Poems of William Blake | Page 6

see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.
A LITTLE BOY LOST
"Nought loves another as itself,
Nor venerates another so,
Nor is it possible to thought

A greater than itself to know.

"And, father, how can I love you
Or any of my brothers more?
I love you like the
little bird
That picks up crumbs around the door."
The Priest sat by and heard the child;
In trembling zeal he seized his hair,
He led him
by his little coat,
And all admired the priestly care.
And standing on the altar high,
"Lo, what a fiend is here! said he:
"One who sets
reason up for judge
Of our most holy mystery."
The weeping child could not be heard,
The weeping parents wept in vain:
They
stripped him to his little shirt,
And bound him in an iron chain,
And burned him in a holy place
Where many had been burned before;
The weeping
parents wept in vain.
Are such thing done on Albion's shore?
A LITTLE GIRL LOST
Children of the future age,
Reading this indignant page,
Know that in a former time

Love, sweet love, was thought a crime.
In the age of gold,
Free from winter's cold,
Youth and maiden bright,
To the holy
light,
Naked in the sunny beams delight.
Once a youthful pair,
Filled with softest care,
Met in garden bright
Where the holy
light
Had just removed the curtains of the night.
Then, in rising day,
On the grass they play;
Parents were afar,
Strangers came not
near,
And the maiden soon forgot her fear.
Tired with kisses sweet,
They agree to meet
When the silent sleep
Waves o'er
heaven's deep,
And the weary tired wanderers weep.
To her father white
Came the maiden bright;
But his loving look,
Like the holy
book
All her tender limbs with terror shook.
"Ona, pale and weak,

To thy father speak!
Oh the trembling fear!
Oh the dismal
care
That shakes the blossoms of my hoary hair!"
THE SCHOOLBOY
I love to rise on a summer morn,
When birds are singing on every tree;
The distant
huntsman winds his horn,
And the skylark sings with me:
Oh what sweet company!
But to go to school in a summer morn, --
Oh it drives all joy away!
Under a cruel eye
outworn,
The little ones spend the day
In sighing and dismay.

Ah then at times I drooping sit,
And spend many an anxious hour;
Nor in my book
can I take delight,
Nor sit in learning's bower,
Worn through with the dreary shower.
How can the bird that is born for joy
Sit in a cage and sing?
How can a child, when
fears annoy,
But droop his tender wing,
And forget his youthful spring?
Oh father and mother, if buds are nipped,
And blossoms blown away;
And if the
tender plants are stripped
Of their joy in the springing day,
By sorrow and care's
dismay, --
How shall the summer arise in joy,
Or the summer fruits appear?
Or how shall we
gather what griefs destroy,
Or bless the mellowing year,
When the blasts of winter
appear?
TO TERZAH
Whate'er is born of mortal birth
Must be consumed with the earth,
To rise from
generation free:
Then what have I to do with thee?
The sexes sprang from shame and
pride,
Blown in the morn, in evening died;
But mercy changed death into sleep;
The
sexes rose to work and weep.
Thou, mother of my mortal part,
With cruelty didst mould my heart,
And with false
self-deceiving tears
Didst bind my nostrils, eyes, and ears,
Didst close my tongue in senseless clay,
And me to mortal life betray.
The death of
Jesus set me free:
Then what have I to do with thee?
THE VOICE OF THE ANCIENT BARD
Youth of delight! come hither
And see the opening morn,
Image of Truth new-born.

Doubt is fled, and clouds of reason,
Dark disputes and artful teazing.
Folly is an
endless maze;
Tangled roots perplex her ways;
How many have fallen there!
They
stumble all night over bones of the dead;
And feel -- they know not what but care;


And wish to lead others, when they should be led.
APPENDIX
A DIVINE IMAGE
Cruelty has a human heart,
And Jealousy a human face;
Terror the human form divine,

And Secresy the human dress.
The human dress is forged iron,
The human form a fiery forge,
The human face a
furnace sealed,
The human heart its hungry gorge.

NOTE: Though written and engraved by Blake, "A DIVINE IMAGE" was never
included in the SONGS OF INNOCENCE AND OF EXPERIENCE.
William Blake's
THE BOOK of THEL
THEL'S Motto
Does the Eagle know what is in the pit?
Or wilt thou go ask the Mole:
Can Wisdom
be put in a silver rod?
Or Love in a golden bowl?
THE BOOK of THEL
The Author & Printer Willm. Blake. 1780
THEL
I
The daughters of Mne Seraphim led round their sunny flocks, All but the youngest: she in
paleness sought the secret air. To fade away like morning beauty from her mortal day:

Down by the river of Adona her soft voice is heard;
And thus her gentle lamentation
falls like morning dew.
O life of this our spring! why fades the lotus of the water? Why fade these children of the
spring? born but to smile & fall. Ah! Thel is like a watry bow,