The Little Girl Found William Blake

All the night in woe
Lyca's parents go
Over valleys deep
While the deserts weep

Tired and woe-begone
Hoarse with making moan
Arm in arm seven days
They trac'd the desert ways

Seven nights they sleep
Among shadows deep
And dream they see their child
Starved in desert 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'd 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 tygers wild