Chap. III

The Globe shook, and Urizen, seated
On black clouds, his sore wound anointed;
The ointment flow'd down on the Void
Mix'd with blood — here the snake gets her poison!

With difficulty and great pain Urizen
Lifted on high the dead corse:
On his shoulders he bore it to where
A Tree hung over the Immensity.

For when Urizen shrunk away
From Eternals, he sat on a Rock,
Barren — a Rock which himself,
From redounding fancies, had petrified.
Many tears fell on the Rock,
Many sparks of vegetation.
Soon shot the pained root

Of Mystery under his heel:

It grew a thick tree: he wrote
In silence his Book of Iron;
Till the horrid plant bending its boughs.
Grew to roots when it felt the earth,
And again sprung to many a tree,
The. Book of Ahania

Amaz'd started Urizen when
He beheld himself compassed round
And high-roofed over with trees.
He arose, but the stems stood so thick,
He with difficulty and great pain
Brought his Books — all but the Book
Of Iron — from the dismal shade.

The Tree still grows over the Void,
Enrooting itself all around,
An endless labyrinth of woe!

The corse of his first begotten
On the accursed Tree of Mystery,
On the topmost stem of this Tree
Urizen nail'd Fuzon's corse.