William Blake - America, A Prophecy: Preludium (I) lyrics

The shadowy Daughter of Urthona stood before red Orc, When fourteen suns had faintly journey'd o'er his dark abode: His food she brought in iron baskets, his drink in cups of iron: Crown'd with a helmet and dark hair the nameless female stood; A quiver with its burning stores, a bow like that of night, When pestilence is shot from heaven: no other arms she need! Invulnerable though naked, save where clouds roll round her loins Their awful folds in the dark air: silent she stood as night; For never from her iron tongue could voice or sound arise, But dumb till that dread day when Orc a**ay'd his fierce embrace. 'Dark Virgin,' said the hairy youth, 'thy father stern, abhorr'd, Rivets my tenfold chains while still on high my spirit soars; Sometimes an Eagle screaming in the sky, sometimes a Lion Stalking upon the mountains, and sometimes a Whale, I lash The raging fathomless abyss; anon a Serpent folding Around the pillars of Urthona, and round thy dark limbs On the Canadian wilds I fold; feeble my spirit folds, For chain'd beneath I rend these caverns: when thou bringest food I howl my joy, and my red eyes seek to behold thy face-- In vain! these clouds roll to and fro, and hide thee from my sight.' Silent as despairing love, and strong as jealousy, The hairy shoulders rend the links; free are the wrists of fire; Round the terrific loins he seiz'd the panting, struggling womb; It joy'd: she put aside her clouds and smiled her first-born smile, As when a black cloud shews its lightnings to the silent deep. Soon as she saw the terrible boy, then burst the virgin cry: 'I know thee, I have found thee, and I will not let thee go: Thou art the image of God who dwells in darkness of Africa, And thou art fall'n to give me life in regions of dark d**h. On my American plains I feel the struggling afflictions Endur'd by roots that writhe their arms into the nether deep. I see a Serpent in Canada who courts me to his love, In Mexico an Eagle, and a Lion in Peru; I see a Whale in the south-sea, drinking my soul away. O what limb-rending pains I feel! thy fire and my frost Mingle in howling pains, in furrows by thy lightnings rent. This is eternal d**h, and this the torment long foretold.'