Upon their mountains； in their valleys， sighs toward America.
For the soft soul of America， Oothoon， wander'd in woe2
Along the vales of Leutha， seeking flowers to comfort her；
And thus she spoke3 to the bright Marigold of Leutha's vale：-
Art thou a flower？ art thou a nymph？ I see thee now a flower，
Now a nymph！ I dare not pluck thee from thy dewy bed！
The Golden nymph replied： `Pluck thou my flower， Oothoon the mild！
Another flower shall spring， because the soul of sweet delight
Can never pass away.' She ceas'd， and clos'd her golden shrine4.
Then Oothoon pluck'd the flower， saying： `I pluck thee from thy bed，
Sweet flower， and put thee here to glow between my breasts；
And thus I turn my face to where my whole soul seeks.'
Over the waves she went in wing'd exulting5 swift delight，
And over Theotormon's reign6 took her impetuous course.
Bromion rent her with his thunders； on his stormy bed
Lay the faint maid， and soon her woes7 appall'd his thunders hoarse8.
Bromion spoke： `Behold this harlot here on Bromion's bed，
And let the jealous dolphins sport around the lovely maid！
Thy soft American plains are mine， and mine thy north and south：
Stamp'd with my signet are the swarthy children of the sun；
They are obedient， they resist not， they obey the scourge；z
Their daughters worship terrors and obey the violent.
Now thou may'st marry Bromion's harlot， and protect the child
Of Bromion's rage， that Oothoon shall put forth9 in nine moons' time.'
Then storms rent Theotormon's limbs： he roll'd his waves around，
And folded his black jealous waters round the adulterate pair.
Bound back to back in Bromion's caves， terror and meekness10 dwell：
At entrance Theotormon sits， wearing the threshold hard
With secret tears； beneath him sound like waves on a desert shore
The voice of slaves beneath the sun， and children bought with money，
That shiver in religious caves beneath the burning fires
Of lust11， that belch12 incessant13 from the summits of the earth.
Oothoon weeps not； she cannot weep， her tears are lockd up；
But she can howl incessant， writhing14 her soft snowy limbs，
And calling Theotormon's Eagles to prey15 upon her flesh.
`I call with holy voice！ Kings of the sounding air，
Rend16 away this defild bosom17 that I may reflect
The image of Theotormon on my pure transparent18 breast.'
The Eagles at her call descend19 and rend their bleeding prey：
Theotormon severely20 smiles； her soul reflects the smile，
As the clear spring， muddied with feet of beasts， grows pure and smiles.
The Daughters of Albion hear her woes， and echo back her sighs.
`Why does my Theotormon sit weeping upon the threshold，
And Oothoon hovers21 by his side， persuading him in vain？
I cry： Arise， O Theotormon！ for the village dog
Barks at the breaking day； the nightingale has done lamenting22；
The lark23 does rustle24 in the ripe corn， and the eagle returns
From nightly prey， and lifts his golden beak25 to the pure east，
Shaking the dust from his immortal26 pinions27 to awake
The sun that sleeps too long. Arise， my Theotormon！ I am pure，
Because the night is gone that clos'd me in its deadly black.
They told me that the night and day were all that I could see；
They told me that I had five senses to enclose me up；
And they enclos'd my infinite brain into a narrow circle，
And sunk my heart into the Abyss， a red， round globe， hot burning，
Till all from life I was obliterated28 and erasd.
Instead of morn arises a bright shadow， like an eye
In the eastern cloud； instead of night a sickly charnel-house，
That Theotormon hears me not. To him the night and morn
Are both alike； a night of sighs， a morning of fresh tears；
And none but Bromion can hear my lamentations.