id,comments,provenance,dictionary,created_at,reviewed_on,work_id,theme,context,updated_at,metaphor,text
15260,•I've included twice: Flinty Shore and Tide,"Searching ""mind"" and ""bank"" in HDIS (Poetry); confirmed in ECCO","",2005-05-31 00:00:00 UTC,,5726,"","",2014-02-26 21:59:56 UTC,"""When Passion's tides thro' mans' strong art'ries roar, / His heart resists them like a flinty shore; / But our frail frames, like mould'ring banks, give way.""","My recollection portrays all the past,
The bliss was sure too exquisite to last:
When Henry's supplication fill'd my days,
And every echo warbled Gabrielle's praise;
Train'd from my reason's dawn in noble deeds,
I sung of Virtue, and I sought her meeds:
My pliant fancy yielded to embrace
Those laws of honor, which upheld my race:
Oh! hesitate, ye generous nymphs, I pray,
Ere ye condemn the tenor of my lay.
Knew ye the sorcery that freights his tale,
Alas, you'd marvel not that men prevail!
A king, a hero, brilliant, wise and great,
Who seems the favor'd delegate of fate;
When such assail the melting virgin's breast,
Love is all-governing, and fear a jest.
With soft solicitude, with matchless charms,
He came, he woo'd, he won me to his arms!
So regal Jove his tender wishes told,
When the high ruler found Alcmena cold--
He swore his love should with his being last,
But scarce was sworn before that love was past:
Such vows, like poppies, mid the golden grain,
Tho' gay, are worthless, tho' alluring, vain:
When Passion's tides thro' mans' strong art'ries roar,
His heart resists them like a flinty shore;
But our frail frames, like mould'ring banks, give way,
Our mind's unhelm'd, our attributes decay--
His bright, his keen, his fascinating eyes,
Like wond'rous basilisks seduce their prize.
Go not, ye nymphs, you'll perish if you gaze,
For necromancy warms their weakest blaze!
If in the vortex of his arts you're found,
Your agency will die, your sense run round.
There Ruin's baneful circles never cease,
Till central potency ingulphs your peace!
(cf. pp. 24-5 in 1788 printing)"
21435,"",C-H Lion,"",2013-07-02 19:08:04 UTC,,3938,"",Book VIII,2013-07-02 19:08:04 UTC,"""Lord, strike this Marble Heart, thy powerful Stroke / Will make a Flood gush from the cleaving Rock. / O draw all Nature's Sluces up, and drain / Her Magazines, which liquid Stores contain.""","But now I see by your assisting Light
I'm both Idolater, and Hypocrite.
How black and dismal do's my Crime appear?
How sharp the Stings of raging Conscience are?
Who can the Pangs and deadly Anguish bear?
O let my head a weeping Fountain grow,
And from my Eyes let mournful Rivers flow.
Let me dissolve to Tears, let every Vein
A stream of Water, not of Blood contain.
Thro' all the winding Channels to my Eyes
Let unexhausted Stores of Moisture rise.
Let no sufficient Treasures be deny'd
To feed the sad, but Everlasting Tide.
Let Love's strong Flame by its Celestial Art
To fill my Eyes, dissolve and melt my Heart;
As Central Fire advances watry Steams
Which from the Mountains spring in Crystal Streams.
Rivers and Seas I want for my Relief,
To Ease, and Vent unutterable Grief.
I, that my Tears may to a Deluge grow,
Will break my Stores up, my Abyss of Woe.
Descend my Tears, in Cataracts slow down,
Me, and my load of Guilt together drown.
Let mighty Torrents from my Eye-balls roll,
Fit to dilute th'Almighty's wrathful Bowl.
Lord, strike this Marble Heart, thy powerful Stroke
Will make a Flood gush from the cleaving Rock.
O draw all Nature's Sluces up, and drain
Her Magazines, which liquid Stores contain.
(Bk VIII, p. 230, ll. 774-802)"