'The Little Girl Found' by William Blake

Poetry

The Little Girl Found

*William Blake (from Songs of Experience, 1794)*

All the night in woe Lyca’s parents go Over vallies deep, While the desarts weep. Tired and woe-begone, Hoarse with making moan, Arm in arm seven days They trac’d the desart ways. Seven nights they sleep Among the shadows deep, And dream they see their child Starv’d in desart wild. Pale, thro’ pathless ways The fancied image strays Famish’d, weeping, weak, With hollow piteous shriek. Rising from unrest, The trembling woman prest With feet of weary woe: She could no further go. In his arms he bore Her, arm’s 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 the tygers wild. To this day they dwell In a lonely dell; Nor fear the wolvish howl Nor the lion’s growl.


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