Page:Songs of Innocence and of Experience, copy Z, 1826 (Library of Congress).pdf/36



Famish'd, weeping, weak, With hollow piteous shriek.

Rising from unrest The trembling woman press'd With feet of weary woe: She could no further go. In his arms he bore Her, arm'd with sorrow sore; Till before their way A couching lion lay. Turning back was vain: Soon his heavy mane Bore them to the ground; Then he stalk'd around,

Smelling to his prey; But their fears allay When he licks their hands, And silent by them stands. They look upon his eyes Fill'd with deep surprise; And, wondering, behold A spirit arm'd in gold—

On his head a crown; On his shoulders down Flow'd his golden hair; Gone was all their care. "Follow me," he said; "Weep not for the maid; "In my palace deep "Lyca lies asleep."

Then they followed Where the vision led; And saw their sleeping child Among tigers wild. To this day they dwell In a lonely dell; Nor fear the wolvish howl, Nor the lion's growl.