The Portable William Blake (16 page)
Read The Portable William Blake Online
Authors: William Blake
THE GREY MONK
THE SMILE
THE GOLDEN NET
TO THE QUEEN
“I die, I die!” the Mother said,
“My Children die for lack of Bread.
What more has the merciless Tyrant said?”
The Monk sat down on the Stony Bed.
“My Children die for lack of Bread.
What more has the merciless Tyrant said?”
The Monk sat down on the Stony Bed.
The blood red ran from the Grey Monk’s side,
His hands & feet were wounded wide,
His Body bent, his arms & knees
Like to the roots of ancient trees.
His hands & feet were wounded wide,
His Body bent, his arms & knees
Like to the roots of ancient trees.
His eye was dry; no tear could flow:
A hollow groan first spoke his woe.
He trembled & shudder’d upon the Bed;
At length with a feeble cry he said:
A hollow groan first spoke his woe.
He trembled & shudder’d upon the Bed;
At length with a feeble cry he said:
“When God commanded this hand to write
In the studious hours of deep midnight,
He told me the writing I wrote should prove
The Bane of all that on Earth I lov’d.
In the studious hours of deep midnight,
He told me the writing I wrote should prove
The Bane of all that on Earth I lov’d.
“My Brother starv’d between two Walls,
His Children’s Cry my Soul appalls;
I mock’d at the wrack & griding chain,
My bent body mocks their torturing pain.
His Children’s Cry my Soul appalls;
I mock’d at the wrack & griding chain,
My bent body mocks their torturing pain.
“Thy Father drew his sword in the North,
With his thousands strong he marched forth;
Thy Brother has arm’d himself in Steel
To avenge the wrongs thy Children feel.
With his thousands strong he marched forth;
Thy Brother has arm’d himself in Steel
To avenge the wrongs thy Children feel.
“But vain the Sword & vain the Bow,
They never can work War’s overthrow.
The Hermit’s Prayer & the Widow’s tear
Alone can free the World from fear.
They never can work War’s overthrow.
The Hermit’s Prayer & the Widow’s tear
Alone can free the World from fear.
“For a Tear is an Intellectual Thing,
And a Sigh is the Sword of an Angel King,
And the bitter groan of the Martyr’s woe
Is an Arrow from the Almightie’s Bow.
And a Sigh is the Sword of an Angel King,
And the bitter groan of the Martyr’s woe
Is an Arrow from the Almightie’s Bow.
“The hand of Vengeance found the Bed
To which the Purple Tyrant fled;
The iron hand crush’d the Tyrant’s head
And became a Tyrant in his stead.”
LONG JOHN BROWN AND LITTLE MARY BELLTo which the Purple Tyrant fled;
The iron hand crush’d the Tyrant’s head
And became a Tyrant in his stead.”
Little Mary Bell had a Fairy in a Nut,
Long John Brown had the Devil in his Gut;
Long John Brown lov’d Little Mary Bell,
And the Fairy drew the Devil into the Nut-shell.
Long John Brown had the Devil in his Gut;
Long John Brown lov’d Little Mary Bell,
And the Fairy drew the Devil into the Nut-shell.
Her Fairy skip’d out & her Fairy Skip’d in;
He laugh’d at the Devil saying “Love is a Sin.”
The Devil he raged & the Devil he was wroth,
And the Devil enter’d into the Young Man’s broth.
He laugh’d at the Devil saying “Love is a Sin.”
The Devil he raged & the Devil he was wroth,
And the Devil enter’d into the Young Man’s broth.
He was soon in the Gut of the loving Young Swain,
For John eat & drank to drive away Love’s pain;
But all he could do he grew thinner & thinner,
Tho’ he eat & drank as much as ten Men for his dinner.
For John eat & drank to drive away Love’s pain;
But all he could do he grew thinner & thinner,
Tho’ he eat & drank as much as ten Men for his dinner.
Some said he had a Wolf in his stomach day & night,
Some said he had the Devil & they guess’d right;
The Fairy skip’d about in his Glory, Joy & Pride,
And he laugh’d at the Devil till poor John Brown died.
Some said he had the Devil & they guess’d right;
The Fairy skip’d about in his Glory, Joy & Pride,
And he laugh’d at the Devil till poor John Brown died.
Then the Fairy skip’d out of the old Nut shell,
And woe & alack for Pretty Mary Belli
For the Devil crept in when the Fairy skip’d out,
And there goes Miss Bell with her fusty old Nut.
WILLIAM BONDAnd woe & alack for Pretty Mary Belli
For the Devil crept in when the Fairy skip’d out,
And there goes Miss Bell with her fusty old Nut.
I wonder whether the Girls are mad,
And I wonder whether they mean to kill,
And I wonder if William Bond will die,
For assuredly he is very ill.
And I wonder whether they mean to kill,
And I wonder if William Bond will die,
For assuredly he is very ill.
He went to Church in a May morning
Attended by Fairies, one, two & three;
But the Angels of Providence drove them away,
And he return’d home in Misery.
Attended by Fairies, one, two & three;
But the Angels of Providence drove them away,
And he return’d home in Misery.
He went not out to the Field nor Fold,
He went not out to the Village nor Town,
But he came home in a black, black cloud,
And took to his Bed & there lay down.
He went not out to the Village nor Town,
But he came home in a black, black cloud,
And took to his Bed & there lay down.
And an Angel of Providence at his Feet,
And an Angel of Providence at his Head,
And in the midst a Black, Black Cloud,
And in the midst the Sick Man on his Bed.
And an Angel of Providence at his Head,
And in the midst a Black, Black Cloud,
And in the midst the Sick Man on his Bed.
And on his Right hand was Mary Green,
And on his Left hand was his Sister Jane,
And their tears fell thro’ the black, black Cloud
To drive away the sick man’s pain.
And on his Left hand was his Sister Jane,
And their tears fell thro’ the black, black Cloud
To drive away the sick man’s pain.
“O William, if thou dost another Love,
Dost another Love better than poor Mary,
Go & take that other to be thy Wife,
And Mary Green shall her servant be.”
Dost another Love better than poor Mary,
Go & take that other to be thy Wife,
And Mary Green shall her servant be.”
“Yes, Mary, I do another Love,
Another I Love far better than thee,
And Another I will have for my Wife;
Then what have I to do with thee?
Another I Love far better than thee,
And Another I will have for my Wife;
Then what have I to do with thee?
“For thou art Melancholy Pale,
And on thy Head is the cold Moon’s shine,
But she is ruddy & bright as day,
And the sun beams dazzle from her eyne.”
And on thy Head is the cold Moon’s shine,
But she is ruddy & bright as day,
And the sun beams dazzle from her eyne.”
Mary trembled & Mary chill’d
And Mary fell’down on the right hand floor,
That William Bond & his Sister Jane
Scarce could recover Mary more.
And Mary fell’down on the right hand floor,
That William Bond & his Sister Jane
Scarce could recover Mary more.
When Mary woke & found her Laid
On the Right hand of her William dear,
On the Right hand of his loved Bed,
And saw her William Bond so near,
On the Right hand of her William dear,
On the Right hand of his loved Bed,
And saw her William Bond so near,
The Fairies that fled from William Bond
Danced around her Shining Head;
They danced over the Pillow white,
And the Angels of Providence left the Bed.
Danced around her Shining Head;
They danced over the Pillow white,
And the Angels of Providence left the Bed.
I thought Love liv’d in the hot sun shine,
But O, he lives in the Moony light !
I thought to find Love in the heat of day,
But sweet Love is the Comforter of Night.
But O, he lives in the Moony light !
I thought to find Love in the heat of day,
But sweet Love is the Comforter of Night.
Seek Love in the Pity of others’ Woe,
In the gentle relief of another’s care,
In the darkness of night & the winter’s snow,
In the naked & outcast, Seek Love there!
In the gentle relief of another’s care,
In the darkness of night & the winter’s snow,
In the naked & outcast, Seek Love there!
There is a Smile of Love,
And there is a Smile of Deceit,
And there is a Smile of Smiles
In which these two Smiles meet.
And there is a Smile of Deceit,
And there is a Smile of Smiles
In which these two Smiles meet.
And there is a Frown of Hate,
And there is a Frown of Disdain,
And there is a Frown of Frowns
Which you strive to forget in vain,
And there is a Frown of Disdain,
And there is a Frown of Frowns
Which you strive to forget in vain,
For it sticks in the Heart’s deep core
And it sticks in the deep Back bone;
And no Smile that ever was smil’d,
But only one Smile alone,
And it sticks in the deep Back bone;
And no Smile that ever was smil’d,
But only one Smile alone,
That betwixt the Cradle & Grave
It only once Smil’d can be;
But, when it once is Smil’d,
There’s an end to all Misery.
It only once Smil’d can be;
But, when it once is Smil’d,
There’s an end to all Misery.
Three Virgins at the break of day:
‘Whither, young Man, whither away ?
Alas for woel alas for woel”
They cry, & tears for ever flow.
The one was Cloth’d in flames of fire,
The other Cloth’d in iron wire,
The other Cloth’d in tears & sighs
Dazling bright before my Eyes.
They bore a Net of golden twine
To hang upon the branches fine.
Pitying I wept to see the woe
That Love & Beauty undergo,
To be consum’d in burning Fires
And in ungratified desires,
And in tears cloth’d Night & day
Melted all my Soul away.
When they saw my Tears, a Smile
That did Heaven itself beguile,
Bore the Golden Net aloft
As on downy Pinions soft
Over the Morning of my day.
Underneath the Net I stray,
Now intreating Burning Fire,
Now intreating Iron Wire,
Now intreating Tears & Sighs.
O when will the morning rise?
MARY‘Whither, young Man, whither away ?
Alas for woel alas for woel”
They cry, & tears for ever flow.
The one was Cloth’d in flames of fire,
The other Cloth’d in iron wire,
The other Cloth’d in tears & sighs
Dazling bright before my Eyes.
They bore a Net of golden twine
To hang upon the branches fine.
Pitying I wept to see the woe
That Love & Beauty undergo,
To be consum’d in burning Fires
And in ungratified desires,
And in tears cloth’d Night & day
Melted all my Soul away.
When they saw my Tears, a Smile
That did Heaven itself beguile,
Bore the Golden Net aloft
As on downy Pinions soft
Over the Morning of my day.
Underneath the Net I stray,
Now intreating Burning Fire,
Now intreating Iron Wire,
Now intreating Tears & Sighs.
O when will the morning rise?
Sweet Mary, the first time she ever was there,
Came into the Ball room among the Fair;
The young Men & Maidens around her throng,
And these are the words upon every tongue:
Came into the Ball room among the Fair;
The young Men & Maidens around her throng,
And these are the words upon every tongue:
“An Angel is here from the heavenly climes,
Or again does return the golden times;
Her eyes outshine every brilliant ray,
She opens her lips—’tis the Month of May.”
Or again does return the golden times;
Her eyes outshine every brilliant ray,
She opens her lips—’tis the Month of May.”
Mary moves in soft beauty & conscious delight
To augment with sweet smiles all the joys of the Night,
Nor once blushes to own to the rest of the Fair
That sweet Love & Beauty are worthy our care.
To augment with sweet smiles all the joys of the Night,
Nor once blushes to own to the rest of the Fair
That sweet Love & Beauty are worthy our care.
In the Morning the Villagers rose with delight
And repeated with pleasure the joys of the night,
And Mary arose among Friends to be free,
But no Friend from henceforward thou, Mary, shalt see.
And repeated with pleasure the joys of the night,
And Mary arose among Friends to be free,
But no Friend from henceforward thou, Mary, shalt see.
Some said she was proud, some call’d her a whore,
And some, when she passed by, shut to the door;
A damp cold came o’er her, her blushes all fled;
Her lillies & roses are blighted & shed.
And some, when she passed by, shut to the door;
A damp cold came o’er her, her blushes all fled;
Her lillies & roses are blighted & shed.
“O, why was I born with a different Face?
Why was I not born like this Envious Race?
Why did Heaven adorn me with bountiful hand,
And then set me down in an envious Land?
Why was I not born like this Envious Race?
Why did Heaven adorn me with bountiful hand,
And then set me down in an envious Land?
“To be weak as a Lamb & smooth as a dove,
And not to raise Envy, is call’d Christian Love;
But if you raise Envy your Merit’s to blame
For planting such spite in the weak & the tame.
And not to raise Envy, is call’d Christian Love;
But if you raise Envy your Merit’s to blame
For planting such spite in the weak & the tame.
“I will humble my Beauty, I will not dress fine,
I will keep from the Ball, & my Eyes shall not shine;
And if any Girl’s Lover forsakes her for me,
I’ll refuse him my hand & from Envy be free.”
I will keep from the Ball, & my Eyes shall not shine;
And if any Girl’s Lover forsakes her for me,
I’ll refuse him my hand & from Envy be free.”
She went out in Morning attir’d plain & neat;
“Proud Mary’s gone Mad,” said the Child in the Street;
She went out in Morning in plain neat attire,
And came home in Evening bespatter’d with mire.
“Proud Mary’s gone Mad,” said the Child in the Street;
She went out in Morning in plain neat attire,
And came home in Evening bespatter’d with mire.
She trembled & wept, sitting on the Bed side;
She forgot it was Night, & she trembled & cried;
She forgot it was Night, she forgot it was Morn,
Her soft Memory imprinted with Faces of Scorn,
She forgot it was Night, & she trembled & cried;
She forgot it was Night, she forgot it was Morn,
Her soft Memory imprinted with Faces of Scorn,
With Faces of Scorn & with Eyes of disdain
Like foul Fiends inhabiting Mary’s mild Brain;
She remembers no Face like the Human Divine.
All Faces have Envy, sweet Mary, but thine;
Like foul Fiends inhabiting Mary’s mild Brain;
She remembers no Face like the Human Divine.
All Faces have Envy, sweet Mary, but thine;
And thine is a Face of sweet Love in despair,
And thine is a Face of mild sorrow & care,
And thine is a Face of wild terror & fear
That shall never be quiet till laid on its bier.
THE LAND. OF DREAMSAnd thine is a Face of mild sorrow & care,
And thine is a Face of wild terror & fear
That shall never be quiet till laid on its bier.
Awake, awake, my little Boy!
Thou wast thy Mother’s only joy;
Why dost thou weep in thy gentle sleep?
Awake! thy Father does thee keep.
Thou wast thy Mother’s only joy;
Why dost thou weep in thy gentle sleep?
Awake! thy Father does thee keep.
“O, what Land is the Land of Dreams?
What are its Mountains & what are its Streams?
O Father, I saw my Mother there,
Among the Lillies by waters fair.
What are its Mountains & what are its Streams?
O Father, I saw my Mother there,
Among the Lillies by waters fair.
“Among the Lambs, clothed in white,
She walk’d with her Thomas in sweet delight.
I wept for joy, like a dove I mourn;
O! when shall I again return?”
She walk’d with her Thomas in sweet delight.
I wept for joy, like a dove I mourn;
O! when shall I again return?”
Dear Child, I also by pleasant Streams
Have wander’d all Night in the Land of Dreams;
But tho’ calm & warm the waters wide,
I could not get to the other side.
Have wander’d all Night in the Land of Dreams;
But tho’ calm & warm the waters wide,
I could not get to the other side.
“Father, O Father! what do we here
In this Land of unbelief & fear?
The Land of Dreams is better far,
Above the light of the Morning Star.”
DEDICATION OF THE ILLUSTRATIONS TO BLAIR’S GRAVEIn this Land of unbelief & fear?
The Land of Dreams is better far,
Above the light of the Morning Star.”
TO THE QUEEN
The Door of Death is made of Gold,
That Mortal Eyes cannot behold;
But, when the Mortal Eyes are clos‘d,
And cold and pale the Limbs repos’d,
The Soul awakes; and, wond’ring, sees
In her mild Hand the golden Keys:
The Grave is Heaven’s golden Gate,
And rich and poor around it wait;
O Shepherdess of England’s Fold,
Behold this Gate of Pearl and Gold!
That Mortal Eyes cannot behold;
But, when the Mortal Eyes are clos‘d,
And cold and pale the Limbs repos’d,
The Soul awakes; and, wond’ring, sees
In her mild Hand the golden Keys:
The Grave is Heaven’s golden Gate,
And rich and poor around it wait;
O Shepherdess of England’s Fold,
Behold this Gate of Pearl and Gold!
To dedicate to England’s Queen
The Visions that my Soul has seen,
And, by Her kind permission, bring
What I have borne on solemn Wing
From the vast regions of the Grave,
Before Her Throne my Wings I wave;
Bowing before my Sov’reign’s Feet,
“The Grave produc’d these Blossoms sweet
In mild repose from Earthly strife;
The Blossoms of Eternal Lifel”
The Visions that my Soul has seen,
And, by Her kind permission, bring
What I have borne on solemn Wing
From the vast regions of the Grave,
Before Her Throne my Wings I wave;
Bowing before my Sov’reign’s Feet,
“The Grave produc’d these Blossoms sweet
In mild repose from Earthly strife;
The Blossoms of Eternal Lifel”
If it is True, what the Prophets write,
That the heathen Gods are all stocks & stones,
Shall we, for the sake of being Polite,
Feed them with the juice of our marrow bones?
That the heathen Gods are all stocks & stones,
Shall we, for the sake of being Polite,
Feed them with the juice of our marrow bones?
And if Bezaleel & Aholiab drew
What the Finger of God pointed to their View,
Shall we suffer the Roman & Grecian Rods
To compell us to worship them as Gods?
What the Finger of God pointed to their View,
Shall we suffer the Roman & Grecian Rods
To compell us to worship them as Gods?
They stole them from the Temple of the Lord,
And Worshipp’d them that they might make
Inspired Art Abhorr’d.
And Worshipp’d them that they might make
Inspired Art Abhorr’d.
The Wood & Stone were call’d The Holy Things
And their Sublime Intent given to their Kings,
All the Atonements of Jehovah spurn’d,
And Criminals to Sacrifices Turn’d.
And their Sublime Intent given to their Kings,
All the Atonements of Jehovah spurn’d,
And Criminals to Sacrifices Turn’d.
Why was Cupid a Boy
And why a boy was he?
He should have been a Girl
For ought that I can see.
And why a boy was he?
He should have been a Girl
For ought that I can see.
For he shoots with his bow,
And the Girl shoots with her Eye,
And they both are merry & glad
And laugh when we do cry.
And the Girl shoots with her Eye,
And they both are merry & glad
And laugh when we do cry.
And to make Cupid a Boy
Was the Cupid Girl’s mocking plan;
For a boy can’t interpret the thing
Till he is become a man.
Was the Cupid Girl’s mocking plan;
For a boy can’t interpret the thing
Till he is become a man.
And then he’s so pierc’d with cares
And wounded with arrowy smarts,
That the whole business of his life
Is to pick out the heads of the darts.
And wounded with arrowy smarts,
That the whole business of his life
Is to pick out the heads of the darts.
‘Twas the Greeks’ love of war
Turn’d Love into a Boy,
And Woman into a Statue of Stone—
And away flew every Joy.
Turn’d Love into a Boy,
And Woman into a Statue of Stone—
And away flew every Joy.
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