work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
4904,"","Searching ""conque"" and ""heart"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-02-10 00:00:00 UTC," Say, coward learning! long, too long, misled!
If, yet, thou dar'st erect thy dizzy head!
And art not, yet, heart-conquer'd quite,
By power and custom join'd; too, too unequal fight!
If, yet, once more, thou dar'st assert thy eyes,
Once more, undazled, view Truth's beamy skies;
And can'st, with strong, unstagg'ring sight,
Firm-fix'd, in steddy gaze, take in the o'erwhelming light!
Say, nor fear th' oppressive hate,
Which truth, told plainly, must create!
The foes of truth, in bulk, tho' great,
Lifted boldly, want, in weight!
Say, to what sad cause, we owe,
That naked virtue must, regardless go!
Or, shiv'ring stand, in fortune's snow:
Till chance does some gay mantle, o'er her, throw,
And notice does not, from her worth, but her adornments, flow?
Immortal heav'n! if man may dare
Climb thither, to refresh his care!
What means our God! when he requires,
That man, in virtue's rugged paths, shou'd tread,
If, to blessings, he aspires?
And yet, strange paradox! permits, to virtue's foes,
The mounts of power, from whence to aim their blows:
And hurl red ruin down, in surer throws,
With levell'd malice, nicely pois'd, to hit the climbing head,
While they sit safe, and laugh, above, to see th' aspirer dead!",,13149,"","""Say, coward learning! long, too long, misled! / If, yet, thou dar'st erect thy dizzy head! / And art not, yet, heart-conquer'd quite, / By power and custom join'd; too, too unequal fight!""",Empire,2014-06-11 18:29:17 UTC,Stanza II
4908,"","Searching ""mind"" and ""stamp"" in HDIS (Poetry); Found again ""heart""",2005-04-07 00:00:00 UTC,"I, thro' the dancing numbers, breathe a soul,
And, to the sound of reason, tune mankind:
I teach true pleasures false ones to controul,
And warm the yielding heart, to stamp the mind.
",,13163,"","""I teach true pleasures false ones to controul, / And warm the yielding heart, to stamp the mind""","",2009-09-14 19:37:54 UTC,""
4911,"",Searching HDIS (Poetry),2005-05-31 00:00:00 UTC,"Philemon.
If truth, dear swain! with freedom, might advise,
Thou may'st be happy, for I know thee wise.
Quit, for a trial, once, this meagre air,
And, all impartial, to thy friend repair.
Then, wilt thou, ever, fix'd with me remain,
And envious rustics tempt thee back, in vain.
Thus, some raw youth, on a domestic shore,
With terror, hears th' encircling surges roar;
Trembling, he sees the threatning tempest roll,
And ev'ry rising billow lifts his soul:
But, when a riper age has call'd him o'er,
To try the pleasures of some foreign shore,
Sad, he returns, nor will, at home, remain,
But pants, to taste abandon'd joys, again.
Your muse, in vain, of boasted prospects sings;
Your flow'ry meadows, and your murm'ring springs:
Poor short-liv'd scenes of shadow-skimming joy,
Whose pride a change of season can destroy!
The rising floods your valleys over-flow,
And winter spreads your hills, with sheets of snow:
Autumnal winds strip bare your gawdy trees,
And cold December nights your purling currents freeze.
But we, more happy, constant blessings share,
Nor hang our comforts in the changeful air:
Our diff'ring seasons have their different sport,
The park, the play, the tavern, and the court!
Our rolling hours can sweetly wear away
The utmost moments of the longest day:
When, tir'd with business, we wou'd care decline,
We drown the weight of thought, in gen'rous wine:
By that, made sprightly, to the park repair,
And, eloquently silent, court the fair:
Thence, to the theatre, inspir'd, we move,
And feast, at once, on mingled wit and love!
These and a thousand nameless new delights,
Make our days fruitful, and enrich our nights;
While you, 'midst few repeated pastimes, live,
Nor ever taste the joy, which changing pleasures give.",,13168,"","""Trembling, he sees the threatning tempest roll, / And ev'ry rising billow lifts his soul:""","",2009-09-14 19:37:54 UTC,""
4911,Magnetism,Searching HDIS (Poetry),2005-05-31 00:00:00 UTC,"Damon.
All your strong arguments no proof produce,
Of gold's intrinsic value, but its use!
Your generous soul, your friends would entertain,
And general bliss, with wide-spread aids, maintain;
Call forth dim virtue, on the world to shine!
'Tis great! 'tis wond'rous great! 'tis all divine!
But still, Philemon, this sublime delight,
Springs not from gold's access, but from its flight!
You praise the use, yet cannot bear the sight.
Shou'd villains aid me, some worse foe to kill,
I'd love the act, but hate the villain, still!
I'd prize a truth, sent in the Devil's name,
But still abhor that Devil, from whom it came.
So, gold, pernicious in its nature, may,
By souls, like yours, be bent a nobler way:
Thus, as the needle, by magnetic force,
Once touch'd, still, to the magnet guides its course.
Trembling, while wand'ring thence, and finds no rest,
'Till clasp'd, and fastened, to its darling breast.
So, tho' our thoughts, on diff'rent points, design,
Meeting, at last, we, in one center, join,
And, in the union, lose the terms of mine and thine.",,13169,•I feel that I've entered these verse twice now. REVISIT. ,"""So, gold, pernicious in its nature, may, / By souls, like yours, be bent a nobler way:/ Thus, as the needle, by magnetic force, / Once touch'd, still, to the magnet guides its course. / Trembling, while wand'ring thence, and finds no rest, / 'Till clasp'd, and fastened, to its darling breast.""",Metal,2009-11-30 15:59:06 UTC,""
4912,"","Searching ""heart"" and ""steel"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-06-10 00:00:00 UTC,"The three great powers, that shake the human heart,
Are musick, eloquence, and paintive art:
Picture and eloquence, already, charm,
In every tearful page, divinely warm!
Oh! let tun'd numbers fill th' illustrious trine:
In some new work, let added musick shine,
Let his next wreath, the Poet's Ivy claim:
And his own verse immortalize his name.
Verse, so inspir'd, inspiring, and combin'd,
Would pour th' enrapt'ring virtues, o'er the mind;
Rouse, from their roots in earth, hearts, hard as steel,
And teach, once more, the trees, and beasts, to feel!",,13171,•INTEREST. Compare Hill's response to Pamela.,"""Rouse, from their roots in earth, hearts, hard as steel, / And teach, once more, the trees, and beasts, to feel!""",Metal,2014-06-12 03:46:53 UTC,""
4904,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2005-06-10 00:00:00 UTC," Stay! and, e'er we farther go,
Let our great meaning be aloud proclaim'd!
Our deeds shall be as just, as fam'd!
Friends, and enemies shall know,
Why we make war; and what we mean to do!
Herald vengeance! swift arise!
Shell, with steel, thy flinty heart!
And since, by nature, blind thou art;
Bury thy lifted hand, in yonder skies,
And pluck two comets, down, to serve for eyes,
Dawb thy dismal face with blood!
And, with extensive stride, crossing the trembling flood!
Of fire-embroider'd smoke, throw on a wind-shook robe,
And shoot thy shadow over half the globe!
In thy right hand, lift quiv'ring light'nings high!
Hardly held, and mad to fly!
From thy rais'd left, let heaven's loud bolt be hurl'd;
And roll th' alarming thunder round the world!
When wak'd attention pricks her frighted ear,
And stalking apprehension pants, with fear!
When all the starting nations, upward, look,
By convulsive horror shook!
Borrow the northern wind's big voice, and then!
Three times pronounce, O yes! and, thus, address the sons of Men!",,13172,•I've included twice: Steel and Flint,"""Herald vengeance! swift arise! / Shell, with steel, thy flinty heart!""","",2009-09-14 19:37:55 UTC,Stanza XII
4916,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2005-08-29 00:00:00 UTC,"Surrounded, as I was, by slaves, to night,
Troth, I e'en thought, to take all five--was right!
Since I'd enough for all--what harm, to barter,
And deal with each, for his own, separate quarter?
Worthy possess'd my will--my Lord my eye,
Grinly my spleen--my scorn Sir Lubberly.
Chip had my laughter;--every Man his part,
And room for forty more, in woman's heart,
(IV, p. 110-1)",2012-01-12,13186,Originally categorized as Inhabitants. Changed to Container.,"""Worthy possess'd my will--my Lord my eye, / Grinly my spleen--my scorn Sir Lubberly. / Chip had my laughter;--every Man his part, / And room for forty more, in woman's heart.""","",2014-06-11 15:31:10 UTC,""
4917,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2005-08-29 00:00:00 UTC,"Say, Tacitus,--thy skill the secret found:
In what state-scale, five hundred insults, poiz'd,
Weigh'd down five hundred thanks, in grateful gold.
Dream not, thy Roman's genius mov'd such boon:
Not his fam'd father's vict'ries, ten times won,
And to thy claim transferr'd, had, there, so charm'd.
Oh power of prompt reproach, to rasp reward:
And flash conception's fire from flint most cold!
Call it not bounty: blast it, angry muse;
And from the fame of Albion blot that tale.
Th' imbitter'd hand of calumny bows down
The heart; its gall corrodes, to smile thro' wrongs,
And pay compell'd respect, to dreaded scorn:
While, on the candid courtship of the kind,
No fost'ring glance descends!--untott'ring power
Takes compliment, as tribute. Over-cramm'd
With self, and surfeiting on brief success,
The narrow-compass'd heart wants room, for taste.
--Or grant some glimm'ry ray gave light, to guess
Th' effect of skill'd applause: what thence, results,
But insolent contempt, of aid unsought?
The busy breast, that pants, in post hard held,
Wants leisure to be grateful: 'Tis the task
Of grandeur in disgrace, to thank a friend.",,13187,"","""Over-cramm'd / With self, and surfeiting on brief success, / The narrow-compass'd heart wants room, for taste.""","",2009-09-14 19:37:56 UTC,""
4917,"","Searching ""thought"" and ""cave"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2006-01-18 00:00:00 UTC,"Shall it be Sorrow's energetic plaint,
That groans away the sun, and lends new gloom
To midnight's mournful umbrage? Tim'd too well,
Too lately, Albion's boreal wastes had wept
The suited theme: when tears, from rash revolt,
Wash'd ruthless prisons: when th'accessless wilds
Of bleak-brow'd mountains shriek'd, with vocal woe;
Mothers and Orphan's cries! whom famine found,
Where only famine cou'd: Despair's pale tribe!
Weeping, in death's chill grasp, their own unfelt,
Some past or future fate, of friend more dear;
Why shou'd the gen'rous Muse insult the fall'n?
Why not deplore the pangs of hostile pain?
Just if they thought their cause, their crime seem'd faith.
Guiltless in will, by taste involv'd in wrong,
From educative custom's devious warp,
Spare the persisting blind: unhoping grace:
Trustless of regal virtues: erring on
From doubt of mercy. For, alas! no voice
Of truth, in desarts heard, had taught 'em, Kings,
Who last can fear offence, can, first, forgive.
Paint, then, their pity'd anguish: nobly feel,
To make sublimely felt, this brave man's test:
That hearts, unshaken by resister's rage,
Are conquer'd by their sorrow.--Vain attempt!
Spread the sonorous wing for flights of joy.
Sorrow renounces latitude of range:
Dwells in confinement's cave; where thought sits chain'd,
Muses are shunn'd: and horror's winking lamp.
Ghastlying night's ebon eye, sees woes on woes,
Tear following tear, sigh echoing sigh, combin'd,
Move in close consonance of sist'ring sound.",2011-05-23,13192,•I've included twice: Cave and Chains.,"""Sorrow renounces latitude of range: / Dwells in confinement's cave; where thought sits chain'd / Muses are shunn'd: and horror's winking lamp.""",Fetters,2011-05-26 18:29:35 UTC,""
4920,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2006-04-14 00:00:00 UTC,"Play'd, said I?--second thought that word retracts;
Fancies and follies play, but passion acts:
Passion! the spring, that all life's wheels employs,
Winds up the working thought--and heightens joys.
Passion! the great man's guide, the poor man's blame;
The soldier's lawrel, and the sigher's flame.
Passion! that leads the grave, impels the gay,
Bids the wise tremble, and the fool betray.
Ev'n at this hour, what's here our pastime made,
Gives the court business, and the kingdom, trade;
When factions quarrel, or when statesmen fall,
Each does but act his part, at passion's call.
Like our's, to night, Lord Passion sets their task;
Their fears, hopes, flatt'ries--all are passion's masque.
The world's wide stage, for this one practice, fill'd,
Sees some act, nobly, others play unskill'd.
Triflers, and smarts, who toy time's dream away,
Sots, beaux, and hounds of party, these but play.
Sons of their country's hope, sublimely, rackt,
For other's rest.--These do not play, but act.",,13203,"","""Passion! the spring, that all life's wheels employs, / Winds up the working thought--and heightens joys.""","",2013-08-19 21:25:10 UTC,""