The Invocation

    Record the journey of immortal² Milton thro' your realms

    Of terror and mild moony lustre³， in soft Sexual delusions⁴

    Of varièd beauty， to delight the wanderer， and repose⁵

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

    By your mild power descending⁶ down the nerves of my right arm

    From out the portals of my Brain， where by your ministry⁷

    The Eternal Great Humanity Divine planted His Paradise，

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

    In likeness⁸ of Himself. Tell also of the False Tongue， vegetated⁹

    Beneath your land of Shadows， of its sacrifices and

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

    Became its prey¹⁰； 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！