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In a black cloud making his moan;
Though dead, they appear upon my path,
Notwithstanding my terrible wrath:
They beg, they entreat, they drop their tears,
Fill'd full of hopes, fill'd full of fears;
With a thousand angels upon the wind.
Pouring disconsolate from behind
To drive them off, and before my way
A frowning Thistle implores my stay.
What to others a trifle appears
Fills me full of smiles or tears;
For double the vision my eyes do see,
And a double vision is always with me.
W^ith my inward eye, 'tis an old man grey;
With my outward, a thistle across my way.
'If thou goest back,' the Thistle said,
'Thou art to endless woe betray'd;
'For here does Theotormon lower,
'And here is Enitharmon's bower,
'And Los the Terrible thus hath sworn,
'Because thou backward dost return,
'Poverty, envy, old age, and fear,
'Shall bring thy wife upon a bier.
'And Butts shall give what Fuseli gave,
'A dark black rock, and a gloomy cave.'
I struck the thistle with my foot.
And broke him up from his delving root;
'Must the duties of life each other cross?
'Must every joy be dung and dross?
'Must my dear Butts feel cold neglect
'Because I give Hayley his due respect?
'Must Flaxman look upon me as wild,
'And all my friends be with doubts beguil'd?
'Must my wife live in my sister's bane,
'Or my sister survive on my Love's pain?
'The curses of Los, the terrible shade,
'And his dismal terrors make m^e afraid.'
So I spoke, and struck in my wrath
The old man weltering upon my path.
Then Los appeared in all his power:
In the sun he appeared, descending before
My face in fierce flames; in my double sight,
'Twas outward a sun,—inward, Los in his might.
'My hands are labour'd day and night,
'And ease comes never in my sight.
'My wife has no indulgence given,
'Except what comes to her from heaven.
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