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શુક્રવાર, 2 નવેમ્બર, 2012
ગુરુવાર, 1 નવેમ્બર, 2012
songs of Innocence
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 merry cheer.
"Piper, pipe that song again;"
So I piped: he wept to hear.
"Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe;
Sing thy songs of happy cheer!"
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 vanished from my sight,
And I plucked a hollow reed,
And I made a rural pen,
And I stained the water clear,
And I wrote my happy songs
Every child may joy to hear.
Introduction (Innocence)(Notes)
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 merry cheer.
"Piper, pipe that song again;"
So I piped: he wept to hear.
"Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe;
Sing thy songs of happy cheer!"
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 vanished from my sight,
And I plucked a hollow reed,
And I made a rural pen,
And I stained the water clear,
And I wrote my happy songs
Every child may joy to hear.
The Shepherd (Notes)
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 Blossom (Notes)
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,
Near my Bosom.
The Schoolboy (Notes)
I love to rise in a summer morn
When the birds sing on every tree;
The distant huntsman winds his horn,
And the skylark sings with me.
Oh, what sweet company!
But to go to school in a summer morn,
Oh! it drives all joy away;
Under a cruel eye outworn
The little ones spend the day
In sighing and dismay.
Ah! then at times I drooping sit,
And spend many an anxious hour;
Nor in my book can I take delight,
Nor sit in learning's bower,
Worn through with the dreary shower.
How can the bird that is born for joy
Sit in a cage and sing?
How can a child, when fears annoy,
But droop his tender wing,
And forget his youthful spring?
O, father and mother, if buds are nipped
And blossoms blown away,
And if the tender plants are stripped
Of their joy in the springing day,
By sorrow and care's dismay,
How shall the summer arise in joy,
Or the summer fruits appear?
Or how shall we gather what griefs destroy,
Or bless the mellowing year,
When the blasts of winter appear?
Holy Thursday (Notes)
'Twas on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean,
The children walking two and two, in red and blue and green;
Grey-headed beadles walked 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 seemed, 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 and 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.
The Little Black Boy (Notes)
My mother bore me in the southern wild,
And I am black, but oh! my soul is white.
White as an angel is the English child,
But I am black as if bereaved 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 learned the heat to bear
The cloud will vanish, we shall hear his voice
Saying: 'Come out from the grove, my love and 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 Lamb (notes)
Little Lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?
Gave thee life, and bid thee feed
By the stream and o'er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing, woolly, 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 and he is mild,
He became a little child:
I a child, and thou a lamb,
We are called by his name.
Little lamb, God bless thee!
Little lamb, God bless thee!
Night (Notes)
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 covered 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,
And sit down by their bed.
When wolves and tigers 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
Form 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, washed in life's river,
My bright mane for ever
Shall shine like the gold,
As I guard o'er the fold."
The Chimney Sweeper (Notes)
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, and in soot I sleep.
There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head,
That curled like a lamb's back, was shaved: so I said,
"Hush, Tom! never mind it, for when your head's bare,
You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair."
And so he was quiet; and that very night,
As Tom was a-sleeping, he had such a sight, -
That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, and Jack,
Were all of them locked up in coffins of black.
And by came an angel who had a bright key,
And he opened the coffins and set them all free;
Then down a green plain leaping, laughing, they run,
And wash in a river, and shine in the sun.
Then naked and 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, and never want joy.
And so Tom awoke; and we rose in the dark,
And got with our bags and our brushes to work.
Though the morning was cold, Tom was happy and warm;
So if all do their duty they need not fear harm.
The Divine Image (Notes)
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,
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 and Pity dwell
There God is dwelling too.
Songs of Experience
| Title Page |
| Introduction Hear the voice of the Bard! Calling the lapsed Soul O Earth O Earth return! Turn away no more: |
| Earth's Answer Earth rais'd up her head, Prison'd on watry shore Selfish father of men Does spring hide its joy Break this heavy chain, |
| The Clod & the Pebble Love seeketh not Itself to please, So sang a little Clod of Clay, Love seeketh only Self to please, |
| Holy Thursday Is this a holy thing to see, Is that trembling cry a song! And their sun does never shine. For where-e'er the sun does shine, |
| The Little Girl Lost In futurity Shall arise and seek In the southern clime, Seven summers old Sweet sleep come to me Lost in desart wild If her heart does ake, Frowning frowning night, Sleeping Lyca lay; The kingly lion stood |
| Leopards, tygers play, And her bosom lick, While the lioness, The Little Girl Found All the night in woe, Tired and woe-begone, Seven nights they sleep, Pale thro' pathless ways |
| Famish'd, weeping, weak Rising from unrest, In his arms he bore, Turning back was vain, Smelling to his prey. They look upon his eyes On his head a crown Follow me he said, Then they followed, To this day they dwell |
| The Chimney Sweeper A little black thing among the snow: Because I was happy upon the heath, And because I am happy, & dance & sing, |
| Nurses Song When the voices of children, are heard on the green Then come home my children, the sun is gone down |
| The Sick Rose O Rose thou art sick. Has found out thy bed |
| The Fly Little Fly Am not I For I dance If thought is life Then am I |
| The Angel I Dreamt a Dream! what can it mean? And I wept both night and day So he took his wings and fled: Soon my Angel came again; |
| The Tyger Tyger Tyger, burning bright, In what distant deeps or skies. And what shoulder, & what art. What the hammer! what the chain, When the stars threw down their spear Tyger Tyger burning bright, |
| My Pretty Rose Tree A flower was offerd to me; Then I went to my Pretty Rose-tree; Ah! Sun-flower Ah Sun-flower! weary of time, Where the Youth pined away with desire, The Lilly The modest Rose puts forth a thorn: |
| The Garden of Love I went to the Garden of Love, of Love And the gates of this Chapel were shut, And I saw it was filled with graves, |
| The Little Vagabond Dear Mother, dear Mother, the Church is cold, But if at the Church they would give us some Ale Then the Parson might preach & drink & sing. And God like a father rejoicing to see, |
| London I wander thro' each charter'd street. In every cry of every Man, How the Chimney-sweepers cry But most thro' midnight streets I hear |
| The Human Abstract Pity would be no more, And mutual fear brings peace; He sits down with holy fears, Soon spreads the dismal shade And it bears the fruit of Deceit, The Gods of the earth and sea, |
| Infant Sorrow My mother groand! my father wept. Struggling in my fathers hands: |
| A Poison Tree I was angry with my friend; And I waterd it in fears, And it grew both day and night. And into my garden stole, |
| A Little Boy Lost Nought loves another as itself And Father, how can I love you, The Priest sat by and heard the child. And standing on the altar high, The weeping child could not be heard. And burn'd him in a holy place, |
| A Little Girl Lost Children of the future Age, In the Age of Gold, Once a youthful pair There in rising day, Tired with kisses sweet To her father white Ona! pale and weak! |
| To Tirzah Whate'er is Born of Mortal Birth, The Sexes sprung from Shame & Pride Thou Mother of my Mortal part. Didst close my Tongue in senseless clay [written sideways:] It is Raised a Spiritual Body |
| The School Boy I love to rise in a summer morn, But to go to school in a summer morn. Ah! then at times I drooping sit, How can the bird that is born for joy, O! father & mother, if buds are nip'd, How shall the summer arise in joy. |
| The Voice of the Ancient Bard Youth of delight come hither: |
The Chimney Sweeper
The Chimney Sweeper (Songs of Innocence), 1789
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.
There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head,
That curl'd llke a lamb's back. was shav'd: so I said
"Hush. Tom! never mind it, for when your 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 or 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 all 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 Chimney Sweeper (Songs of Experience), 1794
A little black thing among the snow:
Crying weep, weep, in notes of woe!
Where are thy father & mother! say!
They are both gone up to the church to pray.
Because I was happy upon the heath,
And smil'd among the winters snow:
They clothed me in the clothes of death,
And taught me to sing the notes of woe.
And because I am happy, & dance & sing,
They think they have done me no injury:
And are gone to praise God & his Priest & King
Who make up a heaven of our misery.
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