[The Invocation]

(Milton, f. 3, ll. 1–15.)

DAUGHTERS of Beulah! Muses who inspire the Poet’s Song,

Record the journey of immortal Milton thro’ your realms

Of terror and mild moony lustre, in soft Sexual delusions

Of varièd beauty, to delight the wanderer, and repose

His burning thirst and freezing hunger! Come into my hand,

By your mild power descending down the nerves of my right arm

From out the portals of my Brain, where by your ministry

The Eternal Great Humanity Divine planted His Paradise,

And in it caus’d the Spectres of the Dead to take sweet form

In likeness of Himself. Tell also of the False Tongue, vegetated

Beneath your land of Shadows, of its sacrifices and

Its offerings; even till Jesus, the image of the Invisible God,

Became its prey; a curse, an offering, and an atonement

For Death Eternal, in the Heavens of Albion, and before the Gates

Of Jerusalem his Emanation, in the Heavens beneath Beulah!