Songs of Innocence

By Blake, William

Book Id: WPLBN0000706964
Format Type: PDF eBook
File Size: 144,313 KB.
Reproduction Date: 2007

Title:	Songs of Innocence
Author:	Blake, William
Volume:
Language:	English
Subject:	Fiction, Poetry, Verse drama
Collections:	Poetry Collection
Historic Publication Date:
Publisher:	World Public Library Association


Citation APA MLA Chicago Blake, W. (n.d.). Songs of Innocence. Retrieved from http://gutenberg.cc/

Description
Poetry

Excerpt
Excerpt: Introduction: // Piping down the valleys wild, // Piping songs of pleasant glee, // On a cloud I saw a child, // And he laughing said to me: // ``Pipe a song about a Lamb!'' // So I piped with a 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 again, // While 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 sight, // And 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 Shepherd's sweet lot! // From the morn to the evening he strays; // He shall follow his sheep all the day, // And his tongue shall be filled with praise. // For he hears the lamb's innocent call, // And he hears the ewe's tender reply; // He is watchful while they are in peace, // For they know when their Shepherd is nigh. // The Echoing Green // The Sun does arise, // And make happy the skies; // The merry bells ring // To welcome the Spring; // The skylark and thrush, // The birds of the bush, // Sing lounder around // To the bells' chearful sound, // While our sports shall be seen // On the Echoing Green. // Old John, with white hair, // Does laugh away care, // Sitting under the oak, // Among the old folk. // They laugh at our play, // And soon they all say: // ``Such, such were the joys // When we all, girls & boys, // In our youth time were seen // On the Echoing Green.'' // Till the little ones, weary, // No more can be merry; // The sun does descend, // And our sports have on end. // Round the laps of their mothers // Many sisters and brothers, // Like birds in their nest, // Are ready for rest, // And sports no more seen // On the darkening Green. // The Lamb // Little Lamb, who made thee? // Dost thou know who made thee? // Gave thee life, & bid thee feed // By the stream & o'er the mead; // Gave thee clothing of delight, // Softest clothing, wooly, bright; // Gave thee such a tender voice, // Making all the vales rejoice? // Little Lamb, who made thee? // Dost thou know who made thee? // Little Lamb, I'll tell thee, // Little Lamb, I'll tell thee, // He is called by thy name, // For he calls himself a Lamb. // He is meek, & he is mild; // He became a little child. // I a child, & thou a lamb, // We are called by his name. // Little Lamb, God bless thee! // Little Lamb, God bless thee! // 2 // 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 tree, // And 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 live, // And gives his light, and gives his heat away; // And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive // Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday. // ``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 sunburnt face // Is but a cloud, and like a shady grove. // ``For when our souls have learn'd the heat to bear, // The 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.''' // Thus 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, // I'll shade him from the heat, till he can bear // To lean in joy upon our father's knee; // And then I'll stand and stroke his silver hair, // And be like him,and he will then love me. // The Blossom // Merry, Merry Sparrow! // Under leaves so green // A happy Blossom // Sees you swift as arrow // Seek your cradle narrow // Near my Bosom. // Pretty, Pretty Robin! // Under leaves so green // A happy Blossom // Hears you sobbing, sobbing, // Pretty, Pretty Robin, // Near my Bosom. // 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. // 3 // There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head, // That curl'd like a lamb's back, was shav'd: so I said // ``Hush, Tom! never mind it, for when you 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, & Jack, // Were all of them lock'd up in coffins of black. // And by came an Angel who had a bright key, // And he open'd the coffins & set them free; // Then down a green plain leaping, laughing, they run, // And 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 dark, // And got with our bags & our brushes to work, // Tho the morning was cold, Tom was happy & warm, // So if all do their duty they need not fear harm. // The Little Boy Lost // ``Father! father! where are you going? // O do not walk so fast. // Speak, father, speak to your little boy, // Or else I shall be lost.'' // The night was dark, no father was there; // The child was wet with dew; // The mire was deep, & the child did weep, // And away the vapour flew. // The Little Boy Found // The little boy lost in the lonely fen, // Led by the wand'ring light, // Began to cry; but God, ever nigh, // Appear'd like his father in white. // He kissed the child & by the hand led // And to his mother brought, // Who in sorrow pale, thro' the lonely dale, // Her little boy weeping sought. // Laughing Song // When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy, // And the dimpling stream runs laughing by; // When the air does laugh with our merry wit, // And the green hill laughs with the noise of it; // When the meadows laugh with lively green, // And the grasshopper laughs in the merry scene, // When Mary and Susan and Emily // 4 // With their sweet round mouths sing ``Ha, Ha, He!'' // When the painted birds laugh in the shade, // Where our table with cherries and nuts is spread, // Come live & be merry, and join with me, // To sing the sweet chorus of ``Ha, Ha, He!'' // A Cradle Song // Sweet dreams, form a shade // O'er my lovely infant's head; // Sweet dreams of pleasant streams // By happy, silent, moony beams. // Sweet sleep, with soft down // Weave thy brows an infant crown. // Sweep sleep, Angel mild, // Hover o'er my happy child. // Sweet smiles, in the night // Hover over my delight; // Sweet smiles, Mother's smiles, // All the livelong night beguiles. // Sweet moans, dovelike sighs, // Chase not slumber from thy eyes. // Sweet moans, sweeter smiles, // All the dovelike moans beguiles. // Sleep, sleep, happy child, // All creation slept and smil'd; // Sleep, sleep, happy sleep, // While o'er thee thy mother weep. // Sweet babe, in thy face // Holy image I can trace. // Sweet babe, once like thee, // Thy maker lay and wept for me, // Wept for me, for thee, for all, // When he was an infant small // Thou his image ever see, // Heavenly face that smiles on thee, // Smiles on thee, on me, on all; // Who became an infant small. // Infant smiles are his own smiles; // Heaven & earth to peace beguiles. // The Divine Image // To Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love // All pray in their distress; // And to these virtues of delight // Return their thankfulness. // For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love // Is God, our father dear, // And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love // Is Man, his child and care. // For Mercy has a human heart, // 5 // Pity a human face, // And Love, the human form divine, // And Peace, the human dress. // Then every man, of every clime, // That prays in his distress, // Prays to the human form divine, // Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace. // And all must love the human form, // In heathen, turk, or jew; // Where Mercy, Love, & Pity dwell // There God is dwelling too. // Holy Thursday // 'T was on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean, // The children walking two & two, in red & blue & green, // Grey-headed beadles walk'd before, with wands as white as snow, // Till into the high dome of Paul's they like Thames' waters flow. // O what a multitude they seem'd, these flowers of London town! // Seated in companies they sit with radiance all their own. // The hum of multitudes was there, but multitudes of lambs, // Thousands of little boys & girls raising their innocent hands. // Now like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the voice of song, // Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of Heaven among. // Beneath them sit the aged men, wise guardians of the poor; // Then 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 heaven's 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 moves // The 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 cover'd warm; // They visit caves of every beast, // To keep them all from harm. // If they see any weeping // That should have been sleeping, // They pour sleep on their head, // 6 // And sit down by their bed. // When wolves and tygers howl for prey, // They pitying stand and weep; // Seeking to drive their thirst away, // And keep them from the sheep; // But if they rush dreadful, // The angels, most heedful, // Receive each mild spirit, // New worlds to inherit. // And there the lion's ruddy eyes // Shall flow with tears of gold, // And pitying the tender cries, // And walking round the fold, // Saying ``Wrath, by his meekness, // And by his health, sickness // Is driven away // From our immortal day. // ``And now beside thee, bleating lamb, // I can lie down and sleep; // Or think on him who bore thy name, // Graze after thee and weep. // For, wash'd in life's river, // My bright mane for ever // Shall shine like the gold // As I guard o'er the fold.'' // Spring // Sound the Flute! // Now it's mute. // Birds delight // Day and Night; // Nightingale // In the dale, // Lark in Sky, // Merrily, // Merrily, Merrily, to welcome in the Year. // Little Boy, // Full of joy; // Little Girl, // Sweet and small; // Cock does crow, // So do you; // Merry voice, // Infant noise, // Merrily, Merrily, to welcome in the Year. // Little Lamb, // Here I am; // Come and lick // My white neck; // Let me pull // 7 // Your soft Wool; // Let me kiss // Your soft face: // Merrily, Merrily, we welcome in the Year. // Nurse's Song // When the voices of children are heard on the green // And laughing is heard on the hill, // My heart is at rest within my breast // And everything else is still. // ``Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down // And the dews of night arise; // Come, come, leave off play, and let us away // Till the morning appears in the skies.'' // ``No, no, let us play, for it is yet day // And we cannot go to sleep; // Besides, in the sky the little birds fly // And the hills are all cover'd with sheep.'' // ``Well, well, go & play till the light fades away // And then go home to bed.'' // The little ones leaped & shouted & laugh'd // And all the hills echoed. // Infant Joy // ``I have no name: // I am but two days old.'' // What shall I call thee? // ``I happy am, // Joy is my name.'' // Sweet joy befall thee! // Pretty joy! // Sweet joy but two days old, // Sweet joy I call thee: // Thou dost smile, // I sing the while, // Sweet joy befall thee! // A Dream // Once a dream did weave a shade // O'er my Angel-guarded bed, // That an Emmet lost its way // Where on grass methought I lay. // Troubled, 'wilder'd, and forlorn, // Dark, benighted, travel-worn, // Over many a tangled spray, // All heart-broken I heard her say: // ``O, my children! do they cry? // Do they hear their father sigh? // Now they look abroad to see: // 8 // Now return and weep for me.'' // Pitying, I drop'd a tear; // But I saw a glow-worm near, // Who replied: ``What wailing wight // Calls the watchman of the night? // ``I am set to light the ground, // While the beetle goes his round: // Follow now the beetle's hum; // Little wanderer, hie thee home.'' // On Another's Sorrow // Can I see another's woe, // And not be in sorrow too? // Can I see another's grief, // And not seek for kind relief? // Can I see a falling tear, // And not feel my sorrow's share? // Can a father see his child // Weep, nor be with sorrow fill'd? // Can a mother sit and hear // An infant groan an infant fear? // No, no! never can it be! // Never, never can it be! // And can he who smiles on all // Hear the wren with sorrows small, // Hear the small bird's grief & care, // Hear the woes that infants bear, // And not sit beside the nest, // Pouring pity in their breast; // And not sit the cradle near, // Weeping tear on infant's tear; // And not sit both night & day, // Wiping all our tears away? // O, no! never can it be! // Never, never can it be! // He doth give his joy to all; // He becomes an infant small; // He becomes a man of woe; // He doth feel the sorrow too. // Think not thou canst sigh a sigh // And thy maker is not by; // Think not thou canst weep a tear // And thy maker is not near. // O! he gives to us his joy // That our grief he may destroy; // Till our grief is fled & gone // He doth sit by us and moan...