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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=38302" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Finis</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Reveal the dragon thro' the human; coursing swift as fire<br>To the close hall of counsel, where his Angel form renews.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In a sweet vale shelter'd with cedars, that eternal stretch<br>Their unmov'd branches, stood the hall; built when the moon shot forth,<br>In that dread night when Urizen call'd the stars round his feet;<br>Then burst the center from its orb, and found a place beneath;<br>And Earth conglob'd, in narrow room, roll'd round its sulphur Sun.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To this deep valley situated by the flowing Thames;<br>Where George the third holds council. & his Lords & Commons meet:<br>Shut out from mortal sight the Angel came; the vale was dark<br>With clouds of smoke from the Atlantic, that in volumes roll'd<br>Between the mountains, dismal visions mope around the house.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">On chairs of iron, canopied with mystic ornaments,<br>Of life by magic power condens'd; infernal forms art-bound<br>The council sat; all rose before the aged apparition;<br>His snowy beard that streams like lambent flames down his wide breast<br>Wetting with tears, & his white garments cast a wintry light.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then as arm'd clouds arise terrific round the northern drum;<br>The world is silent at the flapping of the folding banners;<br>So still terrors rent the house: as when the solemn globe<br>Launch'd to the unknown shore, while Sotha held the northern helm,<br>Till to that void it came & fell; so the dark house was rent,<br>The valley mov'd beneath; its shining pillars split in twain,<br>And its roofs crack across down falling on th'Angelic seats.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">[Then Albions Angel rose] resolv'd to the cove of armoury:<br>His shield that bound twelve demons & their cities in its orb,<br>He took down from its trembling pillar; from its cavern deep,<br>His helm was brought by Londons Guardian, & his thirsty spear<br>By the wise spirit of Londons river: silent stood the King breathing damp mists:<br>And on his aged limbs they clasp'd the armour of terrible gold.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Infinite Londons awful spires cast a dreadful cold<br>Even on rational things beneath, and from the palace walls<br>Around Saint James's chill & heavy, even to the city gate.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">On the vast stone whose name is Truth he stood, his cloudy shield<br>Smote with his scepter, the scale bound orb loud howld; th' ancie[nt] pillar<br>Trembling sunk, an earthquake roll'd along the massy pile.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In glittring armour, swift as winds; intelligent as clouds;<br>Four winged heralds mount the furious blasts & blow their trumps<br>Gold, silver, brass & iron clangors clamoring rend the shores.<br>Like white clouds rising from the deeps, his fifty-two armies<br>From the four cliffs of Albion rise, mustering around their Prince;<br>Angels of cities and of parishes and villages and families,<br>In armour as the nerves of wisdom, each his station holds.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In opposition dire, a warlike cloud the myriads stood<br>In the red air before the Demon; [seen even by mortal men:<br>Who call it Fancy, & shut the gates of sense, & in their chambers,<br>Sleep like the dead.] But like a constellation ris'n and blazing<br>Over the rugged ocean; so the Angels of Albion hung,<br>a frowning shadow, like an aged King in arms of gold,<br>Who wept over a den, in which his only son outstretch'd<br>By rebels hands was slain; his white beard wav'd in the wild wind.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">On mountains & cliffs of snow the awful apparition hover'd;<br>And like the voices of religious dead, heard in the mountains:<br>When holy zeal scents the sweet valleys of ripe virgin bliss;<br>Such was the hollow voice that o'er America lamented.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As when a dream of Thiralatha flies the midnight hour:<br>In vain the dreamer grasps the joyful images, they fly<br>Seen in obscured traces in the Vale of Leutha, So<br>The British Colonies beneath the woful Princes fade.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And so the Princes fade from earth, scarce seen by souls of men<br>But tho' obscur'd, this is the form of the Angelic land.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Blake">William Blake</a> from <i>America a Prophecy</i><div class=q>
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