The Pickering Manuscript/The Mental Traveller
For other versions of this work, see The Mental Traveller.
The Mental Traveller
I traveld thro' a Land of MenA Land of Men & Women tooAnd heard & saw such dreadful thingsAs cold Earth wanderers never knew
For there the Babe is born in joy That was begotten in dire woeJust as we Reap in joy the fruitWhich we in bitter tears did Sow
And if the Babe is born a BoyHe's given to a Woman Old Who nails him down upon a rockCatches his Shrieks in Cups of gold
She binds iron thorns around his headShe pierces both his hands & feetShe cuts his heart out at his side To make it feel both cold & heat
Her fingers number every NerveJust as a Miser counts his goldShe lives upon his Shrieks & criesAnd She grows young as he grows old
Till he becomes a bleeding youthAnd She becomes a Virgin brightThen he rends up his ManaclesAnd binds her down for his Delight
He plants himself in all her NervesJust as a Husbandman his mouldAnd She becomes his dwelling placeAnd Garden fruitful Seventy fold
An Aged Shadow soon he fadesWandring round an Earthly CotFull filled all with gems & goldWhich he by industry had got
And these are the gems of the Human SoulThe rubies & pearls of a lovesick eyeThe countless gold of the akeing heartThe martyrs groan & the lovers sigh
They are his meat they are his drinkHe feeds the Beggar & the PoorAnd the way faring TravellerFor ever open is his door
His grief is their eternal joyThey make the roofs & walls to ringTill from the fire on the hearthA little Female Babe does spring
And she is all of solid fireAnd gems & gold that none his handDares stretch to touch her Baby formOr wrap her in his swaddling-band
But She comes to the Man she lovesIf young or old or rich or poorThey soon drive out the aged HostA Begger at anothers door
He wanders weeping far awayUntill some other take him inOft blind & age-bent sore distrestUntill he can a Maiden win
And to allay his freezing AgeThe Poor Man takes her in his armsThe Cottage fades before his SightThe Garden & its lovely Charms.
The Guests are scatterd thro' the landFor the Eye altering alters allThe Senses roll themselves in fearAnd the flat Earth becomes a Ball
The Stars Sun Moon all shrink awayA desart vast without a boundAnd nothing left to eat or drinkAnd a dark desart all around
The honey of her Infant lipsThe bread & wine of her sweet smileThe wild game of her roving EyeDoes him to Infancy beguile
For as he eats & drinks he growsYounger & younger every dayAnd on the desart wild they bothWander in terror & dismay
Like the wild Stag she flees awayHer fear plants many a thicket wildWhile he pursues her night & dayBy various arts of Love beguild
By various arts of Love & HateTill the wide desart planted oerWith Labyrinths of wayward LoveWhere roams the Lion Wolf & Boar
Till he becomes a wayward BabeAnd she a weeping Woman OldThen many a Lover wanders hereThe Sun & Stars are nearer rolld
The trees bring forth sweet ExtacyTo all who in the desart roamTill many a City there is BuiltAnd many a pleasant Shepherds home
But when they find the frowning BabeTerror strikes thro the region wideThey cry the Babe the Babe is BornAnd flee away on Every side
For who dare touch the frowning formHis arm is witherd to its rootLions Boars Wolves all howling fleeAnd every Tree does shed its fruit
And none can touch that frowning formExcept it be a Woman OldShe nails him down upon the RockAnd all is done as I have told