(1793)
The shadowy Daughter of Urthona s… When fourteen suns had faintly jou… His food she brought in iron baske… Crown’d with a helmet and dark hai… A quiver with its burning stores,…
Earth rais’d up her head From the darkness dread and drear. Her light fled, Stony dread! And her locks cover’d with grey de…
The modest Rose puts forth a thor… The humble sheep a threat’ning hor… While the Lily white shall in lov… Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her…
I travell’d thro’ a land of men, A land of men and women too; And heard and saw such dreadful th… As cold earth—wanderers never knew… For there the Babe is born in joy
Silent, silent Night Quench the holy light Of thy torches bright. For possess’d of Day Thousand spirits stray
O THOU with dewy locks, who look… Thro’ the clear windows of the mor… Thine angel eyes upon our western… Which in full choir hails thy appr… The hills tell each other, and the…
q| I will sing you a song of Los,… He sung it to four harps, at the t… In heart-formèd Africa. Urizen faded! Ariston shudder’d! And thus the Song began:—
q|Preludium to the First Book of… Of the primeval Priest’s assum’d… When Eternals spurn’d back his Re… And gave him a place in the North… Obscure, shadowy, void, solitary.
HONOUR and Genius is all I ask… And I ask the Gods no more! No more! No more! [the three Phi… No more! No more!
‘O WINTER! bar thine adamantine… The north is thine; there hast tho… Deep-founded habitation. Shake no… Nor bend thy pillars with thine ir… He hears me not, but o’er the yawn…
PHOEBE drest like beauty’s quee… Jellicoe in faint pea-green, Sitting all beneath a grot, Where the little lambkins trot. Maidens dancing, loves a-sporting,
Sweet Mary, the first time she ev… Came into the ball—room among the… The young men and maidens around h… And these are the words upon every… `An Angel is here from the heaven…
I was angry with my friend. I told my wrath, my wrath did end. I was angry with my foe. I told it not, my wrath did grow; And I water’d it in fears,
When my mother died I was very yo… And my father sold me while yet my… Could scarcely cry “ ‘weep! ’weep!… So your chimneys I sweep & in soo… There’s little Tom Dacre, who cri…
My silks and fine array, My smiles and languish’d air, By love are driv’n away; And mournful lean Despair Brings me yew to deck my grave: