Albion upon the Rock
Albion cold lays on his Rock; storms and snows beat round him,
Beneath the Furnaces and the Starry
Wheels and the Immortal Tomb;
Howling winds cover him; roaring seas dash furious against him;
deep darkness broad lightnings glare, long thunders roll.
The weeds of Death enwrap his hands and
feet, blown incessant,
And wash'd incessant by the for-ever restless sea-waves, foaming abroad
the white Rock. England, a Female Shadow, as deadly damps
Of the Mines of Cornwall and Derbyshire,
lays upon his bosom heavy,
Movèd by the wind in volumes of thick cloud returning, folding round
and bosom, unremovable by swelling storms and loud rending
Of enragèd thunders. Around them the
Starry Wheels of their Giant Sons
Revolve, and over them the Furnaces of Los and the Immortal Tomb,
Erin sitting in the Tomb, to watch them unceasing night and day:
And the Body of Albion was
closèd apart from all Nations.
Over them the famish'd Eagle screams on bony wings, and around
howls the Wolf of famine; deep heaves the Ocean, black, thundering
Around the wormy Garments of
Albion, then pausing in deathlike silence.
Time was Finishèd!