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DAGWORTH,

Stop, brave Sir Walter; let me drop a tear,
Then let the clarion of war begin ;

I'll fight and weep, 'tis in my country's cause;
and shout for glorious liberty.

I'll weep
Grim War shall laugh and shout, decked in tears,
And blood shall flow like streams across the

meadows,

That murmur down their pebbly channels, and Spend their sweet lives to do their country service: Then shall England's verdure shoot, her fields shall

smile,

Her ships shall sing across the foaming sea,
Her mariners shall use the flute and viol,
And rattling guns, and black and dreary war,
Shall be no more.

SIR WALTER.

Well, let the trumpet sound, and the drum beat;
Let war stain the blue heavens with bloody banners;
I'll draw my sword, nor ever sheathe it up
Till England blow the trump of victory,

Or I lie stretched upon the field of death. [Exeunt.

SCENE. In the Camp.

Several of the Warriors met at the King's Tent with a Minstrel, who sings the following Song:

SONS of Trojan Brutus, clothed in war,
Whose voices are the thunder of the field,
Rolling dark clouds o'er France, muffling
the sun

In sickly darkness like a dim eclipse,

Threatening as the red brow of storms, as fire
Burning up nations in your wrath and fury!

Your ancestors came from the fires of Troy
(Like lions roused by lightning from their dens,
Whose eyes do glare against the stormy fires),
Heated with war, filled with the blood of Greeks,
With helmets hewn, and shields covered with gore,
In navies black, broken with wind and tide :

They landed in firm array upon the rocks
Of Albion; they kissed the rocky shore;

"Be thou our mother and our nurse," they said; "Our children's mother, and thou shalt be our

grave,

The sepulchre of ancient Troy, from whence

Shall rise cities, and thrones, and arms, and awful powers."

Our fathers swarm from the ships.

Giant voices

Are heard from the hills, the enormous sons
Of Ocean run from rocks and caves; wild men,
Naked and roaring like lions, hurling rocks,
And wielding knotty clubs, like oaks entangled
Thick as a forest, ready for the axe.

Our fathers move in firm array to battle;
The savage monsters rush like roaring fire;
Like as a forest roars with crackling flames,
When the red lightning, borne by furious storms,
Lights on some woody shore; the parched heavens
Rain fire into the molten raging sea.

The smoking trees are strewn upon the shore, Spoiled of their verdure. Oh how oft have they Defied the storm that howlèd o'er their heads! Our fathers, sweating, lean on their spears, and view

The mighty dead: giant bodies streaming blood, Dread visages frowning in silent death.

Then Brutus spoke, inspired; our fathers sit
Attentive on the melancholy shore:

Hear ye

the voice of Brutus-"The flowing waves Of time come rolling o'er my breast," he said; "And my heart labours with futurity.

Our sons shall rule the empire of the sea.

"Their mighty wings shall stretch from east to

west.

Their nest is in the sea, but they shall roam Like eagles for the prey; nor shall the young Crave or be heard; for plenty shall bring forth, Cities shall sing, and vales in rich array

Shall laugh, whose fruitful laps bend down with fulness.

"Our sons shall rise from thrones in joy,
Each one buckling on his armour; Morning
Shall be prevented by their swords gleaming,
And Evening hear their song of victory:
Their towers shall be built upon the rocks,
Their daughters shall sing, surrounded with shining

spears.

“Liberty shall stand upon the cliffs of Albion,
Casting her blue eyes over the green ocean;
Or towering stand upon the roaring waves,
Stretching her mighty spear o'er distant lands;
While with her eagle wings she covereth
Fair Albion's shore, and all her families.”

PROLOGUE

INTENDED FOR A DRAMATIC PIECE OF KING

EDWARD THE FOURTH.

H for a voice like thunder, and a tongue
To drown the throat of war!

the senses

When

Are shaken, and the soul is driven to

madness,

Who can stand? When the souls of the oppressed
Fight in the troubled air that rages, who can stand?
When the whirlwind of fury comes from the throne
Of God, when the frowns of His countenance
Drive the nations together, who can stand?
When Sin claps his broad wings over the battle,
And sails rejoicing in the flood of death;
When souls are torn to everlasting fire,
And fiends of hell rejoice upon the slain,
Oh who can stand? Oh who hath caused this?
Oh who can answer at the throne of God?
The Kings and Nobles of the land have done it!
Hear it not, Heaven, thy ministers have done it!

PROLOGUE TO KING JOHN.1

J

WUSTICE hath heaved a sword to plunge in Albion's breast t;

For Albion's sins are crimson-dyed,

And the red scourge follows her desolate

sons.

Then Patriot rose; full oft did Patriot rise, When Tyranny hath stained fair Albion's breast With her own children's gore.

Round his majestic feet deep thunders roll;

Each heart does tremble, and each knee grows slack. The stars of heaven tremble; the roaring voice of

war,

The trumpet, calls to battle. Brother in brother's

blood

Must bathe, rivers of death. O land most hapless! O beauteous island, how forsaken!

Weep from thy silver fountains, weep from thy gentle rivers!

In Blake's volume this prologue is printed as prose. There seems, however, to be no reason for such a course, as it is in fact loose blank verse-not at all more loose than in other instances. I therefore print this as verse, and in like manner the fragment named Samson. Two other pieces, named The Couch of Death and Contemplation, might, without much difficulty, be treate in the same way; but on the whole they may rather be regarded as rhapsodic prose, and are therefore omitted here.

D

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