I saw a Monk of Charlemaine



I saw a Monk of Charlemaine

i I SAW a Monk of Charlemaine Arise before my sight; I talk’d to the Grey Monk where he stood In beams of infernal light. ii Gibbon arose with a lash of steel, And Voltaire with a wracking wheel: The Schools, in clouds of learning roll’d, Arose with War in iron and gold. iii ‘Thou lazy Monk,’ they said afar, ‘In vain condemning glorious War, And in thy cell thou shall ever dwell. Rise, War, and bind him in his cell!’ iv The blood red ran from the Grey Monk’s side, His hands and feet were wounded wide, His body bent, his arms and knees Like to the roots of ancient trees. v ‘I see, I see,’ the Mother said, ‘My children will die for lack of bread. What more has the merciless tyrant said?’ The Monk sat down on her stony bed. vi His eye was dry, no tear could flow; A hollow groan first spoke his woe. He trembled and shudder’d upon the bed; At length with a feeble cry he said:

vii ‘When God commanded this hand to write In the studious hours of deep midnight, He told me that all I wrote should prove The bane of all that on Earth I love. viii ‘My brother starv’d between two walls; Thy children’s cry my soul appals: I mock’d at the wrack and griding chain; My bent body mocks at their torturing pain. ix ‘Thy father drew his sword in the North; With his thousands strong he is [marchèd] forth; Thy brother has armèd himself in steel To revenge the wrongs thy children feel. x ‘But vain the sword and vain the bow, They never can work War’s overthrow; The hermit’s prayer and the widow’s tear Alone can free the world from fear. xi ‘The hand of Vengeance sought the bed To which the purple tyrant fled; The iron hand crush’d the tyrant’s head, And became a tyrant in his stead. xii ‘Until the tyrant himself relent, The tyrant who first the black bow bent, Slaughter shall heap the bloody plain: Resistance and War is the tyrant’s gain.

xiii ‘But the tear of love—and forgiveness sweet, And submission to death beneath his feet— The tear shall melt the sword of steel, And every wound it has made shall heal. xiv ‘For the tear is an intellectual thing, And a sigh is the sword of an Angel King, And the bitter groan of the martyr’s woe Is an arrow from the Almighty’s bow.’

Note
1. I saw a Monk] The first draft of this piece, written without title in the Rossetti MS. not later than April 1803, consisted of fourteen stanzas, which Blake later separated into two poems ‘To the Deists’ in Jerusalem, and ‘The Grey Monk’ of the Pickering MS., indicating the beginning of the latter by a line drawn above stanza v. In the version engraved for Jerusalem, where the length is reduced to seven stanzas, Blake’s first change was to mark xii, xiii, and xiv for insertion after iv. He then wrote the revised version of xii:

When Satan first the black bow bent And the Moral Law from the Gospel rent He forg’d the Law into a sword And spill’d the blood of Mercy’s Lord—

adding in the margin the new stanza:

Titus! Constantine! Charlemaine! O Voltaire! Rousseau! Gibbon! vain Your Grecian mocks [mocks and iron del.] and Roman sword Against this image of his Lord—

which (omitting the original xiii) is linked to xiv by the catchword ‘A tear is, &c.’ The stanzas thus rejected Blake converted into a second poem, which he transcribed into the Pickering MS., with the title ‘The Grey Monk’. This begins with the original fifth stanza, the line ‘I see, I see, the Mother said’ being changed to ‘I die, I die, the Mother said’. The remaining stanzas (vi–xi) are arranged in the order of the MS. Book, with the interpolation of iv between v and vi, and xiv between x and xi, these two stanzas being common to both versions. ii Of this stanza we have the rejected variants:

Gibbon plied his lash of steel, Voltaire turned his wracking wheel, Charlemaine and his barons bold Stood by, and mocked in iron and gold.

and

The wheel of Voltaire whirl’d on high, Gibbon aloud his lash does ply, Charlemaine and his clouds of war [and his barons bold 1st rdg. del.] Muster around the Polar Star.

9, 10

‘Seditious Monk’ said Charlemaine, ‘The glory of War thou condemn’st in vain,’

MS. 1''st rdg. del.''

34 marchèd] deleted in MS. but no word substituted. 44 And usurpèd the tyrant’s throne and bed. MS. 1''st rdg. del.'' xii Rewritten later in the form adopted in Jerusalem. xiii Omitted in both the Jerusalem and Pickering MS. versions. 55 of the martyr’s woe] for another’s woe MS. 1''st rdg. del.''

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1st reading:
* * *

Mock on, Mock on Voltaire, Rousseau: Mock on, Mock on: 'tis all in vain! You throw the sand against the wind, And the wind blows it back again.

And every sand becomes a Gem Reflected in the beams divine; Blown back they blind the mocking Eye, But still in Israel's paths they shine.

The Atoms of Democritus And Newton's Particles of light Are sands upon the Red sea shore, Where Israel's tents do shine so bright. ________________________________________

2nd reading:
* * *

Mock on Mock on Voltaire Rousseau Mock on Mock on! tis all in vain! You throw the sand against the wind And the wind blows it back againt

And every sand becomes a Gem Reflected in the beams divine Blown back they blind the mocking Eye But still in Israels paths they shine

The Atoms of Democritus And Newtons Particles of light Are sands upon the Red sea shore Where Israels tents do shine so bright ________________________________________

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* * *

Whateer is done to her she cannot know And if youll ask her she will swear it so Whether tis good or evil none's to blame No one can take the pride no one the shame ________________________________________

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c.1800-1803
43 "Why was Cupid a Boy" 44 "Now Art has lost its mental Charms" 45 To the Queen 46 "The Caverns of the Grave Ive seen" 47 "I rose up at the dawn of day" 48 "A fairy skipd upon my knee" 49 "Around the Springs of Gray my wild root weaves" 50 To Mrs Ann Flaxman 51 The Smile 52 The Golden Net 53 The Mental Traveller 54 The Land of Dreams 55 Mary 56 The Crystal Cabinet 57 The Grey Monk 58 Auguries of Innocence 59 Long John Brown & Little Mary Bell 60 William Bond 61 Mr Blake's Nursery Rhyme

I die I die the Mother said My Children die for lack of Bread What more has the merciless Tyrant said The Monk sat down on the Stony Bed

The blood red ran from the Grey Monks side His hands & feet were wounded wide His Body bent his arms & knees Like to the roots of ancient trees

His eye was dry no tear could flow A hollow groan first spoke his woe He trembled & shudderd upon the Bed At length with a feeble cry he said

When God commanded this hand to write In the studious hours of deep midnight He told me the writing I wrote should prove The Bane of all that on Earth I lovd

My Brother starvd between two Walls His Childrens Cry my Soul appalls I mockd at the wrack & griding chain My bent body mocks their torturing pain

Thy Father drew his sword in the North With his thousands strong he marched forth Thy Brother has armd himself in Steel To avenge the wrongs thy Children feel

But vain the Sword & vain the Bow They never can work Wars overthrow The Hermits Prayer & the Widows tear Alone can free the World from fear

For a Tear is an Intellectual Thing And a Sigh is the Sword of an Angel King And the bitter groan of the Martyrs woe Is an Arrow from the Almighties Bow

The hand of Vengeance found the Bed To which the Purple Tyrant fled The iron hand crushd the Tyrants head And became a Tyrant in his stead