text,updated_at,metaphor,created_at,context,theme,reviewed_on,dictionary,comments,provenance,id,work_id
"God of my life! and author of my days!
Permit my feeble voice to lisp thy praise;
And trembling, take upon a mortal tongue
That hallowed name to harps of seraphs sung.
Yet here the brightest seraphs could no more
Than veil their faces, tremble, and adore.
Worms, angels, men, in every different sphere
Are equal all,--for all are nothing here.
All nature faints beneath the mighty name,
Which nature's works though all their parts proclaim.
I feel that name my inmost thoughts controul,
And breathe an awful stillness through my soul;
As by a charm, the waves of grief subside;
Impetuous Passion stops her headlong tide:
At thy felt presence all emotions cease,
And my hushed spirit finds a sudden peace,
Till every worldly thought within me dies,
And earth's gay pageants vanish from my eyes;
Till all my sense is lost in infinite,
And one vast object fills my aching sight.
(ll. 1-20, pp. 41-2)",2009-09-14 19:41:04 UTC,"An awful stillness may be breathed through the soul that, ""As by a charm"" causes ""the waves of grief to subside"" and stops the ""headlong Tide"" of ""Impetuous Passion""",2004-01-03 00:00:00 UTC,"","",,"","",HDIS,14504,5397
"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)",2011-09-02 19:07:30 UTC,"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.""",2011-09-02 19:05:38 UTC,"","",,Impressions,"",Reading,19125,7080
"""O! talk for ever thus!"" sighed Hippolitus. ""These words are so sweet, so soothing to my soul, that I could listen till I forgot I had a wish beyond them. Yes!--Ferdinand, these circumstances are not to be doubted, and conviction opens upon my mind a flow of extacy I never knew till now. O! lead me to her, that I may speak the sentiments which swell my heart.""
(I.iii, pp. 115-6; p. 51 in OUP edition)",2013-05-31 22:18:58 UTC,"""Ferdinand, these circumstances are not to be doubted, and conviction opens upon my mind a flow of extacy I never knew till now.""",2013-05-31 22:18:58 UTC,"Volume I, Chapter III","",,"","",Reading,20273,5736
"Ferdinand in the stillness and solitude of his dungeon, brooded over the late calamity in gloomy ineffectual lamentation. The idea of Hippolitus--of Hippolitus murdered--arose to his imagination in busy intrusion, and subdued the strongest efforts of his fortitude. Julia too, his beloved sister--unprotected--unfriended--might, even at the moment he lamented her, be sinking under sufferings dreadful to humanity. The airy schemes he once formed of future felicity, resulting from the union of two persons so justly dear to him--with the gay visions of past happiness--floated upon his fancy, and the lustre they reflected, served only to heighten by contrast, the obscurity and gloom of his present views. He had, however, a new subject of astonishment, which often withdrew his thoughts from their accustomed object, and substituted a sensation less painful, though scarcely less powerful. One night, as he lay ruminating on the past in melancholy dejection, the stillness of the place was suddenly interrupted by a low and dismal sound. It returned at intervals in hollow sighings, and seemed to come from some person in deep distress. So much did fear operate upon his mind, that he was uncertain whether it arose from within or from without. He looked round his dungeon, but could distinguish no object through the impenetrable darkness. As he listened in deep amazement, the sound was repeated in moans more hollow. Terror now occupied his mind, and disturbed his reason; he started from his posture, and, determined to be satisfied whether any person beside himself was in the dungeon, groped, with arms extended, along the walls. The place was empty, but coming to a particular spot, the sound suddenly arose more distinctly to his ear. He called aloud, and asked who was there; but received no answer. Soon after all was still; and after listening for some time without hearing the sounds renewed, he laid himself down to sleep. On the following day he mentioned to the man who brought him food, what he had heard, and enquired concerning the noise. The servant appeared very much terrified, but could give no information that might in the least account for the circumstance, till he mentioned the vicinity of the dungeon to the southern buildings. The dreadful relation formerly given by the marquis, instantly recurred to the mind of Ferdinand, who did not hesitate to believe, that the moans he heard came from the restless spirit of the murdered della Campo. At this conviction, horror thrilled his nerves; but he remembered his oath, and was silent. His courage, however, yielded to the idea of passing another night alone in his prison, where, if the vengeful spirit of the murdered should appear, he might even die of the horror which its appearance would inspire.
(I.vi, pp. 222-4; pp. 96-7 in OUP edition)",2013-05-31 22:31:31 UTC,"""The airy schemes he once formed of future felicity, resulting from the union of two persons so justly dear to him--with the gay visions of past happiness--floated upon his fancy, and the lustre they reflected, served only to heighten by contrast, the obscurity and gloom of his present views.""",2013-05-31 22:31:31 UTC,"Volume I, Chapter VI","",,"","",Reading,20283,5736
"Sonnet IX.
Blest is yon shepherd, on the turf reclin'd,
Who on the varied clouds which float above
Lies idly gazing--while his vacant mind
Pours out some tale antique of rural love!
Ah! he has never felt the pangs that move
Th' indignant spirit, when with selfish pride,
Friends, on whose faith the trusting heart rely'd,
Unkindly shun th' imploring eye of woe!
The ills they ought to soothe, with taunts deride,
And laugh at tears themselves have forc'd to flow.
Nor his rude bosom those fine feelings melt,
Children of Sentiment and Knowledge born,
Thro' whom each shaft with cruel force is felt,
Empoison'd by deceit or barb'd with scorn.",2013-06-13 15:05:16 UTC,"""Blest is yon shepherd, on the turf reclin'd, / Who on the varied clouds which float above / Lies idly gazing--while his vacant mind / Pours out some tale antique of rural love!""",2013-06-13 15:05:16 UTC,"","",,"","",Reading,20605,7417
"Sonnet IX.
Blest is yon shepherd, on the turf reclin'd,
Who on the varied clouds which float above
Lies idly gazing--while his vacant mind
Pours out some tale antique of rural love!
Ah! he has never felt the pangs that move
Th' indignant spirit, when with selfish pride,
Friends, on whose faith the trusting heart rely'd,
Unkindly shun th' imploring eye of woe!
The ills they ought to soothe, with taunts deride,
And laugh at tears themselves have forc'd to flow.
Nor his rude bosom those fine feelings melt,
Children of Sentiment and Knowledge born,
Thro' whom each shaft with cruel force is felt,
Empoison'd by deceit or barb'd with scorn.",2013-06-13 15:07:21 UTC,"""Nor his rude bosom those fine feelings melt, / Children of Sentiment and Knowledge born, / Thro' whom each shaft with cruel force is felt, / Empoison'd by deceit or barb'd with scorn.""",2013-06-13 15:06:44 UTC,"","",,"","",Reading,20606,7417
"Sonnet XXXV.
To Fortitude
Nymph of the rock! whose dauntless spirit braves
The beating storm, and bitter winds that howl
Round thy cold breast; and hear'st the bursting waves,
And the deep thunder with unshaken soul;
Oh come!--and shew how vain the cares that press
On my weak bosom--and how little worth
Is the false fleeting meteor, happiness,
That still misleads the wanderers of the earth!
Strengthen'd by thee, this heart shall cease to melt
O'er ills that poor humanity must bear;
Nor friends estrang'd, or ties dissolv'd be felt
To leave regret, and fruitless anguish there:
And when at length it heaves its latest sigh,
Thou and mild hope, shall teach me how to die!",2013-06-13 15:29:41 UTC,"""Strengthen'd by thee, this heart shall cease to melt / O'er ills that poor humanity must bear; / Nor friends estrang'd, or ties dissolv'd be felt / To leave regret, and fruitless anguish there.""",2013-06-13 15:29:41 UTC,"","",,"","",Reading,20614,7424
"Emmeline was yet quite unconscious of this: but Mrs. Stafford had seen it almost from the first moment of her seeing Godolphin. In their frequent conversation, she observed that the very name of Emmeline had the power of fascination; that he was never weary of hearing her praises; and that whenever he thought himself unobserved, his eyes were in pursuit of her; or fondly gazing on her face, he seemed to drink deep draughts of intoxicating passion.
(III, pp. 145-6)",2013-06-14 04:53:35 UTC,"""In their frequent conversation, she observed that the very name of Emmeline had the power of fascination; that he was never weary of hearing her praises; and that whenever he thought himself unobserved, his eyes were in pursuit of her; or fondly gazing on her face, he seemed to drink deep draughts of intoxicating passion.""",2013-06-14 04:53:35 UTC,"","",,"","",Searching in C-H Lion,20666,7439
"But in pouring her sorrows into the bosom of her friend she appeared to find great consolation. The tender pity of Emmeline was a balm to her wounded mind; and growing more composed, she began to discourse on the singular discovery Emmeline had made, and to enter with some interest into the affairs depending between her and the Marquis of Montreville; and by questions, aided by the natural frankness of Emmeline, at length became acquainted with the happy prospects, which tho' distant, opened to Godolphin.
(IV, p. 264)",2013-06-14 05:31:41 UTC,"""But in pouring her sorrows into the bosom of her friend she appeared to find great consolation.""",2013-06-14 05:31:41 UTC,"","",,"","",C-H Lion,20701,7439
"But if thou com'st with frown austere
To nurse the brood of care and fear;
To bid our sweetest passions die,
And leave us in their room a sigh;
Or if thine aspect stern have power
To wither each poor transient flower,
That cheers the pilgrimage of woe,
And dry the springs whence hope should flow;
WISDOM, thine empire I disclaim,
Thou empty boast of pompous name!
In gloomy shade of cloisters dwell,
But never haunt my chearful cell.
Hail to pleasure's frolic train;
Hail to fancy's golden reign;
Festive mirth, and laughter wild,
Free and sportful as the child;
Hope with eager sparkling eyes,
And easy faith, and fond surprise:
Let these, in fairy colours drest,
Forever share my careless breast;
Then, tho' wise I may not be,
The wise themselves shall envy me.
(pp. 57-8)",2014-03-08 17:30:32 UTC,"""But if thou com'st with frown austere / To nurse the brood of care and fear; / To bid our sweetest passions die, / And leave us in their room a sigh; / Or if thine aspect stern have power / To wither each poor transient flower, / That cheers the pilgrimage of woe, / And dry the springs whence hope should flow; / WISDOM, thine empire I disclaim, / Thou empty boast of pompous name!""",2014-03-08 17:30:32 UTC,"","",,Animals and Empire,"",Reading; text from ECCO-TCP.,23517,5404