Night The sun deccending in the west. The evening star does shine. The birds are silent in their nest, And I must seek for mine, The moon like a flower,

Night

The sun deccending in the west.The evening star does shine.The birds are silent in their nest,And I must seek for mine,The moon like a flower,In heavens high bower;With silent delight,Sits and smiles on the night.

Farewell green fields and happy groves,Where flocks have took delight;Where lambs have nibbled, silent movesThe feet of angels bright;Unseen they pout blessing,And joy without ceasing,On each bud and blossom,And each sleeping bosom.

They look in every thoughtless nestWhere birds are covered warm;They visit caves of every beast,To keep then all from harm;If they see weeping,That pour sleep on their headAnd sit down by their bed.

[When]

[Innocence Frontispiece]

Innocence Title-page

Introduction

Piping down the valleys wildPiping songs of pleasant gleeOn a cloud I say a child.And he laughing said to me.

Pipe a song about a Lamb:So I ppiped with merry chear,Piper pipe that song again----So I piped, he wept to hear.

Drop thy pipe thy happy pipe Sing thy songs of happy chear,So I sung the same againWhile he wept with joy to hear

Piper sit thee down and write In a book that all may read----So he vanish’d from my sightAnd I pluck’d a hollow reed

And I made a rural pen,And I stain’d the water clear,And I wrote my happy songs,Every child may joy to hear.

The Shepherd.

How sweet is the Shepherds sweet lot,From the morn to the evening he strays:He shall follow his sheep all the dayAnd his tongue shall be filled with praise.

For he hears the lambs innocent call.And he hears the ewes tender reply,He is watchful while they are in peace,For they know when their Shepherd is nigh.

The Little Black Boy

My mother bore me in the southern wild,And I am black, but O! my soul is white.White as an angel is the English child:But I am black as if bereav’d of light.

My mother taught me underneath a treeAnd sitting down before the heat of day.She took me on her lap and kissed me,And pointing to the east began to say.

Look on the rising sun: there God does liveAnd gives his light. And gives his heat away.And flowers and trees and beasts and men receiveComfort in morning joy in the noon day.

And we are put on earth a little space..That we may learn to bear the beams of love.And these black bodies and this sun-burnt faceIs but a cloud, and like a shady grove.

For

For when our souls have learn’d the heat to bearThe cloud will vanish we shall hear his voice.Saying: come out from the grove my love & care.And round my golden tent like lambs rejoice.

This did my mother say and kissed me.And thus I say to little English boy.When I from black and he from white cloud free,And round the tent of God like lambs we joy:

Ill shade him from the heat till he can bear,To lean in joy upon our fathers knee.And then I’ll stand and stroke his silver hair,And be like him and he will then love me.

The Chimney Sweeper

When my mother died I was very young,And my father sold me while yet my tongue,Could scarcely cry weep weep weep weep,So your chimneys I sweep & in soot I sleep.

Theres little Tom Dacre. who cried when his headThat curl’d like a lambs back, was shav’d, so I said.Hush Tom never mind it, for when your head’s bare,You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair

And so he was quiet, & that very night.As Tom was a sleeping he had such a sight,That thousands of sweepers Dick, Joe, Ned & JackWere all of them lock’d up in coffins of black,

And by came an Angel who had a bright keyAnd he open’d the coffins & set them all free.Then down a green plain leaping laughing they runAnd wash in a river and shine in the sun.

Then naked & white, all their bags left behind.They rise upon clouds, and sport in the wind.And the Angel told Tom, if he’d be a good boy,He’d have God for his father & never want joy.

And so Tom awoke and we rose in the darkAnd got with our bags & our brushes to work.Tho’ the morning was cold, Tom was happy & warmSo if all do their duty, they need not fear harm.

The Little Boy lost

Father, father, where are you goingO do not walk so fast.Speak father, speak to your little boyOr else I shall be lost,

The night was dark no father was thereThe child was wet with dew.The mire was deep, & the child did weepAnd away the vapour flew

HOLY THURSDAY

Twas on a Holy Thursday their innocent faces cleanThe children walking two & two in red & blue & gre[en]Grey headed beadles walkd before with wands as white as snowTill into the high dome of Pauls they like Thames waters flow

O what a multitude they seemd these flowers of London townSeated in companies they sit with radiance all their ownThe hum of multitudes was there but multitudes of lambsThousands of little boys & girls raising their innocent hands

Now like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the voice of songOr like harmonious thunderings the seats of heaven amongBeneath them sit the aged men wise guardians of the poorThen cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door

Night

The sun descending in the west.The evening star does shine.The birds are silent in their nest,And I must seek for mine,The moon like a flower,In heavens high bower;With silent delight,Sits and smiles on the night.

Farewell green fields and happy groves,Where flocks have took delight;Where lambs have nibbled, silent movesThe feet of angels bright;Unseen they pour blessing,And joy without ceasing,On each bud and blossom,And each sleeping bosom.

They look in every thoughtless nest Where birds are covered warm;They visit caves of every beast,To keep them all from harm;If they see any weeping,That should have been sleepingThey pour sleep on their headAnd sit down by their bed.

[When]

A Dream

Once a dream did weave a shade,O’er my Angel-guarded bed.That an Emmet lost it’s wayWhere on grass methought I lay.

Troubled wilderd and forlornDark benighted travel-worn,Over many a tangled spray,All heart-broke I heard her say.

O my children! Do they cry,Do they hear their father sigh.Now they look abroad to see,Now return and weep for me.

Pitying I drop’d a tear;But I saw a glow-worm near:Who replied. What wailing wightCalls the watchman of the night.

I am set to light the ground,While the beetle goes his round:Follow now the beetles hum,Little wanderer hie thee home.

Experience Title-page

Introduction.

Hear the voice of the Bard!Who Present, Past, & Future seesWhose ears have heard,The Holy Word,That walk’d among the ancient trees.

Calling the lapsed SoulAnd weeping in the evening dew;That might controll.The starry pole;And fallen fallen light renew!

O Earth O Earth return!Arise from out the dewy grass;Night is worn,And the morn Rises from the slumberous mass.

Turn away no more:Why wilt thou turn awayThe starry floorThe watry shoreIs givn thee till the break of day.

EARTH’S Answer

Earth raisd up her head.From the darkness dread & drear.Her light fled:Stony dread!And her locks cover’d with grey despair.

Prison’d on watry shoreStarry Jealousy does keep my denCold and hoar Weeping o’erI hear the father of the ancient men

Selfish father of menCruel jealous selfish fearCan delight Chain’d in nightThe virgins of youth and morning bear.

Does spring hide its joyWhen buds and blossoms grow?Does the sower?Sow by night?Or the plowman in darkness plow?

Break this heavy chain.That does freeze my bones aroundSelfish! Vain!Eternal bane!That free Love with bondage bound.

The CLOD & the PEBBLE

Love seeketh not Itself to please.Nor for itself hath any care;But for another gives its ease.And builds a Heaven in Hells despair.

So sung a little Clod of Clay, Trodden with the cattles feet; But a Pebble of the brook. Warbled out these metres meet.

Love seeketh only Self to please,To bind another to Its delight;Joys in anothers loss of ease.And builds a Hell in Heavens despite.

The Little Girl Lost

In futurity

I prophetic see.That the earth from sleep.(Grave the sentence deep)

Shall arise and seekFor her maker meek:And the desart wild.Become a garden mild.

In the southern clime,Where the summers prime.Never fades away;Lovely Lyca lay.

Seven summers oldLovely Lyca told,She had wanderd long.Hearing wild birds song.

Sweet sleep come to meUnderneath this tree;Do father, mother weep.---“Where can Lyca sleep”.

Lost in desart wild

Is your little child.How can Lyca sleep.If her mother weep.

If her heart does ake.Then let Lyca wake;If my mother sleep,Lyca shall not weep.

Frowning frowning night,O’er this desart bright.Let they moon arise.While I close my eyes.

Sleeping Lyca lay:While the beasts of prey,Come from caverns deep,View’d the maid asleep

The kingly lion stoodAnd the virgin view’d,Then he gambold roundO’er the hallowed ground:

Leo[pard]s

THE Chimney Sweeper

A little black thing among the nsow:Crying weep, weep, in notes of woe!Where are thy father & mother? say?They are noth gone up to the church to pray.

Because I was happy upon the heath.And smil’d among the winters snow:They clothed me in the clothes of death.And taught me to sing the notes of woe.

And because I am happy. & dance & sing.They think they have done me no injury:And are gone to praise God & his Priest & KingWho make up a heaven of our misery.

NURSES Song

When the voices of children. are heard on the greenAnd whisprings are in the dale:The days of my youth rise fresh in my mind,My face turns green and pale.

Then come home my children. The sun is gone downAnd the dews of night ariseyour spring & your day. Are wasted in playAnd your winter and night in disguise.

THE FLY

Little FlyThy summers lay,My thoughtless handHas brush’d away.

Am not I A fly like thee?Or art not thouA man like me?

For I danceAnd drink & sing;Till some blind handShall brush my wing.

If thought is lifeAnd strength & breath;And the wantOf thought is death;

Then am I A happy fly,If I live,Or if I die.

My Pretty ROSE TREE

A flower was offerd to me;Such a flower as May never bore.But I said I’ve a Pretty Rose-tree.And I passed the sweet flower o’er.

Then I went to my Pretty Rose-tree:To tend her by day and by night.But my Rose turnd away with jealousy:And her thorns were my only delight.

AH! SUN-FLOWER

Ah Sun-flower! Weary o ftime.Who countest the steps of the Sun:Seeking after that sweet golden climeWhere the travellers journey is done.

Where the Youth pined away with desire,And the plae Virgin shrouded in snow:Arise from their graves and aspire.Where my Sun-flower wishes to go.

THE LILLY

The modest Rose puts forth a thorn:The humble Sheep. A threatning horn:While the Lilly white, shall in Love delight,Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright

INFANT SORROW

My mother groand! My father wept,Into the dangerous world I leapt:Helpless, naked, piping loud:Like a fiend hid in a cloud.

Struggling in my fathers hands:Striving against my swadling bands:Bound and weary I thought bestTo sulk upon my mothers breast.

The School Boy

I love to rise in a summer morn,When the birds sing on every tree;The distant huntsman winds his horn,And the sky-lark sings with me.O! what sweet company.

But to go to school in a summer morn,O! it drives all joy away;Under a crueleye 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 sit in learnings bower,Worn thro’ 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.

O! father & mother. if buds are nip’d,And blossoms blown away,And if the tenderplants are strip’dOf their joy in the springing day,By sorrow and cares dismay.

How shall the summer arise in joy.Or the summer fruits appear.Or how shall we gather what griefs destroyOr bless the mellowing year.When the blasts of winter appear.

The Voice of the Ancient Bard.

Youth of delight come hither.And see the opening morn,Image of truth new born.Doubt is fled & clouds of reason.Dark disputes & 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