work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
5614,"",HDIS,2003-12-18 00:00:00 UTC,"How various his employments, whom the world
Calls idle, and who justly in return
Esteems that busy world an idler too!
Friends, books, a garden, and perhaps his pen,
Delightful industry enjoyed at home,
And nature in her cultivated trim
Dressed to his taste, inviting him abroad:--
Can he want occupation who has these?
Will he be idle who has much to enjoy?
Me therefore, studious of laborious ease,
Not slothful; happy to deceive the time
Not waste it; and aware that human life
Is but a loan to be repaid with use,
When He shall call his debtors to account,
From whom are all our blessings, business finds
Even here. While sedulous I seek to improve,
At least neglect not, or leave unemploy'd
The mind he gave me; driving it, though slack
Too oft, and much impeded in its work
By causes not to be divulged in vain,
To its just point the service of mankind.
He that attends to his interior self,
That has a heart and keeps it, has a mind
That hungers and supplies it, and who seeks
A social, not a dissipated life,
Has business; feels himself engaged to achieve
No unimportant, though a silent task.
A life all turbulence and noise may seem
To him that leads it, wise and to be praised;
But wisdom is a pearl with most success
Sought in still water, and beneath clear skies.
He that is ever occupied in storms,
Or dives not for it, or brings up instead,
Vainly industrious, a disgraceful prize.
(Bk. III, ll. 352-85, pp. 171-2)",,15014,•See the little parable Cowper fits into the lines that close this stanza. This is sort of figuration almost belongs to 'Weather'. ,"Wisdom is a pearl ""with most success / Sought in still water, and beneath clear skies""","",2009-09-14 19:42:33 UTC,""
5614,"",HDIS,2003-12-18 00:00:00 UTC,"So manifold, all pleasing in their kind,
All healthful, are the employs of rural life,
Reiterated as the wheel of time
Runs round, still ending, and beginning still.
Nor are these all. To deck the shapely knoll
That softly swell'd and gaily dress'd, appears
A flowery island from the dark green lawn
Emerging, must be deemed a labour due
To no mean hand, and asks the touch of taste.
Here also grateful mixture of well match'd
And sorted hues, (each giving each relief,
And by contrasted beauty shining more,)
Is needful. Strength may wield the ponderous spade,
May turn the clod, and wheel the compost home,
But elegance, chief grace the garden shows
And most attractive, is the fair result
Of thought, the creature of a polish'd mind.
Without it, all is Gothic as the scene
To which the insipid citizen resorts
Near yonder heath; where industry mispent,
But proud of his uncouth ill-chosen task,
Has made a heaven on earth; with suns and moons
Of close-ramm'd stones has charged the incumber'd soil,
And fairly laid the zodiac in the dust.
He therefore who would see his flowers disposed
Sightly and in just order, ere he gives
The beds the trusted treasure of their seeds
Forecasts the future whole; that when the scene
Shall break into its preconceived display,
Each for itself, and all as with one voice
Conspiring, may attest his bright design.
Nor even then, dismissing as perform'd
His pleasant work, may he suppose it done.
Few self-supported flowers endure the wind
Uninjured, but expect the upholding aid
Of the smooth-shaven prop, and neatly tied
Are wedded thus like beauty to old age,
For interest sake, the living to the dead.
Some clothe the soil that feeds them, far diffused
And lowly creeping, modest and yet fair,
Like virtue, thriving most where little seen.
Some more aspiring catch the neighbour shrub
With clasping tendrils, and invest his branch
Else unadorn'd, with many a gay festoon
And fragrant chaplet, recompensing well
The strength they borrow with the grace they lend.
All hate the rank society of weeds
Noisome, and ever greedy to exhaust
The impoverish'd earth; an overbearing race,
That like the multitude made faction-mad
Disturb good order, and degrade true worth.
(Bk. III, ll. 624-674, pp. 178-80)",,15015,"•And a polished mind is a prerequisite to good gardening. The garden described becomes ever more allegorized as ""lowly creeping, modest"" plants thrive, like virtue, ""where little seen"". I've added an entry here in 'Garden'.","The mind may be ""polish'd""","",2009-09-14 19:42:33 UTC,""
5615,"",HDIS (Poetry),2005-04-08 00:00:00 UTC,"In early days the conscience has in most
A quickness, which in later life is lost,
Preserved from guilt by salutary fears,
Or, guilty, soon relenting into tears.
Too careless often as our years proceed,
What friends we sort with, or what books we read,
Our parents yet exert a prudent care
To feed our infant minds with proper fare,
And wisely store the nursery by degrees
With wholesome learning, yet acquired with ease.
Neatly secured from being soiled or torn
Beneath a pane of thin translucent horn,
A book (to please us at a tender age
'Tis call'd a book, though but a single page,)
Presents the prayer the Saviour deign'd to teach,
Which children use, and parsons--when they preach.
Lisping our syllables, we scramble next,
Through moral narrative, or sacred text,
And learn with wonder how this world began,
Who made, who marr'd, and who has ransom'd man:
Points, which unless the Scripture made them plain,
The wisest heads might agitate in vain.
Oh thou, whom borne on fancy's eager wing
Back to the season of life's happy spring,
I pleased remember, and while memory yet
Holds fast her office here, can ne'er forget,
Ingenious dreamer, in whose well-told tale
Sweet fiction and sweet truth alike prevail,
Whose humorous vein, strong sense, and simple style,
May teach the gayest, make the gravest smile,
Witty, and well employed, and like thy Lord
Speaking in parables his slighted word,--
I name thee not, lest so despised a name
Should move a sneer at thy deserved fame,
Yet even in transitory life's late day
That mingles all my brown with sober gray,
Revere the man, whose Pilgrim marks the road
And guides the Progress of the soul to God.
'Twere well with most, if books that could engage
Their childhood, pleased them at a riper age;
The man approving what had charm'd the boy,
Would die at last in comfort, peace, and joy,
And not with curses on his art who stole
The gem of truth from his unguarded soul.
The stamp of artless piety impress'd
By kind tuition on his yielding breast,
The youth now bearded, and yet pert and raw,
Regards with scorn, though once received with awe,
And warp'd into the labyrinth of lies
That babblers, called philosophers, devise,
Blasphemes his creed as founded on a plan
Replete with dreams, unworthy of a man.
Touch but his nature in its ailing part,
Assert the native evil of his heart,
His pride resents the charge, although the proof
Rise in his forehead, and seem rank enough;
Point to the cure, describe a Saviour's cross
As God's expedient to retrieve his loss,
The young apostate sickens at the view,
And hates it with the malice of a Jew.
(ll. 109-168, pp. 263-5)",,15059,"","One may steal ""The gem of truth from his unguarded soul""","",2009-09-14 19:42:40 UTC,""
5614,"","Searching ""heart"" and ""steel"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-06-09 00:00:00 UTC,"Where England stretch'd towards the setting sun
Narrow and long, o'erlooks the western wave,
Dwelt young Misagathus; a scorner he
Of God and goodness, atheist in ostent,
Vicious in act, in temper savage-fierce.
He journey'd, and his chance was as he went,
To join a traveller of far different note,
Evander, famed for piety, for years
Deserving honour, but for wisdom more.
Fame had not left the venerable man
A stranger to the manners of the youth,
Whose face too was familiar to his view.
Their way was on the margin of the land,
O'er the green summit of the rocks whose base
Beats back the roaring surge, scarce heard so high.
The charity that warm'd his heart was moved
At sight of the man-monster. With a smile
Gentle, and affable, and full of grace,
As fearful of offending whom he wish'd
Much to persuade, he plied his ear with truths
Not harshly thunder'd forth or rudely press'd,
But like his purpose, gracious, kind, and sweet.
And dost thou dream, the impenetrable man
Exclaim'd, that me, the lullabies of age
And fantasies of dotards such as thou
Can cheat, or move a moment's fear in me?
Mark now the proof I give thee, that the brave
Need no such aids as superstition lends
To steel their hearts against the dread of death!
He spoke, and to the precipice at hand
Push'd with a madman's fury. Fancy shrinks
And the blood thrills and curdles at the thought
Of such a gulf as he design'd his grave.
But though the felon on his back could dare
The dreadful leap, more rational his steed
Declined the death, and wheeling swiftly round
Or ere his hoof had press'd the crumbling verge,
Baffled his rider, saved against his will.
The frenzy of the brain may be redress'd
By medicine well applied, but without grace
The heart's insanity admits no cure.
Enraged the more by what might have reform'd
His horrible intent, again he sought
Destruction with a zeal to be destroyed,
With sounding whip and rowels dyed in blood.
But still in vain. The providence that meant
A longer date to the far nobler beast,
Spared yet again the ignobler for his sake.
And now, his prowess proved, and his sincere
Incurable obduracy evinced,
His rage grew cool; and pleased perhaps to have earn'd
So cheaply the renown of that attempt,
With looks of some complacence he resumed
His road, deriding much the blank amaze
Of good Evander, still where he was left
Fixt motionless, and petrified with dread.
So on they fared; discourse on other themes
Ensuing, seem'd to obliterate the past,
And tamer far for so much fury shown,
(As is the course of rash and fiery men,)
The rude companion smiled as if transform'd.
But 'twas a transient calm. A storm was near,
An unsuspected storm. His hour was come.
The impious challenger of power divine
Was now to learn, that Heaven though slow to wrath,
Is never with impunity defied.
His horse, as he had caught his master's mood,
Snorting, and starting into sudden rage,
Unbidden, and not now to be controul'd,
Rush'd to the cliff, and having reach'd it, stood.
At once the shock unseated him. He flew
Sheer o'er the craggy barrier, and immersed
Deep in the flood, found, when he sought it not,
The death he had deserved, and died alone.
So God wrought double justice; made the fool
The victim of his own tremendous choice,
And taught a brute the way to safe revenge.",,15072,"","""Mark now the proof I give thee, that the brave / Need no such aids as superstition lends / To steel their hearts against the dread of death!""",Metal,2009-09-14 19:42:41 UTC,""
5658,Dualism,"Searching ""mind"" and ""gold"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-05-27 00:00:00 UTC,"Mrs. WEBB.
Like a lusty old Sybil, who rambles elate,
With a raven-ton'd voice, to anticipate Fate;
Mark Webb, like a whale, bear her fatness before her,
As the sprats of the Drama for mercy implore her;
Her high-garnish'd phiz give young Pleasantries birth,
And her well-fed abdomen's a mountain of mirth:
See the coarse-hewn old Dowager's mix'd with the rest,
Like a piece of brown dowlas near lace from Trieste;
And darts her huge beak for the prizes and pickings,
As an overgrown hen amidst delicate chickens:
Impertinent Doubts run to measure her size,
While Temperance looks at her frame with surprise.
Her airs are as harsh as a Brighthelmstone dipper,
And loosely assum'd like a pantaloon's slipper;
Tho' base without force, like the oath of a harlot,
Or the impudent grin of a shoulder-deck'd varlet.--
This mould of the fair sex is true female stuff,
And warm at the heart, tho' her--manners are rough:
Like Queen Bess she disdains the resistance of man,
And knocks down a peer with the end of her fan;
Old Care knits his brows to coerce and impale her,
And eyes her with hatred, but dare not assail her.
For social contumely cares not a fig,
For if none call her great, all the world swears she's big.
She's a beef-lin'd adherent to thundering Rage,
And a prop of vast import to Wit and the stage;
But Bards have too potently season'd her song,
Which like garlic in soup makes the pottage too strong:
For by playing old furies so apt and so often,
No human device can the habitude soften;
Thus an exotic sapling we frequently see,
When engrafted by Art, become part of the tree.--
So poignant a mind in a vulgariz'd shell,
Resembles a bucket of gold in a well;
'Tis like Ceylon's best spice in a rude-fashion'd jar,
Or Comedy coop'd in a Dutch man of war.",2011-06-20,15114,"•I've included twice: Metal and Uncategorized
• Reviewed 2009-03-05
• I've nowconsolidated 3 entries in one.
","""So poignant a mind in a vulgariz'd shell,/ Resembles a bucket of gold in a well; / 'Tis like Ceylon's best spice in a rude-fashion'd jar, / Or Comedy coop'd in a Dutch man of war.""",Metal,2011-06-20 16:33:37 UTC,""
5683,"",HDIS,2003-12-30 00:00:00 UTC,"To the same patroness resort,
Secure of favour at her court,
Strong Genius, from whose forge of thought
Forms rise, to quick perfection wrought,
Which, though newborn, with vigour move,
Like Pallas springing arm'd from Jove;
Imagination scattering round
Wild roses over furrow'd ground,
Which Labour of his frown beguile,
And teach Philosophy a smile;
Wit flashing on Religion's side,
Whose fires, to sacred truth applied,
The gem, though luminous before,
Obtrudes on human notice more,
Like sunbeams on the golden height
Of some tall temple playing bright;
Well-tutor'd Learning, from his books
Dismiss'd with grave, not haughty looks,
Their order on his shelves exact,
Not more harmonious or compact
Than that, to which he keeps confined
The various treasures of his mind;
All these to Montagu's repair,
Ambitious of a shelter there.
There Genius, Learning, Fancy, Wit,
Their ruffled plumage calm refit,
(For stormy troubles loudest roar
Around their flight who highest soar,)
And in her eye, and by her aid,
Shine safe without a fear to fade.
She thus maintains divided sway
With yon bright regent of the day;
The plume and Poet both, we know,
Their lustre to his influence owe;
And she, the works of Phoebus aiding,
Both Poet saves and plume from fading.
(ll. 21-56, pp. 23-4)",,15158,"•First published in Gentleman's Magazine, lviii, 1788, 542.
•INTEREST. This reference to the mind as a forge or smithy are hard for me to place. Do they belong to the Metal entry or to the Architecture? I think Metal. I'll need to do a search.
•I've included these with the other Metal metaphors (6/28/2005)","""Strong Genius, from whose forge of thought / Forms rise, to quick perfection wrought""",Metal,2009-09-14 19:42:55 UTC,""
5715,"","Searching ""heart"" and ""iron"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-06-07 00:00:00 UTC,"Why did all creating Nature
Make the plant for which we toil?
Sighs must fan it, tears must water,
Sweat of ours must dress the soil.
Think, ye masters, iron-hearted,
Lolling at your jovial boards,
Think how many backs have smarted
For the sweets your cane affords.",,15244,"•First printed in Stuart's Star, and Evening Advertiser, 2 Apr. 1789. C-H takes from Works (1835-7)","""Think, ye masters, iron-hearted, / Lolling at your jovial boards, / Think how many backs have smarted / For the sweets your cane affords.""",Metal,2009-09-14 19:43:08 UTC,""
5726,"","Searching ""mind"" and ""bank"" in HDIS (Poetry); confirmed in ECCO",2005-05-31 00:00:00 UTC,"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)",,15260,•I've included twice: Flinty Shore and Tide,"""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.""","",2014-02-26 21:59:56 UTC,""