Milton A Poem (Illuminated Manuscript with the Original Illustrations of William Blake) E-Book
William Blake
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- Herausgeber: DigiCat
- Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023
William Blake's 'Milton A Poem' is a groundbreaking piece of illuminated manuscript literature that showcases the unique fusion of poetry and visual art. The book combines Blake's intricate illustrations with his poetic tribute to the influential poet John Milton, creating a stunning artistic experience. Blake's literary style in 'Milton A Poem' is characterized by his signature use of symbolism, mysticism, and visionary imagery, making it a prime example of Romantic literature that pushes the boundaries of traditional storytelling. The inclusion of original illustrations adds a layer of depth and complexity to the work, inviting readers to explore the visual representation of Blake's poetic vision.
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Milton A Poem (Illuminated Manuscript with the Original Illustrations of William Blake)
Table of Contents
Book the First
Book the First
Daughters of Beulah! Muses who inspire the Poet’s Song,
Record the journey of immortal Milton thro’ your Realms
Of terror & mild moony lustre, in soft sexual delusions
Of varied beauty, to delight the wanderer and repose
His burning thirst & freezing hunger! Come into my hand
By your mild power; descending down the Nerves of my right arm
From out the Portals of my Brain, where by your ministry
The Eternal Great Humanity Divine planted his Paradise,
And in it caus’d the Spectres of the Dead to take sweet form
In likeness of himself. Tell also of the False Tongue! vegetated
Beneath your land of shadows: of its sacrifices, and
Its offerings: even till Jesus, the image of the Invisible God,
Became its prey; a curse, an offering, and an atonement
For Death Eternal in the heavens of Albion, & before the Gates
Of Jerusalem his Emanation, in the heavens beneath Beulah.
Say first! what mov’d Milton, who walk’d about in Eternity
One hundred years, pond’ring the intricate mazes of Providence,
Unhappy tho’ in heav’n, he obey’d, he murmur’d not, he was silent.
Viewing his Sixfold Emanation scatter’d thro’ the deep
In torment: To go into the deep her to redeem & himself perish?
That cause at length mov’d Milton to this unexampled deed,
A Bard’s prophetic Song! for sitting at eternal tables.
Terrific among the Sons of Albion, in chorus solemn & loud
A Bard broke forth: all sat attentive to the awful man.
Mark well my words! they are of your eternal salvation!
Three Classes are Created by the Hammer of Los, & Woven
By Enitharmons Looms when Albion was slain upon his Mountains
And in his Tent, thro envy of Living Form, even of the Divine Vision
And of the sports of Wisdom in the Human Imagination
Which is the Divine Body of the Lord Jesus. blessed for ever.
Mark well my words. they are of your eternal salvation:
Urizen lay in darkness & solitude, in chains of the mind lock’d up
Los siezd his Hammer & Tongs; he labourd at his resolute Anvil
Among indefinite Druid rocks & snows of doubt & reasoning.
Refusing all Definite Form, the Abstract Horror roofd. stony hard.
And a first Age passed over & a State of dismal woe:
Down sunk with fright a red round Globe hot burning. deep
Deep down into the Abyss. panting: conglobing: trembling ;
And a second Age passed over & a State of dismal woe.
Rolling round into two little Orbs & closed in two little Caves
The Eyes beheld the Abyss: lest bones of solidness freeze over all
And a third Age passed over & a State of dismal woe.
From beneath his Orbs of Vision, Two Ears in close volutions
Shot spiring out in the deep darkness & petrified as they grew
And a fourth Age passed over & a State of dismal woe.
Hanging upon the wind, Two Nostrils bent down into the
Deep And a fifth Age passed over & a State of dismal woe.
In ghastly torment sick, a Tongue of hunger & thirst flamed out
And a sixth Age passed over & a State of dismal woe.
Enraged & stifled without & within: in terror & woe, he threw his
Right Arm to the north, his left Arm to the south, & his
Feet Stampd the nether Abyss in trembling & howling & dismay
And a seventh Age passed over & a State of dismal woe
Terrified Los stood in the Abyss & his immortal limbs
Grew deadly pale; he became what he beheld: for a red
Round Globe sunk down from his Bosom into the Deep in pangs
He hoverd over it trembling & weeping. suspended it shook
The nether Abyss in tremblings. he wept over it, he cherish’d it
In deadly sickening pain: till separated into a Female pale
As the cloud that brings the snow: all the while from his Back
A blue fluid exuded in Sinews hardening in the Abyss
Till it separated into a Male Form howling in Jealousy
Within labouring. beholding Without: from Particulars to Generals
Subduing his Spectre, they Builded the Looms of Generation
They Builded Great Golgonooza Times on Times Ages on Ages
First Orc was Born then the Shadowy Female: then All Los’s Family
At last Enitharmon brought forth Satan Refusing Form, in vain
The Miller of Eternity made subservient to the Great Harvest
That he may go to his own Place Prince of the Starry Wheels
Beneath the Plow of Rintrah & the harrow of the Almighty
In the hands of Palamabron. Where the Starry Mills of Satan
Are built beneath the Earth & Waters of the Mundane Shell
Here the Three Classes of Men take their Sexual texture Woven
The Sexual is Threefold: the Human is Fourfold.
If you account it Wisdom when you are angry to be silent, and
Not to shew it: I do not account that Wisdom but Folly.
Every Mans Wisdom is peculiar to his own Individ[u]ality
O Satan my youngest born, art thou not Prince of the Starry Hosts
And of the Wheels of Heaven, to turn the Mills day & night?
Art thou not Newtons Pantocrator weaving the Woof of Locke
To Mortals thy Mills seem every thing & the Harrow of Shaddai
A scheme of Human conduct invisible & incomprehensible
Get to thy Labours at the Mills & leave me to my wrath.
Satan was going to reply, but Los roll’d his loud thunders.
Anger me not! thou canst not drive the Harrow in pitys paths.
Thy Work is Eternal Death, with Mills & Ovens & Cauldrons.
Trouble me no more. thou canst not have Eternal Life
So Los spoke! Satan trembling obeyd weeping along the way.
Mark well my words, they are of your eternal Salvation
Between South Molton Street & Stratford Place: Calvarys foot
Where the Victims were preparing for Sacrifice their Cherubim
Around their loins pourd forth their arrows & their bosoms beam
With all colours of precious stones, & their inmost palaces
Resounded with preparation of animals wild & tame
(Mark well my words! Corporeal Friends are Spiritual Enemies)
Mocking Druidical Mathematical
Proportion of Length Bredth Highth Displaying
Naked Beauty! with Flute & Harp & Song
Palamabron with the fiery Harrow in morning returning
From breathing fields. Satan fainted beneath the artillery
Christ took on Sin in the Virgins Womb, & put it off on the Cross
All pitied the piteous & was wrath with the wrathful & Los heard it.
And this is the manner of the Daughters of Albion in their beauty
Every one is threefold in Head & Heart & Reins, & every one
Has three Gates into the Three Heavens of Beulah which shine
Translucent in their Foreheads & their Bosoms & their Loins
Surrounded with fires unapproachable: but whom they please
They take up into their Heavens in intoxicating delight
For the Elect cannot be Redeemd, but Created continually
By Offering & Atonement in the crue[l]ties of Moral Law
Hence the three Classes of Men take their fix’d destinations
They are the Two Contraries & the Reasoning Negative.
While the Females prepare the Victims. the Males at Furnaces
