text,updated_at,metaphor,created_at,context,theme,reviewed_on,dictionary,comments,provenance,id,work_id
"What, Lonsdale, melted down thy ruthless rage?--
With dæmons once thy spirit dar'd engage,
Spat on the mob that Freedom's ensigns bore,
Smil'd at his storm, and mock'd his thunder-roar;
Fac'd keen Contempt, and Murder's sanguine eye,
And horsewhipp'd whining Mercy to her sky.
How art thou sunk! how wither'd!--Lost, I fear,
Where is the Lowther spirit--tell me where?
Speak, can the ghost of Conscience haunt thy mind?
Hear'st thou the call of Death in ev'ry wind?--
Lo, Resolution to thy terror turns,
And o'er the skeleton of Manhood mourns!
Go, Wonder, to Earth's utmost limits fly,
And, say, if aught like this e'er stretch'd thine eye.
",2009-09-14 19:43:22 UTC,"""Speak, can the ghost of Conscience haunt thy mind?""",2004-06-08 00:00:00 UTC,"","",2009-01-23,"",•Earliest appearance in Gentleman's Magazine Vol. 61. ii. p. 1131 R.,"Searching ""haunt"" and ""mind"" in HDIS (Poetry)",15332,5752
"List to the oracles I now advance--
A man stark blind should never races run;
A cripple never should pretend to dance;
A head of wax should never court the sun.
Then bid Miss Hannah More her pen confine:
Repress the vainly rhiming, prosing rage,
That makes us sinful damn the nerveless line,
Un-Job-like curse the pen'ry of the page.
",2014-03-03 17:50:50 UTC,"""A head of wax should never court the sun.""",2005-04-11 00:00:00 UTC,Epistle III,"",,"",•Taking a swipe at Hannah More. ,"Searching ""wax"" and ""head"" in HDIS (Poetry); confirmed in ECCO.",16358,6181