In heaven the only art of living
Is forgetting and forgiving;
But if you on earth forgive

You shall not find where to live.

A

FROM "MILTON." (1804.)

ND 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: O 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 and pleasant land.

"Would to God that all the Lord's people were prophets."

Numbers xi. 29.

M

DEDICATION

OF BLAIR'S POEM OF THE GRAVE TO THE QUEEN. (1808.)*

THE

HE door of Death is made of gold
That mortal eyes cannot behold;
But when the mortal eyes are closed,
And cold and pale the limbs reposed,
The soul awakes and, wondering, sees
In her mild hand the golden keys:
The grave is heaven's golden gate,
And rich and poor around it wait.
Oh! shepherdess of England's fold,
Behold this gate of pearl and gold!

To dedicate to England's Queen
The visions that my soul has seen,
And by her kind permission bring
What I have borne on silken wing
From the vast region of the grave,
Before her throne my wings I wave;
Bowing before my sovereign's feet.
The grave produced these blossoms sweet,
In mild repose from earthly strife—

The blossoms of Eternal Life!

* An edition illustrated with designs by Blake.-ED.

INDEX OF FIRST LINES.

Page

A

FLOWER was offer'd to me

Ah, Sunflower! weary of time

A little black thing among the snow
All the night in woe -

And did those feet in ancient time
Awake, awake, my little boy!

III

112
126
121
161

139

Dear mother, dear mother, the church is cold

129

Each man is in his spectre's power

160

Earth raised up her head -

ΠΟ

Father father! where are you going?
Fresh from the dewy hill, the merry year

Golden Apollo, that thro' heaven wide

Hear the voice of the bard
How sweet I roam'd from field to field
How sweet is the shepherd's sweet lot

"I die, I die !" the mother said

I dreamt a dream! what can it mean?
I give you the end of a golden string
I have no name

93

18

26

109

13

88

144

118

160

ΙΟΙ

Is this a holy thing to see -

I travell'd through a land of men

I wander through each charter'd street

I was angry with my friend

I went to the garden of Love

I wonder whether the girls are mad

158
117
135
124

127

114

151

70

Justice hath heaved a sword, etc.

Little fly, thy summer's play

Little lamb, who made thee?

Little Mary Bell had a fairy in a nut

Love and harmony combine

Love seeketh not itself to please

Memory, hither come

Merry, merry sparrow

My mother bore me in the southern wild
My mother groan'd, my father wept
My silks and fine array

Nought loves another as itself

O Autumn, laden with fruit and stain'd

O for a voice like thunder and a tongue
O holy virgin! clad in purest white
Once a dream did weave a shade
O Rose, thou art sick

O sons of Trojan Brutus, clothed in war
O thou to whose fury the nations are
O thou who passest thro' our valleys, etc.
O thou with dewy locks, who lookest down
O winter! bar thine adamantine doors

Piping down the valleys wild
Pity would be no more

Prepare, prepare the iron helm of war

Samson, the strongest of the children of men
Sound the flute !

Sweet dreams, form a shade

Sweet Mary, the first time she ever was there

The bell struck one and shook the silent tower
The door of death is made of gold
The fields from Islington to Marybone
The little boy lost in the lonely fen
The maiden caught me in the wild
The modest rose puts forth a thorn
There is a smile of love

The sun descending in the west
The sun does arise

The veiled evening walked solitary
The wild winds weep

Thou fair-hair'd angel of the evening

Three Virgins at the break of day

115

To mercy, pity, peace, and love

95

To see a world in a grain of sand

145

'Twas on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean

96

When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy

103

When the voices of children are heard on the green 100, 113