updated_at,id,text,theme,metaphor,work_id,reviewed_on,provenance,created_at,comments,context,dictionary
2011-09-02 19:07:30 UTC,19125,"Who, from his far-divided shore,
The half-expiring Captive bore?
Those, whom the traffic of their race
Has robb'd of every human grace;
Whose harden'd souls no more retain
Impressions Nature stamp'd in vain;
All that distinguishes their kind,
For ever blotted from their mind;
As streams, that once the landscape gave
Reflected on the trembling wave,
Their substance change, when lock'd in frost,
And rest, in dead contraction lost;--
Who view unmov'd, the look, that tells
The pang that in the bosom dwells;
Heed not the nerves that terror shakes,
The heart convulsive anguish breaks;
The shriek that would their crimes upbraid,
But deem despair a part of trade.--
Such only, for detested gain,
The barb'rous commerce would maintain.
The gen'rous sailor, he, who dares
All forms of danger, while he bears
The BRITISH Flag o'er untrack'd seas,
And spreads it on the polar breeze;
He, who in Glory's high career,
Finds agony, and death are dear;
To whose protecting arm we owe
Each blessing that the happy know;
Whatever charms the soften'd heart,
Each cultur'd grace, each finer art,
E'en thine, most lovely of the train!
Sweet Poetry! thy heav'n-taught strain--
His breast, where nobler passions burn,
In honest poverty, would spurn
That wealth, Oppression can bestow,
And scorn to wound a fetter'd foe.
True courage in the unconquer'd soul
Yields to Compassion's mild controul;
As, the resisting frame of steel
The magnet's secret force can feel.
(pp. 13-6, ll. 209-247)","","There are those ""whom the traffic of their race / Has robb'd of every human grace; / Whose harden'd souls no more retain / Impressions Nature stamp'd in vain; / All that distinguishes their kind, / For ever blotted from their mind; / As streams, that once the landscape gave / Reflected on the trembling wave, / Their substance change, when lock'd in frost, / And rest, in dead contraction lost.""",7080,,Reading,2011-09-02 19:05:38 UTC,"","",Impressions
2011-09-02 19:09:46 UTC,19126,"Who, from his far-divided shore,
The half-expiring Captive bore?
Those, whom the traffic of their race
Has robb'd of every human grace;
Whose harden'd souls no more retain
Impressions Nature stamp'd in vain;
All that distinguishes their kind,
For ever blotted from their mind;
As streams, that once the landscape gave
Reflected on the trembling wave,
Their substance change, when lock'd in frost,
And rest, in dead contraction lost;--
Who view unmov'd, the look, that tells
The pang that in the bosom dwells;
Heed not the nerves that terror shakes,
The heart convulsive anguish breaks;
The shriek that would their crimes upbraid,
But deem despair a part of trade.--
Such only, for detested gain,
The barb'rous commerce would maintain.
The gen'rous sailor, he, who dares
All forms of danger, while he bears
The BRITISH Flag o'er untrack'd seas,
And spreads it on the polar breeze;
He, who in Glory's high career,
Finds agony, and death are dear;
To whose protecting arm we owe
Each blessing that the happy know;
Whatever charms the soften'd heart,
Each cultur'd grace, each finer art,
E'en thine, most lovely of the train!
Sweet Poetry! thy heav'n-taught strain--
His breast, where nobler passions burn,
In honest poverty, would spurn
That wealth, Oppression can bestow,
And scorn to wound a fetter'd foe.
True courage in the unconquer'd soul
Yields to Compassion's mild controul;
As, the resisting frame of steel
The magnet's secret force can feel.
(pp. 13-6, ll. 209-247)","","""His breast, where nobler passions burn, / In honest poverty, would spurn / That wealth, Oppression can bestow, / And scorn to wound a fetter'd foe.""",7080,,Reading,2011-09-02 19:07:16 UTC,"","",""
2011-09-02 19:11:33 UTC,19127,"Who, from his far-divided shore,
The half-expiring Captive bore?
Those, whom the traffic of their race
Has robb'd of every human grace;
Whose harden'd souls no more retain
Impressions Nature stamp'd in vain;
All that distinguishes their kind,
For ever blotted from their mind;
As streams, that once the landscape gave
Reflected on the trembling wave,
Their substance change, when lock'd in frost,
And rest, in dead contraction lost;--
Who view unmov'd, the look, that tells
The pang that in the bosom dwells;
Heed not the nerves that terror shakes,
The heart convulsive anguish breaks;
The shriek that would their crimes upbraid,
But deem despair a part of trade.--
Such only, for detested gain,
The barb'rous commerce would maintain.
The gen'rous sailor, he, who dares
All forms of danger, while he bears
The BRITISH Flag o'er untrack'd seas,
And spreads it on the polar breeze;
He, who in Glory's high career,
Finds agony, and death are dear;
To whose protecting arm we owe
Each blessing that the happy know;
Whatever charms the soften'd heart,
Each cultur'd grace, each finer art,
E'en thine, most lovely of the train!
Sweet Poetry! thy heav'n-taught strain--
His breast, where nobler passions burn,
In honest poverty, would spurn
That wealth, Oppression can bestow,
And scorn to wound a fetter'd foe.
True courage in the unconquer'd soul
Yields to Compassion's mild controul;
As, the resisting frame of steel
The magnet's secret force can feel.
(pp. 13-6, ll. 209-247)","","""True courage in the unconquer'd soul / Yields to Compassion's mild controul; / As, the resisting frame of steel / The magnet's secret force can feel.""",7080,,Reading,2011-09-02 19:11:33 UTC,INTEREST: USE IN ENTRY,"",Metal
2011-09-02 19:21:06 UTC,19128,"When borne at length to Western Lands,
Chain'd on the beach the Captive stands,
Where Man, dire merchandize! is sold,
And barter'd life is paid for gold;
In mute affliction, see him try
To read his new possessor's eye;
If one blest glance of mercy there,
One half-form'd tear may check despair!--
Ah, if that eye with sorrow sees
His languid look, his quiv'ring knees,
Those limbs, which scarce their load sustain,
That form, consum'd in wasting pain;
Such sorrow melts his ruthless eye
Who sees the lamb, he doom'd to die,
In pining sickness yield his life,
And thus elude the sharpen'd knife.--
Or, if where savage habit steels
The vulgar mind, one bosom feels
The sacred claim of helpless woe--
If Pity in that soil can grow;
Pity! whose tender impulse darts
With keenest force on nobler hearts;
As flames that purest essence boast,
Rise highest when they tremble most.--
Yet why on one poor chance must rest
The int'rests of a kindred breast?
Humanity's devoted cause
Recline on Humour's wayward laws?
To Passions rules must Justice bend,
And life upon Caprice depend?--
(pp. 16-18, ll. 249-278)","","""Or, if where savage habit steels / The vulgar mind, one bosom feels / The sacred claim of helpless woe-- / If Pity in that soil can grow; / Pity! whose tender impulse darts / With keenest force on nobler hearts; / As flames that purest essence boast, / Rise highest when they tremble most.""",7080,,Reading,2011-09-02 19:21:06 UTC,"","",Metal
2011-09-02 19:24:08 UTC,19129,"Then seize the moments in your power,
To Mercy consecrate the hour!
Risque something in her cause at last,
And thus atone for all the past;
Break the hard fetters of the Slave;
And learn the luxury to save!--
Does Avarice, your god, delight
With agony to feast his sight?
Does he requre that victims slain,
And human blood, his altars stain?
Ah, not alone of power possest
To check each virtue of the breast;
As when the numbing frosts arise,
The charm of vegetation dies;
His sway the harden'd bosom leads
To Cruelty's remorseless deeds;
Like the blue lightning when it springs
With fury on its livid wings,
Darts to its goal with baleful force,
Nor heeds that ruin marks its course.--
(pp. 20-1, ll. 301-320)","","""Ah, not alone of power possest / To check each virtue of the breast; / As when the numbing frosts arise / The charm of vegetation dies.""",7080,,Reading,2011-09-02 19:24:08 UTC,"","",""
2011-09-02 19:26:41 UTC,19130,"Then seize the moments in your power,
To Mercy consecrate the hour!
Risque something in her cause at lasat,
And thus atone for all the past;
Break the hard fetters of the Slave;
And learn the luxury to save!--
Does Avarice, your god, delight
With agony to feast his sight?
Does he requre that victims slain,
And human blood, his altars stain?
Ah, not alone of power possest
To check each virtue of the breast;
As when the numbing frosts arise,
The charm of vegetation dies;
His sway the harden'd bosom leads
To Cruelty's remorseless deeds;
Like the blue lightning when it springs
With fury on its livid wings,
Darts to its goal with baleful force,
Nor heeds that ruin marks its course.--
(pp. 20-1, ll. 301-320)","","""His sway the harden'd bosom leads / To Cruelty's remorseless deeds; / Like the blue lightning when it springs / With fury on its livid wings, / Darts to its goal with baleful force, / Nor heeds that ruin marks its course.""",7080,,Reading,2011-09-02 19:26:41 UTC,"","",""
2011-09-02 19:29:43 UTC,19131,"On Eloquence, prevailing art!
Whose force can chain the list'ning heart;
The throb of Sympathy inspire,
And kindle every great desire;
With magic energy controul
And reign the sov'reign of the soul!
That dreams while all its passions swell,
It shares the power it feels so well;
As visual objects seem possest
Of those clear hues by light imprest;
Oh, skill'd in every grace to charm,
To soften, to appal, to warm;
Fill with thy noblest rage the breast,
Bid on those lips thy spirit rest,
That shall, in BRITAIN's Senate, trace
The wrongs of AFRIC's Captive Race!--
But Fancy o'er the tale of woe
In vain one heighten'd tint would throw;
For ah, the Truth, is all we guess
Of anguish in its last excess:
Fancy may dress in deeper shade
The storm that hangs along the glade,
Spreads o'er the ruffled stream its wing,
And chills awhile the flowers of Spring:
But, where the wintry tempests sweep
In madness, o'er the darken'd deep;
Where the wild surge, the raging wave,
Point to the hopeless wretch a grave;
And Death surrounds the threat'ning shore--
Can Fancy add one horror more?
(pp. 21-3, ll. 321-350)","","""On Eloquence, prevailing art! / Whose force can chain the list'ning heart; / The throb of Sympathy inspire, / And kindle every great desire; / With magic energy controul / And reign the sov'reign of the soul!""",7080,,Reading,2011-09-02 19:29:43 UTC,"","",""
2013-07-12 14:57:56 UTC,21700,"You, my dear friend, who have felt the tender attachments of love and friendship, and the painful anxieties which absence occasions, even amidst scenes of variety and pleasure; who understand the value at which tidings from those we love is computed in the arithmetic of the heart; who have heard with almost uncontroulable emotion the postman's rap at the door; have trembling seen the well-known hand which excited sensations that almost deprived you of power to break the seal which seemed the talisman of happiness; you can judge of the feelings of Mons. du F when he received, by means of the same friend who had conveyed his letter, an answer from his wife. But the person who brought the letter to his dungeon, dreading the risk of a discovery, insisted, that, after having read it, he should return it to him immediately. Mons. du F-- pressed the letter to his heart, bathed it with his tears, and implored the indulgence of keeping it at least till the next morning. He was allowed to do so, and read it till every word was imprinted on his memory; and after enjoying the sad luxury of holding it that night on his bosom, was forced the next morning to relinquish his treasure.
(Letter XX, p. 163-4; p. 129 in Broadview ed.)","","""You, my dear friend, who have felt the tender attachments of love and friendship, and the painful anxieties which absence occasions, even amidst scenes of variety and pleasure; who understand the value at which tidings from those we love is computed in the arithmetic of the heart.""",7542,,Reading; text from Google Books,2013-07-12 14:57:56 UTC,"",Letter 20,""
2013-07-12 14:59:04 UTC,21701,"You, my dear friend, who have felt the tender attachments of love and friendship, and the painful anxieties which absence occasions, even amidst scenes of variety and pleasure; who understand the value at which tidings from those we love is computed in the arithmetic of the heart; who have heard with almost uncontroulable emotion the postman's rap at the door; have trembling seen the well-known hand which excited sensations that almost deprived you of power to break the seal which seemed the talisman of happiness; you can judge of the feelings of Mons. du F when he received, by means of the same friend who had conveyed his letter, an answer from his wife. But the person who brought the letter to his dungeon, dreading the risk of a discovery, insisted, that, after having read it, he should return it to him immediately. Mons. du F-- pressed the letter to his heart, bathed it with his tears, and implored the indulgence of keeping it at least till the next morning. He was allowed to do so, and read it till every word was imprinted on his memory; and after enjoying the sad luxury of holding it that night on his bosom, was forced the next morning to relinquish his treasure.
(Letter XX, p. 163-4; p. 129 in Broadview ed.)","","He was allowed to do so, and read it till every word was imprinted on his memory; and after enjoying the sad luxury of holding it that night on his bosom, was forced the next morning to relinquish his treasure.""",7542,,Reading; text from Google Books,2013-07-12 14:59:04 UTC,"","",Impressions and Writing
2013-07-12 15:00:17 UTC,21702,"I am glad you think that a friend's having been persecuted, imprisoned, maimed, and almost murdered, under the ancient government of France, is a good excuse for loving the revolution. What, indeed, but friendship, could have led my attention from the annals of imagination to the records of politics; from the poetry to the prose of human life? In vain might Aristocrates have explained to me the rights of kings, and Democrates have descanted on the rights of the people. How many fine-spun threads of reasoning would my wandering thoughts have broken; and how difficult should I have found it to arrange arguments and inferences in the cells of my brain! But, however dull the faculties of my head, I can assure you, that when a proposition is addressed to my heart, I have some quickness of perception. I can then decide, in one moment, points upon which philosophers and legislators have differed in all ages: nor could I be more convinced of the truth of any demonstration in Euclid, than I am, that, that system of politics must be the best, by which those I love are made happy.
(Letter XXIII, p. 195; p. 140 in Broadview ed.)","","""How many fine-spun threads of reasoning would my wandering thoughts have broken; and how difficult should I have found it to arrange arguments and inferences in the cells of my brain!""",7542,,Reading; text from Google Books,2013-07-12 15:00:17 UTC,"",Letter XXIII,Rooms