Chap. VII

They named the child Orc; he grew,
Fed with milk of Enitharmon.

Los awoke her. O sorrow and pain!
A tight'ning girdle grew
Around his bosom. In sobbings
He burst the girdle in twain;
But still another girdle
Oppress'd his bosom. In sobbings
Again he burst it. Again
Another girdle succeeds.
The girdle was form'd by day;
By night was burst in twain.

These falling down on the Rock
Into an iron Chain,
In each other link by link lock'd.

They took Orc to the top of a mountain.
O how Enitharmon wept!

They chain'd his young limbs to the Rock
With the Chain of Jealousy,
I Beneath Urizen's deathful Shadow.

The Dead heard the voice of the Child,
And began to awake from sleep;

All things heard the voice of the Child,
And began to awake to life.

And Urizen, craving with hunger,
Stung with the odours of Nature,
Explor'd his dens around.

He form'd a line and a plummet

To divide the Abyss beneath;
He form'd a dividing rule;

He formed scales to weigh,
He formed massy weights;
He formed a brazen quadrant;
He formed golden compasses,
And began to explore the Abyss;
And he planted a garden of fruits.

But Los encircled Enitharmon
With fires of Prophecy
From the sight of Urizen and Orc.

And she bore an enormous race.