The deep of winter came, What time the secret child Descended thro’ the orient gates of the eternal day. War ceas’d, & all the troops like shadows fled to their abodes. Then Enitharmon saw her sons & daughters rise around; Like pearly clouds they meet together in the crystal house; And Los, possessor of the 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 ike 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 Orc, 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! & 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, & 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 Orc. O lion Rintrah, raise thy fury form thy forests black; Bring Palamabron, horned priest, skipping upon the mountains, And silent Elynittria, the silver bowed queen. Rintrah, where has thou hid thy bride? Weeps she in desart shades? Alas, my Rintrah! bring all thy brethren, O thou king of fire. Prince of the sun, I see thee with thy innumberable 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 serpertform’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 infininte 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 Will tool, stones precious – such eternal in the heavens, Of colours twelve, few known on earth, give light in the opake, 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 gate 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.