its restless twists:
4.5 A land of sorrows and of tears where never smile was seen.
4.6 She wander'd in the land of clouds thro' valleys dark, list'ning
4.7 Dolours and lamentations; waiting oft beside a dewy grave
4.8 She stood in silence, list'ning to the voices of the ground,
4.9 Till to her own grave plot she came, and there she sat down,
4.10 And heard this voice of sorrow breathed from the hollow pit.
4.21 The Virgin started from her seat, and with a shriek
4.22 Fled back unhinder'd till she came into the vales of Har.
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So a Fairy sung.
From the leaves I sprung;
He leap'd from the spray
To flee away;
But in my hat caught,
He soon shall be taught.
Let him laugh, let him cry,
He's my Butterfly;
For I've pull'd out the sting
Of the marriage-ring.
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Little Fly,
Thy summer's play
My thoughtless hand
Has brushed 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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Then the groan and the dolor are quite forgotten, and the slave grinding at the
mill,
And the captive in chains, and the poor in the prison, and the soldier in the field
When the shatter'd bone hath laid him groaning among the happier dead.
'Compel the poor to live upon a crust of bread, by soft mild arts.
Smile when they frown, frown when they smile; and when a man looks pale
With labour and abstinence, say he looks healthy and happy;
And when his children sicken, let them die; there are enough
Born, even too many, and our earth will be overrun
Without these arts. If you would make the poor live with temper,
With pomp give every crust of bread you give; with gracious cunning
Magnify small gifts; reduce the man to want a gift, and then give with pomp.
Say he smiles if you hear him sigh. If pale, say he is ruddy.
The sun has left his blackness and has found a fresher morning,
And the mild moon rejoices in the clear and cloudless night,
And Man walks forth from midst of the fires: the evil is all consum'd.
His eyes behold the Angelic spheres arising night and day;
The stars consum'd like a lamp blown out, and in their stead, behold
The expanding eyes of Man behold the depths of wondrous worlds!
One Earth, one sea beneath; nor erring globes wander, but stars
Of fire rise up nightly from the ocean; and one sun
Each morning, like a new born man, issues with songs and joy
Calling the Plowman to his labour and the Shepherd to his rest.
He walks upon the Eternal Mountains, raising his heavenly voice,
Conversing with the animal forms of wisdom night and day,
That, risen from the sea of fire, renew'd walk o'er the Earth;
For Tharmas brought his flocks upon the hills, and in the vales
Around the Eternal Man's bright tent, the little children play
Among the woolly flocks. The hammer of Urthona sounds
In the deep caves beneath; his limbs renew'd, his Lions roar
Around the Furnaces and in evening sport upon the plains.
They raise their faces from the earth, conversing with the Man:
'How is it we have walk'd through fires and yet are not consum'd?
How is it that all things are chang'd, even as in ancient times?'
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Thee the ancientest peer, Duke of Burgundy, rose from the monarch's right
hand, red as wines
From his mountains; an odor 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?
92 And shall Necker, the hind of Geneva, stretch out his crook'd sickle o'er
fertile France
93 Till our purple and crimson is faded to russet, and the kingdoms of earth
bound in sheaves,
94 And the ancient forests of chivalry hewn, and the joys of the combat burnt
for fuel;
95 Till the power and dominion is rent from the pole, sword and sceptre from
sun and moon,
96 The law and gospel from fire and air, and eternal reason and science
97 From the deep and the solid, and man lay his faded head down on the rock
98 Of eternity, where the eternal lion and eagle remain to devour?
99 This to prevent--urg'd by cries in day, and prophetic dreams hovering in
night,
100 To enrich the lean earth that craves, furrow'd with plows, whose seed is
departing from her--
101 Thy nobles have gather'd thy starry hosts round this rebellious city,
102 To rouze up the ancient forests of Europe, with clarions of cloud breathing
war,
103 To hear the horse neigh to the drum and trumpet, and the trumpet and war
shout reply.
104 Stretch the hand that beckons the eagles of heaven; they cry over Paris,
and wait
105 Till Fayette point his finger to Versailles; the eagles of heaven must have
their prey!'
106 He ceas'd, and burn'd silent; red clouds roll round Necker; a weeping is
111 The King lean'd on his mountains, then lifted his head and look'd on his
armies, that shone
112 Through heaven, tinging morning with beams of blood; then turning to
Burgundy, troubled:
113 'Burgundy, thou wast born a lion! My soul is o'ergrown with distress.
114 For the nobles of France, and dark mists roll round me and blot the writing
of God
115 Written in my bosom. Necker rise! leave the kingdom, thy life is
surrounded with snares.
116 We have call'd an Assembly, but not to destroy; we have given gifts, not to
the weak;
117 I hear rushing of muskets, and bright'ning of swords, and visages redd'ning
with war,
118 Frowning and looking up from brooding villages and every dark'ning city.
119 Ancient wonders frown over the kingdom, and cries of women and babes
are heard,
120 And tempests of doubt roll around me, and fierce sorrows, because of the
nobles of France.
121 Depart! answer not! for the tempest must fall, as in years that are passed
away.'
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Follow me he said,
Weep not for the maid;
In my palace deep.
Lyca lies asleep.
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In futurity
I prophesy see.
That the earth from sleep.
(Grave the sentence deep)
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THE ARGUMENT
THE MARRIAGE OF
THE MARRIAGE OF
THE MARRIAGE OF
10
A MEMORABLE FANCY
II
12
PROVERBS OF HELL
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THE MARRIAGE OF
15
THE MARRIAGE OF
z6
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THE MARRIAGE OF
i8
Exuberance is Beauty.
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THE MARRIAGE OF
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THE MARRIAGE OF
A MEMORABLE FANCY
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i3
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THE MARRIAGE OF
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A MEMORABLE FANCY
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28
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THE MARRIAGE OF
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A MEMORABLE FANCY
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THE MARRIAGE OF
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THE MARRIAGE OF
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THE MARRIAGE OF
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THE MARRIAGE OF
A MEMORABLE FANCY
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THE MARRIAGE OF
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A SONG OF LIBERTY
6. And weep!
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THE MARRIAGE OF
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CHORUS
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AFRICA
Times rolled on o'er all the sons of Har, time after time
Orc on Mount Atlas howld, chain'd down with the Chain of Jealousy
Then Oothoon hoverd over Judah & Jerusalem
And Jesus heard her voice (a man of sorrows) he recievd
A Gospel from wretched Theotormon.
Clouds roll heavy upon the Alps round Rousseau & Voltaire:
And on the mountains of Lebanon round the deceased Gods
Of Asia; & on the deserts of Africa round the Fallen Angels
The Guardian Prince of Albion burns in his nightly tent
ASIA
Shall not the King call for Famine from the heath?
Nor the Priest, for Pestilence from the fen?
To restrain! to dismay! to thin!
The inhabitants of mountain and plain;
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