But me the servants of the Harrow saw not, but as a bow
15Of varying colours on the hills; terribly rag'd the horses.
Satan astonish'd, and with power above his own controll,
Compell'd the Gnomes to curb the horses, & to throw banks of sand
Around the fiery flaming Harrow in labyrinthine forms,
And brooks between to intersect the meadows in their course.
20The Harrow cast thick flames: Jehovah thunder'd above.
Chaos & ancient night fled from beneath the fiery Harrow:
The Harrow cast thick flames & orb'd us round in concave fire,
A Hell of our own making, see, its flames still gird me round!
Jehovah thunder'd above: Satan in pride of heart
25Drove the fierce Harrow among the constellations of Jehovah,
Drawing a third part in the fires as stubble, north & south,
To devour Albion and Jerusalem, the Emanation of Albion,
Driving the Harrow in Pity's paths: 'twas then, with our dark fires
Which now gird round us (O eternal torment) I form'd the Serpent
30Of precious stones & gold, turn'd poisons on the sultry wastes.
The Gnomes in all that day spar'd not; they curs'd Satan bitterly.
To do unkind things in kindness: with power arm'd to say
The most irritating things in the midst of tears and love:
These are the stings of the Serpent! thus did we by them, till thus
35They in return retaliated, and the Living Creatures madden'd.
The Gnomes labour'd. I weeping hid in Satan's inmost brain.
But when the Gnomes refus'd to labour more, with blandishments
I came forth from the head of Satan: back the Gnomes recoil'd
And called me Sin, and for a sign portentous held me. Soon
40Day sunk and Palamabron return'd, trembling I hid myself
In Satan's inmost Palace of his nervous fine wrought Brain:
For Elynittria met Satan with all her singing women,
Terrific in their joy & pouring wine of wildest power,
They gave Satan their wine, indignant at the burning wrath.
45Wild with prophetic fury his former life became like a dream.
Cloth'd in the Serpent's folds, in selfish holiness demanding purity,
Being most impure, self-condemn'd to eternal tears, he drove
Me from his inmost Brain & the doors clos'd with thunder's sound.
O Divine Vision who didst create the Female, to repose
50The Sleepers of Beulah, pity the repentant Leutha. My
P. 11 SICK Couch bears the dark shades of Eternal Death infolding
The Spectre of Satan: he furious refuses to repose in sleep:
I humbly bow in all my Sin before the Throne Divine.
Not so the Sick-one; Alas, what shall be done him to restore,
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