PREFACE

The Stolen and Perverted Writings of Homer & Ovid, of Plato & Cicero, which all men ought to contemn, are set up by artifice against the Sublime of the Bible; but when the New Age is at leisure to Pronounce, all will be set right, & those Grand Works of the more ancient & consciously & professedly Inspired Men will hold their proper rank, & the Daughters of Memory shall become the Daughters of Inspiration. Shakspeare & Milton were both curb’d by the general malady & infection from the silly Greek & Latin slaves of the Sword.

Rouze up, 0 Young Men of the New Age! set your foreheads against the ignorant Hirelingsl For we have Hirelings in the Camp, the Court & the University, who would, if they could, for ever depress Mental & prolong Corporeal War. Painters! on you I call. Sculptors! Architects! Suffer not the fashonable Fools to depress your powers by the prices they pretend to give for contemptible works, or the expensive advertizing boasts that they make of such works; believe Christ & his Apostles that there is a Class of Men whose whole delight is in Destroying. We do not want either Greek or Roman Models if we are but just & true to our own Imaginations, those Worlds of Eternity in which we shall live for ever in JESUS OUR LORD.

And did those feet in ancient time

Walk upon England’s mountains green?

And was the holy Lamb of God

On England’s pleasant pastures seen?

And did the Countenance Divine

Shine forth upon our clouded hills?

And was Jerusalem builded here

Among these dark Satanic Mills?

Bring me my Bow of burning gold:

Bring me my Arrows of desire:

Bring me my Spear: 0 clouds unfold!

Bring me my Chariot of fire.

I will not cease from Mental Fight,

Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand

Till we have built Jerusalem

In England’s green & pleasant Land.

“Would to God that all the Lord’s people were Prophets.”

Numbers, xi. ch., 29 v.

[THE INVOCATION]

Daughters of Beulahl Muses who inspire the Poet’s Song,

Record the journey of immortal Milton thro’ your Realms

Of terror & mild moony lustre in soft sexual delusions

Of varied beauty, to delight the wanderer and repose

His burning thirst & freezing hungerl Come into my hand,

By your mild power descending down the Nerves of my right arm

From out the portals of my Brain, where by your ministry

The Eternal Great Humanity Divine planted his Paradise

And in it caus’d the Spectres of the Dead to take sweet forms

In likeness of himself. Tell also of the False Tonguel vegetated

Beneath your land of shadows, of its sacrifices and

Its offerings: even till Jesus, the image of the Invisible God,

Became its prey, a curse, an offering and an atonement

For Death Eternal in the heavens of Albion & before the Gates

Of Jerusalem his Emanation, in the heavens beneath Beulah.

Say first! what mov’d Milton, who walk’d about in Eternity

One hundred years, pond’ring the intricate mazes of Providence,

Unhappy tho’ in heav‘n-he obey’d, he murmur’d not, he was silent

Viewing his Sixfold Emanation scatter’d thro’ the deep

In torment—To go into the deep her to redeem & himself perish?

[WISDOM AND SILENCE]

“If you account it Wisdom when you are angry to be silent and

Not to shew it, I do not account that Wisdom, but Folly.

Every Man’s Wisdom is peculiar to his own Individuality.”

[THE HAMMER OF LOS]

Loud sounds the Hammer of Los & loud his BeHows is heard

Before London to Hampstead’s breadths & Highgate’s heights, To

Stratford & old Bow & across to the Gardens of Kensington

On Tyburn’s Brook: loud groans Thames beneath the iron Forge

Of Rintrah & Palamabron, of Theotorm & Bromion, to forge the instruments

Of Harvest, the Plow & Harrow to pass over the Nations.

The Surrey hills glow like the clinkers of the furnace; Lambeth’s Vale

Where Jerusalem’s foundations began, where they were laid in ruins,

Where they were laid in ruins from every Nation, & Oak Groves rooted,

Dark gleams before the Furnace-mouth a heap of burning ashes.

When shall Jerusalem return & overspread all the Nations?

Return, return to Lambeth’s Vale, O building of human souls!

Thence stony Druid Temples overspread the Island white,

And thence from Jerusalem’s ruins, from her walls of salvation

And praise, thro’ the whole Earth were rear’d from Ireland

To Mexico & Peru west, & east to China & Japan, till Babel

The Spectre of Albion frown’d over the Nations in glory & war.

All things begin & end in Albion’s ancient Druid rocky shore:

But now the Starry Heavens are fled from the mighty limbs of Albion.

Loud sounds the Hammer of Los, loud turn the Wheels of Enitharmon:

Her Looms vibrate with soft affections, weaving the Web of Life,

Out from the ashes of the Dead; Los lifts his iron Ladles

With molten ore: he heaves the iron cliffs in his rattling chains

From Hyde Park to the Alms-houses of Mile-end & old Bow.

Here the Three Classes of Mortal Men take their fix’d destinations,

And hence they overspread the Nations of the whole Earth, & hence

The Web of Life is woven & the tender sinews of life created ...

[LOS IN HIS WRATH]

Los in his wrath curs’d heaven & earth; he rent up Nations,

Standing on Albion’s rocks among high-rear’d Druid temples

Which reach the stars of heaven & stretch from pole to pole.

He displaced continents, the oceans fled before his face:

He alter’d the poles of the world, east, west & north & south,

But he clos’d up Enitharmon from the sight of all these things.

[MILTON ROSE UP]

Then Milton rose up from the heavens of Albion ardorous.

The whole Assembly wept prophetic, seeing in Milton’s face

And in his lineaments divine the shades of Death & Ulro:

He took off the robe of the promise & ungirded himself from the oath of Cod.

And Milton said: “I go to Eternal Deathl The Nations still

Follow after the detestable Gods of Priam, in pomp

Of warlike selfhood contradicting and blaspheming.

When will the Resurrection come to deliver the sleeping body

From corruptibility? 0 when, Lord Jesus, wilt thou come?

Tarry no longer, for my soul lies at the gates of death.

I will arise and look forth for the morning of the grave:

I will go down to the sepulcher to see if morning breaks:

I will go down to self annihilation and eternal death,

Lest the Last Judgment come & find me unannihilate

And I be siez’d & giv’n into the hands of my own Selfhood.

The Lamb of Cod is seen thro’ mists & shadows, hov’ring

Over the sepulchers in clouds of Jehovah & winds of Elohim,

A disk of blood distant, & heav’ns & earths roll dark between.

What do I here before the Judgment? without my Emanation?

With the daughters of memory & not with the daughters of inspiration?

I in my Selfhood am that Satan: I am that Evil One!

He is my Spectre! in my obedience to loose him from my Hells,

To claim the Hells, my Furnaces, I go to Eternal Death.”

And Milton said: “I go to Eternal Deathl” Eternity shudder’d,

For he took the outside course among the graves of the dead,

A mournful shade. Eternity shudder’d at the image of eternal death.

[THE NATURE OF INFINITY]

The nature of infinity is this: That every thing has its

Own Vortex, and when once a traveller thro’ Eternity

Has pass’d that Vortex, he percieves it roll backward behind

His path, into a globe itself infolding like a sun,

Or like a moon, or like a universe of starry majesty,

While he keeps onwards in his wondrous journey on the earth,

Or like a human form, a friend with whom he liv’d benevolent.

As the eye of man views both the east & west encompassing

Its vortex, and the north & south with all their starry host,

Also the rising sun & setting moon he views surrounding

His corn-fields and his valleys of five hundred acres square,

Thus is the earth one infinite plane, and not as apparent To the weak traveller confin’d beneath the moony shade.

Thus is the heaven a vortex pass’d already, and the earth

A vortex not yet pass’d by the traveller thro’ Eternity.

First Milton saw Albion upon the Rock of Ages,

Deadly pale outstretch’d and snowy cold, storm cover’d,

A Giant form of perfect beauty outstretch’d on the rock

In solemn death: the Sea of Time & Space thunder’d aloud

Against the rock, which was inwrapped with the weeds of death.

Hovering over the cold bosom in its vortex Milton bent down

To the bosom of death: what was underneath soon seem’d above:

A cloudy heaven mingled with stormy seas in loudest ruin;

But as a wintry globe descends precipitant thro’ Beulah bursting

With thunders loud and terrible, so Milton’s shadow fell

Precipitant, loud thund’ring into the Sea of Time & Space.

[THE MUNDANE SHELL]

The Mundane Shell is a vast Concave Earth, an immense

Harden’d shadow of all things upon our Vegetated Earth,

Enlarg’d into dimension & deform’d into indefinite space,

In Twenty-seven Heavens and all their Hells, with Chaos

And Ancient Night & Purgatory. It is a cavernous Earth

Of labyrinthine intricacy, twenty-seven-folds of opake-ness,

And finishes where the lark mounts.

[OPEN YOUR HUMAN GATES]

Now Albion’s sleeping Humanity began to turn upon his Couch,

Feeling the electric flame of Milton’s awful precipitate descent.

Seest thou the little winged fly, smaller than a grain of sand?

It has a heart like thee, a brain open to heaven & hell,

Withinside wondrous & expansive: its gates are not clos’d:

I hope thine are not: hence it clothes itself in rich array:

Hence thou art cloth’d with human beauty, O thou mortal man.

Seek not thy heavenly father then beyond the skies,

There Chaos dwells & ancient Night & Og & Anak old.

For every human heart has gates of brass & bars of adamant

Which few dare unbar, because dread Og & Anak guard the gates

Terrific: and each mortal brain is wall’d and moated round

Within, and Og & Anak watch here: here is the Seat

Of Satan in its Webs: for in brain and heart and loins

Gates open behind Satan’s Seat to the City of Colgonooza,

Which is the spiritual fourfold London in the loins of Albion.

[BLAKE AND MILTON]

... Milton entering my Foot, I saw in the nether

Regions of the Imagination—also all men on Earth

And all in Heaven saw in the nether regions of the Imagination

In Ulro beneath Beulah—the vast breach of Milton’s descent.

But I knew not that it was Milton, for man cannot know

What passes in his members till periods of Space & Time

Reveal the secrets of Eternity: for more extensive

Than any other earthly things are Man’s earthly lineaments.

And all this Vegetable World appear’d on my left Foot

As a bright sandal form’d immortal of precious stones & gold.

I stooped down & bound it on to walk forward thro’ Eternity.

[THE PROPHET]

“I am that Shadowy Prophet who Six Thousand Years ago

Fell from my station in the Eternal bosom. Six Thousand Years

Are finish’d. I return! both Time & Space obey my will.

I in Six Thousand Years walk up and down; for not one Moment

Of Time is lost, nor one Event of Space unpermanent,

But all remain: every fabric of Six Thousand Years

Remains permanent, tho’ on the Earth where Satan

Fell and was cut off, all things vanish & are seen no more,

They vanish not from me & mine, we guard them first & last.

The generations of men run on in the tide of Time,

But leave their destin’d lineaments permanent for ever & ever.”

[AWAKE, ALBION, AWAKE!]

“Milton’s. Religion is the cause: there is no end to destruction.

Seeing the Churches at their Period in terror & despair,

Rahab created Voltaire, Tirzah created Rousseau,

Asserting the Self-righteousness against the Universal Saviour,

Mocking the Confessors & Martyrs, claiming Self-righteousness,

With cruel Virtue making War upon the Lamb’s Redeemed

To perpetuate War & Glory, to perpetuate the Laws of Sin.

They perverted Swedenborg’s Visions in Beulah & in Ulro

To destroy Jerusalem as a Harlot & her Sons as Reprobates,

To raise up Mystery the Virgin Harlot, Mother of War,

Babylon the Great, the Abomination of Desolation.

O Swedenborg! strongest of men, the Samson shorn by the Churches,

Shewing the Transgressors in Hell, the proud Warriors in Heaven,

Heaven as a Punisher, & Hell as One under Punishment,

With Laws from Plato & his Greeks to renew the Trojan Gods

In Albion, & to deny the value of the Saviour’s blood.

But then I rais’d up Whitefield, Palamabron rais’d up Westley,

And these are the cries of the Churches before the two Witnesses.

Faith in God the dear Saviour who took on the likeness of men,

Becoming obedient to death, even the death of the Cross.

The Witnesses lie dead in the Street of the Great City:

No Faith is in all the Earth: the Book of God is trodden under Foot.

He sent his two Servants, Whitefield & Westley: were they Prophets,

Or were they Idiots or Madmen? shew us Miracles!

“Can you have greater Miracles than these? Men who devote

Their life’s whole comfort to intire scorn & injury & death?

Awake, thou sleeper on the Rock of Eternity! Albion awakel

The trumpet of Judgment hath twice sounded: all Nations are awake,

But thou art still heavy and dull. Awake, Albion awake!”

[O GO NOT FORTH IN MARTYRDOMS & WARS!]

... Los thus spoke: “0 noble Sons, be patient yet a little!

I have embrac’d the falling Death, he is become One with me:

O Sons, we live not by wrath, by mercy alone we live!

I recollect an old Prophecy in Eden recorded in gold and oft

Sung to the harp, That Milton of the land of Albion

Should up ascend forward from Felpham’s Vale & break the Chain

Of Jealousy from all its roots; be patient therefore, 0 my Sons!

These lovely Females form sweet night and silence and secret

Obscurities to hide from Satan’s Watch-Fiends Human loves

And graces, lest they write them in their Books & in the Scroll

Of mortal life to condemn the accused, who at Satan’s Bar

Tremble in Spectrous Bodies continually day and night,

While on the Earth they live in sorrowful Vegetations.

O when shall we tread our Wine-presses in heaven and Reap

Our wheat with shoutings of joy, and leave the Earth in peace?

Remember how Calvin and Luther in fury premature

Sow’d War and stem division between Papists & Protestants.

Let it not be so now! O go not forth in Martyrdoms & Wars!

We were plac’d here by the Universal Brotherhood & Mercy

With powers fitted to circumscribe this dark Satanic death,

And that the Seven Eyes of God may have space for Redemption.

But how this is as yet we know not, and we cannot know

Till Albion is arisen; then patient wait a little while.

Six Thousand years are pass’d away, the end approaches fast:

This mighty one is come from Eden, he is of the Elect

Who died from Earth & he is return’d before the Judgment. This thing

Was never known, that one of the holy dead should willing return.

Then patient wait a little while till the Last Vintage is over....”

[THE SPIRIT OF PROPHECY]

Los is by mortals nam’d Time, Enitharmon is nam’d Space:

But they depict him bald & aged who is in eternal youth

All powerful and his lodes flourish like the brows of morning:

He is the Spirit of Prophecy, the ever apparent Elias.

Time is the mercy of Eternity; without Time’s swiftness,

Which is the swiftest of all things, all were eternal torment.

All the Gods of the Kingdoms of Earth labour in Los’s Halls:

Every one is a fallen Son of the Spirit of Prophecy.

[THE GREAT VINTAGE AND HARVEST],

And Los stood & cried to the Labourers of the Vintage in voice of awe:

“Fellow Labourers ! The Great Vintage & Harvest is now upon Earth.

The whole extent of the Globe is explored. Every scatter’d Atom

Of Human Intellect now is flocking to the sound of the Trumpet.

All the Wisdom which was hidden in caves & dens from ancient

Time is now sought out from Animal & Vegetable & Mineral.

The Awakener is come outstretch’d over Europe: the Vision of God is fulfilled:

The Ancient Man upon the Rock of Albion Awakes,

He listens to the sounds of War astonish’d & ashamed,

He sees his Children mock at Faith and deny Providence.

Therefore you must bind the Sheaves not by Nations or Families,

You shall bind them in Three Classes, according to their Classes

So shall you bind them, Separating What has been Mixed

Since Men began to be Wove into Nations by Rahab & Tirzah,

Since Albion’s Death & Satan’s Cutting off from our awful Fields,

When under pretence to benevolence the Elect Subdu’d All

From the Foundation of the World. The Elect is one Class: You

Shall bind them separate: they cannot Believe in Eternal Life

Except by Miracle & a New Birth. The other two Classes,

The Reprobate who never cease to Believe, and the Redeem’d

Who live in doubts & fears perpetually tormented by the Elect,

These you shall bind in a twin-bundle for the Consummation :

But the Elect must be saved from fires of Eternal Death,

To be formed into the Churches of Beulah that they, destroy not the Earth.

For in every Nation & every Family the Three Classes are born,

And in every Species of Earth, Metal, Tree, Fish, Bird & Beast.

We form the Mundane Egg, that Spectres coming by fury or amity,

All is the same, & every one remains in his own energy.

Go forth Reapers with rejoicing; you sowed in tears,

But the time of your refreshing cometh: only a little moment

Still abstain from pleasure & rest in the labours of eternity,

And you shall Reap the whole Earth from Pole to Pole, from Sea to Sea,

Beginning at Jerusalem’s Inner Court, Lambeth ...”

[THE VISIONS OF ETERNITY]

These are the Sons of Los, & these the Labourers of the Vintage.

Thou seest the gorgeous clothed Flies that dance & sport in summer

Upon the sunny brooks & meadows: every one the dance

Knows in its intricate mazes of delight artful to weave:

Each one to sound his instruments of music in the dance,

To touch each other & recede, to cross & change & return:

These are the Children of Los; thou seest the Trees on mountains,

The wind blows heavy, loud they thunder thro’ the darksom sky,

Uttering prophecies & speaking instructive words to the sons

Of men: These are the Sons of Los: These the Visions of Eternity,

But we see only as it were the hem of their garments

When with our vegetable eyes we view these wondrous Visions.

[THE WINE-PRESS OF LIFE]

... The Wine-press of Los is eastward of Golgonooza before the Seat

Of Satan: Luvah laid the foundation & Urizen finish’d it in howling woe.

How red the sons & daughters of Luvah! here they tread the grapes:

Laughing & shouting, drunk with odours many fall o’erwearied,

Drown’d in the wine is many a youth & maiden: those around

Lay them on skins of Tygers & of the spotted Leopard & the Wild Ass

Till they revive, or bury them in cool grots, making lamentation.

This Wine-press is call’d War on Earth: it is the Printing-Press

Of Los, and here he lays his words in order above the mortal brain,

As cogs are form’d in a wheel to turn the cogs of the adverse wheel.

Timbrels & violins sport round the Wine-presses; the little Seed,

The sportive Root, the Earth-worm, the gold Beetle, the wise Emmet

Dance round the Wine-presses of Luvah: the Centipede is there,

The ground Spider with many eyes, the Mole clothed in velvet,

The ambitious Spider in his sullen web, the lucky golden Spinner,

The Earwig arm’d, the tender Maggot, emblem of immortality,

The Flea, Louse, Bug, the Tape-Worm, all the Armies of Disease,

Visible or invisible to the slothful vegetating Man.

The slow Slug, the Grasshopper that sings & laughs & drinks:

Winter comes, he folds his slender bones without a murmur.

The cruel Scorpion is there, the Gnat, Wasp, Hornet & the Honey Bee,

The Toad & venomous Newt, the Serpent cloth’d in gems & gold.

They throw off their gorgeous raiment: they rejoice with loud jubilee

Around the Wine-presses of Luvah, naked & drunk with wine.

There is the Nettle that stings with soft down, and there

The indignant Thistle whose bitterness is bred in his milk,

Who feeds on contempt of his neighbour: there all the idle Weeds

That creep around the obscure places shew their various limbs

Naked in all their beauty dancing round the Wine-presses.

But in the Wine-presses the Human grapes sing not nor dance:

They howl & writhe in shoals of torment, in fierce flames consuming,

In chains of iron & in dungeons circled with ceaseless fires,

In pits & dens & shades of death, in shapes of torment & woe:

The plates & screws & wracks & saws & cords & fires & cisterns,

The cruel joys of Luvah’s Daughters, lacerating with knives

And whips their Victims, & the deadly sport of Luvah’s Sons.

They dance around the dying & they drink the howl & groan,

They catch the shrieks in cups of gold, they hand them to one another:

These are the sports of love, & 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 lureing songs of Luvah.

[THE FOUR FACES OF MAN]

These are the starry voids of night & the depths & caverns of earth.

These Mills are oceans, clouds & waters ungovernable in their fury:

Here are the stars created & the seeds of all things planted,

And here the Sun & Moon recieve their fixed destinations.

But in Eternity the Four Arts, Poetry, Painting, Music

And Architecture, which is Science, are the Four Faces of Man.

Not so in Time & Space: there Three are shut out, and only

Science remains thro’ Mercy, & by means of Science the Three

Become apparent in Time & Space in the Three Professions,

That Man may live upon Earth till the time of his awaking.

[THE BUILDING OF TIME]

The Sons of Ozoth within the Optic Nerve stand fiery glowing,

And the number of his Sons is eight millions & eight.

They give delights to the man unknown; artificial riches

They give to scorn, & their possessors to trouble & sorrow & care,

Shutting the sun & moon & stars & trees & clouds & waters

And hills out from the Optic Nerve, & hardening it into a bone

Opake and like the black pebble on the enraged beach,

While the poor indigent is like the diamond which, tho’ cloth’d

In rugged covering in the mine, is open all within

And in his hallow’d center holds the heavens of bright eternity.

Ozoth here builds walls of rocks against the surging sea,

And timbers crampt with iron cramps bar in the joys of life

From fell destruction in the Spectrous cunning or rage. He Creates

The speckled Newt, the Spider & Beetle, the Rat & Mouse.

The Badger & Fox: they worship before his feet in trembling fear.

But others of the Sons of Los build Moments & Minutes & Hours

And Days & Months & Years & Ages & Periods, wondrous buildings;

And every Moment has a Couch of gold for soft repose,

(A Moment equals a pulsation of the artery),

And between every two Moments stands a Daughter of Beulah

To feed the Sleepers on their Couches with maternal care.

And every Minute has an azure Tent with silken Veils:

And every Hour has a bright golden Gate carved with skill:

And every Day & Night has Walls of brass & Gates of adamant,

Shining like precious Stones & ornamented with appropriate signs:

And every Month a silver paved Terrace builded high:

And every Year invulnerable Barriers with high Towers:

And every Age is Moated deep with Bridges of silver & gold:

And every Seven Ages is Incircled with a Flaming Fire.

Now Seven Ages is amounting to Two Hundred Years.

Each has its Guard, each Moment, Minute, Hour, Day, Month & Year.

All are the work of Fairy hands of the Four Elements:

The Guard are Angels of Providence on duty evermore.

Every Time less than a pulsation of the artery

Is equal in its period & value to Six Thousand Years,

For in this Period the Poet’s Work is Done, and all the Great

Events of Time start forth & are conciev’d in such a Period,

Within a Moment, a Pulsation of the Artery.

The Sky is an immortal Tent built by the Sons of Los:

And every Space that a Man views around his dwelling-place

Standing on his own roof or in his garden on a mount

Of twenty-five cubits in height, such space is his Universe:

And on its verge the Sun rises & sets, the Clouds bow

To meet the flat Earth & the Sea in such an order’d Space:

The Starry heavens reach no further, but here bend and set

On all sides, & the two Poles turn on their valves of gold;

And if he move his dwelling-place, his heavens also move

Where’er he goes, & all his neighbourhood bewail his loss.

Such are the Spaces called Earth & such its dimension.

As to that false appearance which appears to the reasoner

As of a Globe rolling thro’ Voidness, it is a delusion of Ulro.

The Microscope knows not of this nor the Telescope: they alter

The ratio of the Spectator’s Organs, but leave Objects untouch’d.

For every Space larger than a red Globule of Man’s blood

Is visionary, and is created by the Hammer of Los:

And every Space smaller than a Globule of Man’s blood opens

Into Eternity of which this vegetable Earth is but a shadow.

The red Globule is the unwearied Sun by Los created

To measure Time and Space to mortal Men every morning.

[THE ETERNAL GREAT HUMANITY]

And it is thus Created. Lo, the Eternal Great Humanity,

To whom be Glory & Dominion Evermore, Amen,

Walks among all his awful Family seen in every face:

As the breath of the Almighty such are the words of man to man

In the great Wars of Eternity, in fury of Poetic Inspiration,

To build the Universe stupendous, Mental forms Creating.

[THE WEEPING OF THE NATIONS]

And all Nations wept in affliction, Family by Family:

Germany wept towards France & Italy, England wept & trembled

Towards America, India rose up from his golden bed

As one awaken’d in the night; they saw the Lord coming

In the Clouds of Ololon with Power & Great Glory.

[THE CHOIR OF DAY]

Thou hearest the Nightingale begin the Song of Spring.

The Lark sitting upon his earthy bed, just as the morn

Appears, listens silent; then springing from the waving Cornfield, loud

He leads the Choir of Day: trill, trill, trill, trill,

Mounting upon the wings of light into the Great Expanse,

Reecchoing against the lovely blue & shining heavenly Shell,

His little throat labours with inspiration; every feather

On throat & breast & wings vibrates with the effluence Divine.

All Nature listens silent to him, & the awful Sun

Stands still upon the Mountain looking on this little Bird

With eyes of soft humility & wonder, love & awe,

Then loud from their green covert all the Birds begin their Song:

The Thrush, the Linnet & the Goldfinch, Robin & the Wren

Awake the Sun from his sweet reverie upon the Mountain.

The Nightingale again assays his song, & thro the day

And thro’ the night warbles luxuriant, every Bird of Song

Attending his loud harmony with admiration & love.

This is a Vision of the lamentation of Beulah over Ololon.

Thou percievest the Flowers put forth their precious Odours,

And none can tell how from so small a center comes such sweets,

Forgetting that within that Center Eternity expands

Its ever during doors that Og & Anak fiercely guard.

First, e’er the morning breaks, joy opens in the flowery bosoms,

Joy even to tears, which the Sun rising dries; first the Wild Thyme

And Meadow-sweet, downy & soft waving among the reeds,

Light springing on the air, lead the sweet Dance: they wake

The Honeysuckle sleeping on the Oak; the flaunting beauty

Revels along upon the wind; the White-thorn, lovely May,

Opens her many lovely eyes listening; the Rose still sleeps,

None dare to wake her; soon she bursts her crimson curtain’ d bed

And comes forth in the majesty of beauty; every Flower, The Pink, the Jessamine, the Wall-flower, the Carnation,

The Jonquil, the mild Lilly, opes her heavens; every Tree

And Flower & Herb soon fill the air with an innumerable Dance,

Yet all in order sweet & lovely. Men are sick with Love,

Such is a Vision of the lamentation of Beulah over Ololon.

[JUDGE THEN, OF THY OWN SELF]

“We are not Individuals but States, Combinations of Individuals.

We were Angels of the Divine Presence, & were Druids in Annandale,

Compell’d to combine into Form by Satan, the Spectre of Albion,

Who made himself a God & destroyed the Human Form Divine.

But the Divine Humanity & Mercy gave us a Human Form

Because we were combin’d in Freedom & holy Brotherhood,

While those combin’d by Satan’s Tyranny, first in the blood of War

And Sacrifice & next in Chains of imprisonment, are Shapeless Rocks

Retaining only Satan’s Mathematic Holiness, Length, Bredth & Highth,

Calling the Human Imagination, which is the Divine Vision & Fruition

In which Man liveth eternally, madness & blasphemy against

Its own Qualities, which are Servants of Humanity, not Gods or Lords.

Distinguish therefore States from Individuals in those States.

States Change, but Individual Identities never change nor cease.

You cannot go to Eternal Death in that which can never Die.

Satan & Adam are States Created into Twenty-seven Churches,

And thou, O Milton, art a State about to be Created,

Called Eternal Annihilation, that none but the Living shall

Dare to enter, & they shall enter triumphant over Death

And Hell & the Grave: States that are not, but ah! Seem to be.

Judge then of thy Own Self: thy Eternal Lineaments explore,

What is Eternal & what Changeable, & what Annihilable.

The Imagination is not a State: it is the Human Existence itself.

Affection or Love becomes a State when divided from Imagination.

The Memory is a State always, & the Reason is a State Created to be Annihilated & a new Ratio Created.

Whatever can be Created can be Annihilated: Forms cannot:

The Oak is cut down by the Ax, the Lamb falls by the Knife,

But their Forms Eternal Exist For-ever. Amen. Hallelujah!”

Thus they converse with the Dead, watching round the Couch of Death;

For God himself enters Death’s Door always with those that enter

And lays down in the Grave with them, in Visions of Eternity,

Till they awake & see Jesus & the Linen Clothes lying

That the Females had Woven for them, & the Gates of their Father’s House.

[THE LOOM OF DEATH]

... “How are the Wars of man, which in Great Eternity

Appear around in the External Spheres of Visionary Life,

Here render’d Deadly within the Life & Interior Vision?

How are the Beasts & Birds & Fishes & Plants & Minerals Here fix’d into a frozen bulk subject to decay & death?

Those Visions of Human Life & Shadows of Wisdom & Knowledge

Are here frozen to unexpansive deadly destroying terrors,

And War & Hunting, the Two Fountains of the River of Life,

Are become Fountains of bitter Death & of corroding Hell,

Till Brotherhood is chang’d into a Curse & a Flattery

By Differences between Ideas, that Ideas themselves (which are

The Divine Members) may be slain in offerings for sin.

O dreadful Loom of Death! O piteous Female forms compell’d

To weave the Woof of Death! ...”

[JERUSALEM BOUND]

I also stood in Satan’s bosom & beheld its desolations:

A ruin’d Man, a ruin’d building of God, not made with hands:

Its plains of burning sand, its mountains of marble terrible:

Its pits & declivities flowing with molten ore & fountains

Of pitch & nitre: its ruin’d palaces & cities & mighty works:

Its furnaces of affliction, in which his Angels & Emanations

Labour with blacken’d visages among its stupendous ruins,

Arches & pyramids & porches, colonades & domes,

In which dwells Mystery, Babylon; here is her secret place,

From hence she comes forth on the Churches in delight;

Here is her Cup fill’d with its poisons in these horrid vales,

And here her scarlet Veil woven in pestilence & war;

Here is Jerusalem bound in chains in the Dens of Babylon.

In the Eastern porch of Satan’s Universe Milton stood & said:

“Satan! my Spectre! I know my power thee to annihilate

And be a greater in thy place & be thy Tabernacle,

A covering for thee to do thy will, till one greater comes

And smites me as I smote thee & becomes my covering.

Such are the Laws of thy false Heav’ns; but Laws of Eternity

Are not such; know thou, I come to Self Annihilation.

Such are the Laws of Eternity, that each shall mutually

Annihilate himself for others’ good, as I for thee.

Thy purpose & the purpose of thy Priests & of thy Churches

Is to impress on men the fear of death, to teach Trembling & fear, terror, constriction, abject selfishness.

Mine is to teach Men to despise death & to go on

In fearless majesty annihilating Self, laughing to scorn

Thy Laws & terrors, shaking down thy Synagogues as webs.

I come to discover before Heav’n & Hell the Self righteousness

In all its Hypocritic turpitude, opening to every eye

These wonders of Satan’s holiness, shewing to the Earth

The Idol Virtues of the Natural Heart, & Satan’s Seat

Explore in all its Selfish Natural Virtue, & put off

In Self annihilation all that is not of God alone,

To put off Self & all I have, ever & ever. Amen.”

Satan heard, Coming in a cloud, with trumpets & flaming fire,

Saying: “I am God the judge of all, the living & the dead.

Fall therefore down & worship me, submit thy supreme Dictate to my eternal Will, & to my dictate bow.

I hold the Balances of Right & Just & mine the Sword.

Seven Angels bear my Name & in those Seven I appear,

But I alone am God & I alone in Heav’n & Earth

Of all that live dare utter this, others tremble & bow,

Till All Things become One Great Satan, in Holiness

Oppos’d to Mercy, and the Divine Delusion, Jesus, be no more.”

[BATHE IN THE WATERS OF LIFE]

But turning toward Ololon in terrible majesty Milton

Replied: “Obey thou the Words of the Inspired Man.

All that can be annihilated must be annihilated

That the Children of Jerusalem may be saved from slavery.

There is a Negation, & there is a Contrary:

The Negation must be destroy’d to redeem the Contraries.

The Negation is the Spectre, the Reasoning Power in Man:

This is a false Body, in Incrustation over my Immortal

Spirit, a Selfhood which must be put off & annihilated alway.

To cleanse the Face of my Spirit by Self-examination,

To bathe in the Waters of Life, to wash off the Not Human,

I come in Self-annihilation & the grandeur of Inspiration,

To cast off Rational Demonstration by Faith in the Saviour,

To cast off the rotten rags of Memory by Inspiration,

To cast off Bacon, Locke & Newton from Albion’s covering,

To take off his filthy garments & clothe him with Imagination,

To cast aside from Poetry all that is not Inspiration,

That it no longer shall dare to mock with the aspersion of Madness

Cast on the Inspired by the tame high finisher of paltry Blots

Indefinite, or paltry Rhymes, or paltry Harmonies,

Who creeps into State Government like a catterpiller to destroy;

To cast off the idiot Questioner who is always questioning

But never capable of answering, who sits with a sly grin

Silent plotting when to question, like a thief in a cave,

Who publishes doubt & calls it knowledge, whose Science is Despair,

Whose pretence to knowledge is Envy, whose whole Science is

To destroy the wisdom of ages to gratify ravenous Envy That rages round him like a Wolf day & night without rest:

He smiles with condescension, he talks of Benevolence & Virtue,

And those who act with Benevolence & Virtue they murder time on time.

These are the destroyers of Jerusalem, these are the murderers

Of Jesus, who deny the Faith & mock at Eternal Life,

Who pretend to Poetry that they may destroy Imagination

By imitation of Nature’s Images drawn from Remembrance.

These are the Sexual Garments, the Abomination of Desolation,

Hiding the Human Lineaments as with an Ark & Curtains

Which Jesus rent & now shall wholly purge away with Fire

Till Generation is swallow’d up in Regeneration.”

[THE LAST VISION]

And I beheld the Twenty-four Cities of Albion

Arise upon their Thrones to Judge the Nations of the Earth;

And the Immortal Four in whom the Twenty-four appear Fourfold

Arose around Albion’s body. Jesus wept & walked forth

From Felpham’s Vale clothed in Clouds of blood, to enter into

Albion’s Bosom, the bosom of death, & the Four surrounded him

In the Column of Fire in Felpham’s Vale; then to their mouths the Four

Applied their Four Trumpets & them sounded to the Four winds.

Terror struck in the Vale I stood at that immortal sound.

My bones trembled, I fell outstretch’d upon the path

A moment, & my Soul return’d into its mortal state

To Resurrection & Judgment in the Vegetable Body,

And my sweet Shadow of Delight stood trembling by my side.

Immediately the Lark mounted with a loud trill from Felpham’s Vale,

And the Wild Thyme from Wimbleton’s green & impurpled Hills,

And Los & Enitharmon rose over the Hills of Surrey:

Their clouds roll over London with a south wind; soft Oothoon

Pants in the Vales of Lambeth, weeping o’er her Human Harvest.

Los listens to the Cry of the Poor Man, his Cloud

Over London in volume terrific low bended in anger.

Rintrah & Palamabron view the Human Harvest beneath.

Their Wine-presses & Barns stand open, the Ovens are prepar’d,

The Waggons ready; terrific Lions & Tygers sport & play.

All Animals upon the Earth are prepar’d in all their strength

To go forth to the Great Harvest & Vintage of the Nations