Plate 56

Then Los heaved his thund'ring Bellows on the Valley of Middlesex And thus he chaunted his Song: the Daughters of Albion reply.

What may Man be? who can tell! But what may Woman be? To have power over Man from Cradle to corruptible Grave. He who is an Infant, and whose Cradle is a Manger Knoweth the Infant sorrow: whence it came, and where it goeth: And who weave it a Cradle of the grass that withereth away. This World is all a Cradle for the erred wandering Phantom: Rock'd by Year, Month, Day & Hour; and every two Moments Between, dwells a Daughter of Beulah, to feed the Human Vegetable Entune: Daughters of Albion. your hymning Chorus mildly! Cord of affection thrilling extatic on the iron Reel: To the golden Loom of Love! to the moth-labourd Woof A Garment and Cradle weaving for the infantine Terror: For fear; at entering the gate into our World of cruel Lamentation: it flee back & hide in Non-Entitys dark wild Where dwells the Spectre of Albion: destroyer of Definite Form. The Sun shall be a Scythed Chariot of Britain: the Moon; a Ship In the British Ocean! Created by Los's Hammer; measured out Into Days & Nights & Years & Months. to travel with my feet Over these desolate rocks of Albion: O daughters of despair! Rock the Cradle, and in mild melodies tell me where found What you have enwoven with so much tears & care? so much Tender artifice: to laugh: to weep: to learn: to know; Remember! recollect what dark befel in wintry days

O it was lost for ever! and we found it not: it came And wept at our wintry Door: Look! look! behold! Gwendolen Is become a Clod of Clay! Merlin is a Worm of the Valley!

Then Los uttered with Hammer & Anvil: Chaunt! revoice! I mind not your laugh: and your frown I not fear! and You must my dictate obey from your gold-beam'd Looms; trill Gentle to Albions Watchman, on Albions mountains; reeccho And rock the Cradle while! Ah me! Of that Eternal Man And of the cradled Infancy in his bowels of compassion: Who fell beneath his instruments of husbandry & became Subservient to the clods of the furrow! the cattle and even The emmet and earth-Worm are his superiors & his lords. Then the response came warbling from trilling Looms in Albion We Women tremble at the light therefore: hiding fearful The Divine Vision with Curtain & Veil & fleshly Tabernacle Los utter'd: swift as the rattling thunder upon the mountains[:] Look back into the Church Paul! Look! Three Women around The Cross! O Albion why didst thou a Female Will Create?