Now let me recall another purely imaginative composition.
"The River of Life," a water-colour picture, reminded me in its transparence and delicate brilliance of Blake's earlier printed books.
It is a rhapsody of Heaven. The River of Life which flows through the City of God, and in which all new-born souls are dipped, is a mighty stream flowing between green banks, on which are situated the gleaming houses of the city. Groups of happy souls wander beside the clear pale waters, and with his back towards us the Saviour with two children (new-born souls) in either hand swims towards the river's source, which is the Throne of God, typified by the sun. In its rays may be descried adoring angels, reminding us of Blake's ardent words, which I have already quoted, "What! it will be questioned, when the sun rises, do you not see a round disc of fire, somewhat like a guinea?" "Oh, no, no! I see an innumerable company of the heavenly host crying, 'Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty!'"
Two angels--angels of the presence--remain suspended in flight above the stream on either side, playing on pipes, while a beautiful strong woman, clad in lemon-yellow robe, swoops down like a bird just above the surface of the stream with lithe strenuous body bent to meet the wind. She is a delicious creation, satisfying the aesthetic sense with completeness. The disposition of the figures in this picture, the decorative arrangement of the overhanging fruit-laden branches of the Tree of Life, the clear treble notes of colour, made one think of the rare and iridescent art of Japan. Blake's mood when he painted "The River of Life" must have attained to a high and heavenly unity and joy.
"The Bard" is a picture of quite another order, and pitched in a very different key. Here is a twilight world of intellectual notions and poetic motives wafted hither and thither on the blast of the Bard's frenzy. The Bard himself, a commanding figure, stands on a shelf of rock surveying the vortex, while he smites music from his harp. Below, a king and queen and their horses are overwhelmed in a Stygian stream. All is dark, with a strange gleam and shimmer here and there, like jewels and burnished silver seen through a purple veil. This was one of the pictures that appeared in Blake's own exhibition in his brother's shop, and his description in the celebrated catalogue is well worth quotation: