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. PROROCHESTVO Knyaz' plameneet, Strazh, u vrat Al'biona v shatre; Plamya pylaet; groz v Amerike grom zagremel, Dushi vzryvaya bdyashchih bitvy muzhej, a ne spyat Vashington, Franklin, Pejn, Uorren, Gejts, Henkok i Grin; Bregi krovavy Knyaz' s vysot Al'biona slepit. Vashington molvil, hmur: "Otechestvo, vzor za morya Kin': v nebe luk natyanut i visnet tyazhkaya cep'; Zven'ev i zven'ev rzhav' so skal Al'biona syuda V'etsya: vyazat' narod Ameriki, dushi sushit', Nurit' glavy, nemotu nest', obezdolivat' duh, Ochi i nogi zhech', remni syromyatny rukam, Rabstvo - synam i vnukam, rabstva i pravnukam gnet!" Molvil moguchij, smolk, i vetr zavihrennyj vzvilsya, Tucha Vostoka vkloch', sam Knyaz' Al'biona, so skal, Gneven, glyadit drakonom, zhdet, probudivshis' vo t'me, Kamnem vedet nebesnym vlasti pylayushchij krug; Vzor ego, kosmy, plech bugry, ustrashayushchij glas V uzhas povergnut' chayut Novogo Sveta zhil'cov. Tyazhkie dybit volny more mezh nacij vojny, Krasnye tuchi, smerchi plameni mechet ono. Nedug postig Al'bion. Obmorok - Novyj Svet! Ogn' Pyshet v Zenite Neba! Krov' iz arterij Sud'by. Krovi kolesa - tuchi - katyatsya chrez okean, V tuchah krovavyh CHudo yavleno gordoe dnes': YArostno! golo! Ogn', pobedno zazhzhennyj lyud'mi! ZHarkij brusok zheleza - v kuzne rozhden CHelovek. Gnev - ego chleny, strah - dyhan'e, nevolya - kupel', Mozhet on szhech' dotla - ne nesushchij sveta Ogon'! Mrachen Korol' Anglijskij, Zapad pugaet ego. Anglii Angel, v Nishe Nochi tayashchijsya, zrit: Uzhas kometoj vys' ob®yal, razrastayas', - vernej, Krasnoj planetoj, popavshej pod zhernova komet. Mars, ty byl centr sistemy, v plennicy ty zaluchil Tri planety, pokuda Solnce ne otorvalos' Ot tvoej krasnoj moshchi, Spektra ognya, - i togda V krasnyh luchah zaalel Hram i zagrohotal Glas: "Utro voshodit, noch' uhodit, i Strazhi begut, Tresnuli groby, ladan vysoh i savan istlel. Golye kosti, prah, ponikshij, kazalos', navek, Vspryali, prosnuvshis', - ZHizn' dyhan'em opyat' v nih voshla, Sbrosiv pobedno cepi, uzy i yadra tyur'my. Fabrik raby, speshite - volya i pole vas zhdut! Nebo ocham otkrojte - vozduh, i smeh, i prostor! Serdcu velite (vzdohi vedomy Gorya emu, Za tridcat' let ni razu ne ulybnulis' usta) Vskryt'sya navstrechu zhizni, gde net ni Vrat, ni Cepej, Detyam i zhenam chtob nadsmotrshchika bich ne grozil. Pust' ih ne veryat. Vera pozzhe pridet: ne vo sne Vse eto. Pesn' vostorga gryanet: "Ishodom iz t'my Solnce vzoshlo, luna siyaet v blazhennoj nochi, Vlast' izoshla - teper' ne budet ni Volka, ni L'va!" V groma raskatah smolk. No Anglii Angel, vzbeshen, V Nishe Nochnoj gorit, rycha izgladavshimsya l'vom; Vechnyj voitel' klichet Zmiya: "CHudovishchnyj Ork! Ty li razdor poseyal, chaya mladencev pozhrat' Materi |nitarmon? Bes, Antihrist, Buntar', Smuty Samec, Rastlitel', Skot, Bogomerzkaya Tvar'. Angelu smeesh', Ork, v oblich'e uzhasnom predstat'?" Uzhas ZHivoj v otvet: "YA zmij, cep'yu skovannyj Ork, S drevom obvenchan. Vek tot konchilsya, etot - bud' moj! Ognennyj smeh Urizen v zapovedi prevratil - V desyat' svoih zavetov, - zvezdy v pustynyu vpustiv. Nyne skrizhal' sotru, religiyu broshu vetram Knizhicej dranoj! Ha! nikto ne podymet listov: Skroshatsya te v peske, bessledno potonut v moryah, Cvetom pojdut pustyni, morya omeleyut v ruch'i, Radost' v ogne roditsya, krysha mirov zatreshchit; Budet svyatosham tyazhko, Devstvennost' vzdumaj iskat', Krome kak v shlyuhe, - sram devichij utratit' speshit Doch' v kolybeli, - noch'yu temnoj, bezoblachnym dnem. Ibo ZHivoe svyato, i zhizni zhelaet ZHizn', Skverny v Vesel'e netu, v Schast'e sama CHistota: Plamya planetu zhret, no smertnyj - i tut nevredim, Plamya emu poteha, bronzovoj stala pyata, Bedra - iz serebra, glava zolotoyu i grud'!" "Gryan'te, fanfary! v boj, trinadcati angelov sonm! Vechnyj Volchishche vzvyl! Vz®yarivshijsya Lev vozrevel! Demony derzki, chuya novyj Ameriki chin, Voyut iz bezdn, trepeshchut - kozha v dubil'ne vetrov. Niv ne pozhech' im, zlaki tuchnye ne zasushit', Plug i motygu v porch' volshboj ne vvesti im i v rzhav'. Grad ne postroit' im, ne vyryt' pod mirom rva, Sornym pobegom hmelya pole ne opustoshit'. Ibo stoyat na brege strashnye troe - ya zryu - Vashington, Pejn, Uorren - v dlinnyh odezhdah svoih CHada ot molnij pryacha, - gnevno pytayut Vostok. Tuchi moj vzor zatmili. Gore mne! - starcheskij vzor! Gryan'te, fanfary! v boj, trinadcati angelov sonm! Tuchi moj vzor zatmili! Smut Predvoditel' sozhret Nebo Vostoka! D'yavol! Novorozhdennyj! I On, V tuchah i v tuchah, breg Ameriki sglozhet ognem, Korchas' v muchen'yah. O, ublyudok krovavyj, ne zrya Smerti ochami zrish': Bludnicyno lono opyat' Krugom poshlo - teper' ne popustu - vspyat' vremena! ZHresh' ty Otca, no zdes' k tebe podbiraetsya bol'. Gryan'te, fanfary! v boj, trinadcati angelov sonm! Merzostnyj! Gryaz' rozhdena! Greh! Gde sleza hot' odna? Mleko grudnoe gde? Lish' past', da kamen'ya zubej, Guby v krovi; nebesna noch' - kolybel' Satany; V tuchah ty vysish'sya, mat' - prosterta na beregu. Gryan'te, fanfary! v boj, trinadcati angelov sonm! Vechnyj Volchishche vzvyl! Vz®yarivshijsya Lev vozrevel!" Plakal tak Angel. Grom fanfar byl otvetom emu, Golos trevogi ros, Atlantiki tyazhkaya glub' Zakolyhalas'. Molcha vnemlet Amerika, spit, Uhu kolonij gluho ehom volnen'ya zvucha. Angliyu s Novym Svetom svyazala gryada holmov; Nyne nad neyu - More, tol'ko vershiny vidny. S etih vershin vzojdesh' v Atlantov Zlatuyu Stranu, V drevnij dvorec - proobraz moguchih zemnyh derzhav. Bashni bessmertny vvys' vozneslis' (takovy Ariston, Car' Krasoty, pohishchennoj deve v pamyat' vozvel). Zdes', v volshebnom dvorce, - trinadcati angelov sonm. Mrachno sidyat - pod svody tuchi vpolzayut, cherny. Gnevno vosstali vse, i grom zagremel tyazhelo Nad beregami, plamya Orka kotorye zhret; Bostona Angel rek v polete nad mirom nochnym: "CHestnost' otvergnut', - vskrichal, - chtoby ubijce pol'stit'? CHtoby ubijca bezhal ot pokayan'ya syuda? Blago zabyt' li? Otdat' radost' razbojnoj chume, CHtob ne draznit' ee? Kto - Bog, povelevshij sie? Blago skryt' ot poznan'ya, chtob vremya dat' neblagim Sily prirodnyh energij pakostno izvratit'? CHtob kuplej-prodazhej lyubov' stala, i Blago - zlom? CHtob chelovek bogatel, nad sovestiyu glumyas'? Kto zhe tot Bog, o mire tverdyashch i nesushch grozu? Kto zhe tot Angel, slez alchushch i vzdohov zemnyh? Kto vozderzhan'e smeet slavit', blazhenstvuya sam V masle, v zhiru? Dovol'no! Bol'she ya vam ne sluga!" Tak on vskrichal, razdrav odezhdy i skipetr uroniv. Strah Al'bion ob®yal - trinadcati angelov sonm Skinul, razdrav, odezhdy, skiptry svoi pobrosal. Nazem' upalo plamya. Angely pali na breg, Strashnye, strashnoj klyatvoj nyne ob®edineny. Goloe plamya - tak ih liki goreli vo t'me. Vashington, Pejn, Uorren gotovy vstretit' gostej. Vskinulos' plamya noch'yu, rykaya krov'yu chumy, Demon gorel vdali, Ameriku strahom strashchal; Plamya na plamya, dym na dym, gromyhan'e na grom V shvatke soshlis': zadymlen breg s Okeana, s Zemli, Kuznej strana pylaet - Sever, i YUg, i Vostok. V Bernarda dom mezh tem trinadcat' Gubernskih Vladyk Anglii vhodyat, bdyat, boyatsya i derzhat sovet. V strahe velikom - ogn' povsyudu - oni ne vol'ny, Vashington, past' k nogam tvoim i poshchady prosit'. Stelyutsya, plachut, lezha polzayut, vojsko zhe ih Gromche gromov revet - trinadcati shtatam na smeh, - Nazem' mechi i mushkety v strahe brosiv svoi, Zaperlis' v krepost', tshchas' spasenie tam obresti; YArost' i Prizrak Orka gonyat nazad, a vpered - Anglii Angel, shlyushchij tajnye tuchi bedy S YUga na Sever, zhgushchij, gneva prostershi kryla, Nebo Vostoka, spryatav Solnce v ih chernoj teni. Vojsko vstaet polzkom - Atlantiki gory i breg, Angely, lyudi - vse, kogo Al'bion snaryadil. Truby, fanfary - v boj! Ameriku - v bezdnu, na dno! Sorok mil'onov bylo Zapada vojsko - narod. Ognennym okom vidyat vojsko nebesno v ogne Vashington, Franklin, Pejn, Uorren, Gejts, Allen i Li. Anglii Angel kinul polchishcham klich boevoj; Vernye vihri vspryali, tuchi bedy polilis' Novym potopom - smyat' Ameriku v more, sgubit', - Tak vot zerno voskovo slizhet pozhar i pozhret. T'ma v nebesah, vnizu - Zemlya holodna i tverda; Vihrem chumnym smetaet lyudej i zverej s zemli, Zemletryasen'ya smerchi za den' nad mirom proshlis'. Zloba! vrazhda! bezum'e! vgryzlis' Amerike v krov'. Orka pylalo plamya! plamya revelo! rvalos'! Bregi ob®yav ubijstvom, rozn'yu, razdorom, reznej! ZHitel' N'yu-Jorka zaper shkaf i Pisan'e na klyuch, Bostonskij kormchij gruza na bort barkasa ne bral, Stryapchij iz Del'fi vylil sklyanku kontorskih chernil, Brosil virginskij plotnik poludostroennyj dom. Tak by i sginut' ej, Amerike, v lyutom ogne, I beskonechnost' Zemli stala b chut' men'she togda, - Derzkoj ne bud' otvagi! YArosti gnevnoj ne bud'! Plameni molnij! Sily! - sily otvadit' chumu, Povorotit' iz Anglii gost'yu v Angliyu vspyat': Strazham - bubony! yazvy - Anglii detishcham! hvor' - Jorku, Bristolyu! lepru - Londonu! morok - vojskam! Vzvyli mil'ony, laty sbrosili, rzhav' ih razdrav, Sabli i kop'ya proch'; predstali nagoyu tolpoj. Strazh Al'biona, skryuchas', skorchas', kricha i rycha, Sil'nym stenaya stonom, v krov' skrezheshcha chelyust'mi, Drozh'yu drozha, sucha nogami, zadavlennyj, zrit: Hvori London krutyat i drevnij episkopskij Jork - Glavy gniyut v predgor'yah, telo v doline gniet, - Gnevom i gnevom veet Ork i pozharom na nih; Armii grozny Noch' Ameriki szhala v kulak - Skottov krushit' i rushit', saksov, irlandcev, Uel's. Te, neschastlivcy, s fronta - zhalok razdrannyj - begut; Znamya poniklo, glozhet Ad loskuty na vetru; Vechnyj peshchernik, gordyj Bard Al'biona, poznav Uzhas, obros kulyami sala, hvostom, cheshuej; Vse v cheshue predstali angely, Zvezd Sramota, Braka vrata razverzlis', Pastyr' poros cheshuej, Szhavshis' reptiliej zhalkoj, lish' by Orka ne zret', - Plamenem plyashet tot, pylayushchej pohot'yu zhzhet - ZHeny nagie rdeyut, kinuty navznich' skottom. Ibo bessmertny Duhi-Devy, religii Ad Nyne pokinuv i uzy sbrosiv, alym cvetut, Polnyat pobedoj pohot' yunosti, zhazhdu vekov, Blednye nogi stali penny, kak chashi vina. Grady, i vesi, holmy, doly i dali - v ogne, Plavitsya nebo, kaplet plamenem, plavitsya sam Vechnyj Urizen, plachet, pryachet prokazu v dymu, Krikom krichit, potopom plachet, pechalitsya: Mir CHut' shevelitsya - snegom, prizrakom Zla, zameten; Grom oglushitel'nyj gryanul, krikov revnivyh ditya. ZHalko unizhen, vniz Urizen soshel, vopiya: Vojsko razbito, slezy bleshchut, smyaten'e i hlad. Sneg on sogreb, zheleznye vytryas, stenaya, groba Nad Atlantidoj - bezdna mrachno glotala dary. Bolen prokazoj, dryahl Urizen - zemlisto glyadit, Diko revya, horonit demona bitvy vo sklep - Amerikancy, strogi, smotryat vo sklep, k mertvecam. Angel i Slabost' pravyat - Sila dvenadcat' let spit, Slabost' svesti - vzojdet vo Francii Demon Ognya. Trony nebes tryasutsya! Nemec, ispanec, francuz Vidyat gibel' v muchen'yah moshchi anglijskoj byloj - Prahom ona poshla, chumoj umerla iznutri. Proch' pospeshili vse - spasti Nebesa, zaperet' Hram pyativratnyj, Veru, grezy durnye prognat', Rzhu otchayan'ya smyt'... No s Orkom ne sladyat oni, Vrat ne uberegut - ved' v ogne rasteksya zasov. Dikoe plamya Nebo, Zemlyu i Dushu pozhret. Perevod V. L. Toporova EUROPE 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 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. EVROPA PROROCHESTVO "Pyat' Okon u Dushi tvoej, v temnicu zatochennoj, - Lietsya vozduh skvoz' odno, muzyka sfer - v drugoe, A v tret'e - Vechnoe Vino techet blagoslovenno, CHetvertoe - otkryto v mir, vechnorastushchij, vechnyj. Est' pyatoe - daby dusha iz tela vyryvalas' V lyubuyu poru: sladok hleb, vkushaemyj ukradkoj". Takuyu pesnyu raspeval |l'f okolo tyul'pana I dumal: netu nikogo poblizosti. Vnezapno YA, vyskochiv iz-za derev, nakryl malyutku shlyapoj, Kak babochku. "Otkuda znat' tebe, druzhok, ob etom?" Moj plennik ponyal, chto emu ne izbezhat' nevoli. "Moj gospodin, - on zapishchal, - ya ves' k tvoim uslugam". "Togda skazhi mne, chto est' Mir Materii - i mertv li?" Smeyas', otvetil on: "Traktat, nachertannyj na list'yah, YA napisat' gotov, kol' ty menya vskormish' lyubov'yu, Da podnesesh' mne kubok-dva iskryashchihsya fantazij. YA, zahmelev chutok, spoyu tebe o zhizni mira, Gde radost' dyshit i zhivet v lyuboj pylinke praha". Prigrel ego ya na grudi, a on mne po doroge Na vse bessmertnye cvety ukazyval perstochkom. On ob®yasnil mne trepet ih v tot mig, kak ih sryvayut. Ih aromat menya ob®yal, bozhestvennyj, kak ladan. Kogda vernulsya ya domoj i sel k stolu rabotat', Moj |l'f, posmeivayas', mne prodiktoval "Evropu". PRELUDIUM 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. PRELYUDIYA Tenistaya Dshcher' vosstala s Orkova lozha lyubvi. Zmeepodobnye kosy veyut na lyutom vetru. Golos ee zvuchit: "Mater' |nitarmon! Kogo porodish' ty eshche, CHtoby moe unizhen'e stalo by smerti pod stat'? Hvatit mne etih muk! Tuche obychnoj legko l', kogda zagremit adskij grom? Korni moi na nebe, chahnut v pochve moi plody, V zhizn' vpadaya, kak v more, chtob navek rastvorit'sya v nej. Umeret' i ubit'! Bud' zhe ty proklyata, Mat', za to, chto menya rodila! Na golovu ya odela kromeshnoj tuchi tyurban, YA chleny moi sokryla pod savanom chernyh vod, No l'yut Solnce s Lunoj Vechnyh muchenij liven' na slaboe telo moe. Ponevole glyazhu ya v nebo, ponevole ya chtu Zvezdy v moej nedole, v besprosvetnoj zhizni moej. Vizhu: ih svet krovav. Vizhu: oni chrevaty smert'yu, uzhasom i ognem. YA vizhu: zhgut i goryat. Vizhu: zhgut i goryat vezde - Na potaennyh vershinah i v chashchah posmertnyh dnej. Mater' moya, zachem? Zachem iz drozhashchih ognej tverdynyu zhizni kuesh'? Iz grudi istorgayu svirepoe plamya tvoe. Tshchetno! ego ty puskaesh' ischadiem yarosti v zhizn'. Vot ya pusta, kak smert', V prizrachnom gore i v prizrachnom schast'e pogrebena. Kto zhe teper' smenit Vechnosti mokrye peleny? Vechnye mokrye peleny? Kto nakormit ee Mlekom i medom? Ah! Vot ulybnulas', prosnulas', i k nej sejchas pobegu!" Umolkla, tuchi za soboj Vedya v bezvestnyj put'. A PROPHECY 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, O 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, O 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! O 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, 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 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 flowe