Light springing on the air, lead the sweet dance; they wake
The honeysuckle sleeping on the oak, the flaunting beauty
Revels along upon the wind; the white thorn, lovely May,
Opens her many lovely eyes; listening, the rose still sleeps.
None dare to wake her: soon she bursts her crimson-curtained bed
And comes forth in the majesty of beauty; every flower,
The pink, the jasmine, the wallflower, the carnation,
The jonquil, the mild lily opes her heavens; every tree
And flower and herb soon fill the air with an innumerable dance,
Yet all in order sweet and lovely; men are sick with love.
Such is a vision of the lamentation of Beulah over Ololon.
*When Los joined with me he took me in his fiery whirlwind;
My vegetated portion was hurried from Lambeth's shades;
He set me down in Felpham's vale, and prepared a beautiful
Cottage for me, that, in three years, I might write all these visions;
To display Nature's cruel holiness; the deceits of Natural Religion.
Walking in my cottage garden, sudden I beheld
The virgin Ololon, and address'd her as a daughter of Beulah:—
'Virgin of Providence! fear not to enter into my cottage!'