The Poetry and Prose of William Blake Edited by David V. Erdman: Commentary by Harold Bloom |
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The Little Girl Found |
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 | The Poetry and Prose of William Blake |  |
The Little Girl Found
All the night in woe
Lyca's parents go:
Over vallies deep,
While the desarts weep.
Lyca's parents go:
Over vallies deep,
While the desarts weep.
Tired and woe-begone,
Hoarse with making moan:
Arm in arm seven days,
They trac'd the desart ways.
Hoarse with making moan:
Arm in arm seven days,
They trac'd the desart ways.
Seven nights they sleep,
Among shadows deep:
And dream they see their child
Starv'd in desart wild.
Among shadows deep:
And dream they see their child
Starv'd in desart wild.
Pale thro pathless ways
The fancied image strays,
Famish'd, weeping, weak
With hollow piteous shriek
The fancied image strays,
Famish'd, weeping, weak
With hollow piteous shriek
Rising from unrest,
The trembling woman prest,
With feet of weary woe;
She could no further go.
The trembling woman prest,
With feet of weary woe;
She could no further go.
22
In his arms he bore,
Her arm'd with sorrow sore;
Till before their way,
A couching lion lay.
Her arm'd with sorrow sore;
Till before their way,
A couching lion lay.
Turning back was vain,
Soon his heavy mane,
Bore them to the ground;
Then he stalk'd around,
Soon his heavy mane,
Bore them to the ground;
Then he stalk'd around,
Smelling to his prey.
But their fears allay,
When he licks their hands;
And silent by them stands.
But their fears allay,
When he licks their hands;
And silent by them stands.
They look upon his eyes
Fill'd with deep surprise:
And wondering behold,
A spirit arm'd in gold.
Fill'd with deep surprise:
And wondering behold,
A spirit arm'd in gold.
On his head a crown
On his shoulders down,
Flow'd his golden hair.
Gone was all their care.
On his shoulders down,
Flow'd his golden hair.
Gone was all their care.
Follow me he said,
Weep not for the maid;
In my palace deep,
Lyca lies asleep.
Weep not for the maid;
In my palace deep,
Lyca lies asleep.
Then they followed,
Where the vision led:
And saw their sleeping child,
Among tygers wild.
Where the vision led:
And saw their sleeping child,
Among tygers wild.
To this day they dwell
In a lonely dell
Nor fear the wolvish howl,
Nor the lions growl.
In a lonely dell
Nor fear the wolvish howl,
Nor the lions growl.
| The Poetry and Prose of William Blake | |