updated_at,id,text,theme,metaphor,work_id,reviewed_on,provenance,created_at,comments,context,dictionary
2009-09-14 19:45:42 UTC,16094,"When a few moons (heav'n grant the lot!) have shed
Their ripening lustre o'er thine infant head;
And Shakespear's page, my Lucy, shall unroll
To thy rapt sight the mirror of the soul;
There, 'mid his scenes with thousand colours fraught,
Old Adam shall enchant thy wond'ring thought.
Such was the man, who bad thy mother bear
This small memorial to thy future care:
From youth to age her grateful house he serv'd,
Nor from strict Virtue's path a moment swerv'd.
When life's dark winter, as it 'gan to lower,
Blasted his sight, and bound up every power
For active good, yet many a lengthen'd day
With meek content he smil'd beneath its sway;
And still with kindest thoughts his time beguil'd,
And blest the race, for whom he once had toil'd:
Till ninety years being past in measure even,
He sail'd with conscious triumph up to heaven.","","""Shakespear's page, my Lucy, shall unroll / To thy rapt sight the mirror of the soul""",6082,,"Searching ""mind"" and ""mirror"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-10-23 00:00:00 UTC,"",I've included the entire poem,""
2009-09-14 19:47:12 UTC,16536,"""If prayers, my Lord;"" said Bertha: ""if the glow
""Of heart devote and grateful can bestow
""Security, my Sovereign is secure!
""Long as his virtuous wishes, shall endure
""The happiness he merits: but beware!
""My Sovereign, O beware: with piercing eye
""The secrets of thine Odo's bosom try:
""Virtue, that never asks the test to spare,
""The mirror to its inmost thoughts can claim;
""And come forth purer from the searching flame!""","","""'My Sovereign, O beware: with piercing eye/ 'The secrets of thine Odo's bosom try: / 'Virtue, that never asks the test to spare, / 'The mirror to its inmost thoughts can claim; / 'And come forth purer from the searching flame!'""",6241,,"Searching ""thought"" and ""mirror"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-12-14 00:00:00 UTC,"","",""
2009-09-14 19:47:25 UTC,16608,"Thus ever have thy sympathies and ties
Of blood and friendship, O Geneva, been
With England's children! Nor is Ickham's hamlet,
Its ivied towers, and its rude antique rectory,
And thy rich pastures, Lee, now first connected
With the broad Lake, where mountainous Mont-Blanc
Daily in majesty among the clouds
Smiles, or frowns over the assembled torrents
By Alpine fountains fed, and sends its waters
By the circuitous Arve's impetuous channels
To join the Rhone, that through the narrow gorge
Of Alps and Jura met, in purple stain'd,
Bursts with a fearful roar!--Yet distant countries
Not then, as now, communication held
By beaten tracks, and all the luxuries
Of easy transit, while the missive charge
Of the pen's register'd mirror of the mind
Was slow and interrupted. Nations now
Mingle almost as brothers of the same
Stock, education, habits, morals, feelings!","","""Yet distant countries / Not then, as now, communication held / By beaten tracks, and all the luxuries / Of easy transit, while the missive charge / Of the pen's register'd mirror of the mind / Was slow and interrupted""",6271,,"Searching ""mind"" and ""mirror"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-10-10 00:00:00 UTC,•I've included twice: Mirro and Letter,"",""
2009-09-14 19:47:48 UTC,16724,"Oh! eloquent and sensitive young Bard,
Painter of Clifton's Grove, who though of birth
Seemingly humble, and by occupations
Parental that the heart make hard surrounded,
Yet melted with all tenderness, and music,
As harps before the breeze that whisper love!
Thou wert some Spirit sent from seats of bliss,
Where all the Muses sing symphonious airs.
For what mysterious cause we dare not guess,
But short thy trial was, and to congenial
Climes in the skies wert thou transported soon:
The turf lies light upon thine earthly relics,
And tears bedew them ever; and sweet flowers
Spring up; and nightly notes of harmony
Aërial over them, and round about,
Sound, as if magic on the spot was playing![1]
Many there are who think that accident
Opens the fountain wheels alike to all
Common--produces inward the same waters,
But only to a few are these same waters
Of purity and holy spirit given!
We lead a life of lost and anxious care
Honours to win, which some pronounce a breath,
An empty bubble! and which, after all,
As Falstaff says, Detraction clouds and covers!
But when the swelling treasures of the soul
Are full, they, like the smouldering flame, will find
A vent, and out! The images that play
Upon the mirror of the mind, will pierce
And burst the veil, and strive to show their shapes,
And tints of bright magnificence and beauty
Before a wondering world! But if they were
The mirrors which reflected only forms
External, much of value they would lose.
By some mysterious power they represent
Forms of their own creation, or inspir'd
By visions, as it seems, of other worlds!
The spectacles this earthly scene of things
Exhibits are sublime; but much they have not,
In their material essence, which the mind
Of Genius gives them! It is magical,
The spell that wakes such wonders! As a dream
Is all the beauty that the Bard brings forth!
Thus speaks he better of the past than present,
Because the cold and calculating eye
Pretends not to detect him by the absence
Of those invisible images he draws!
Thus Memory mingles up the actual,
Impress'd upon the brain from outward shapes,
With the creations woven in the loom
That works within: and thus to the poet
All past life is but as a shadowy vision,
That which when present was but dull and hard,
Or painful, is converted in the retrospect
To bright, soft, mellow tints of exquisite
Grandeur or gentleness, and fond attraction!","","""The images that play / Upon the mirror of the mind, will pierce / And burst the veil, and strive to show their shapes, / And tints of bright magnificence and beauty / Before a wondering world""",6324,,"Searching ""mind"" and ""mirror"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-10-10 00:00:00 UTC,"•Footnote gives, ""Monday, 14th November.""","",""
2009-09-14 19:47:48 UTC,16727,"Rightly to apprehend the mysteries
Of earth, and its most polish'd human habitants
Exalts the faculties of enjoyment in us;
But with it comes the keen and dire perception
Of wrongs and follies, which the heart embitters,
Then morbidness surmounts the pure delight
Of senses open to creation's charms.
The spells that play upon the surface, better
Perchance may frail humanity befit!
Without reflection, or comparison
They take what offers to th' untroubled mirror
Of their slight intellects; no poignant thoughts
Of past or future intervene to throw
Clouds on the gentle sunshine of the moment.
The sting of recollection is not theirs;
Nor terror of the storm that in repose
Lies hush'd; full gather'd in the distant sky.
Thus then, may seem, equality is brought,
And counterbalances for nature's treasures.
Darkly we see, and e'en the wisest see
We know not why we are so fearfully
Made, and so contradictory in nature.
Misfortune oft upon the heels attends
Of Virtue and grand qualities of mind,
And never quits them! It may be defect
Of worldly cunning, and the serpent's wisdom.
To semble and dissemble, is the art
To be successful in this life of falsehood!
And politicians play a game of trickery
In private paths, as in affairs of state!
Who are the rich? and how gain they their treasures?
How rare is new-got wealth with honesty
Acquir'd! The gambles of the Stock-Exchange;
Its lies habitual and incessant; frauds
Of foulness horrible, and unsuspected,
Extortion from the blood of famish'd faith;
Plunder of public funds, and perjury,
And murder of the innocent;--too oft
Whole tribes and nations! and then daily pilfer
By little and by little in all dealings;
And Jewish interest, and cruel loans
Of mean deception to necessity!
Such is too oft the scource of new-got riches!
Were Riches but the power to benefit
Our suffering fellow-beings,--wipe the tear
From misery and want, and lift the good
And highly-gifted with the ornaments
And strength of native talent, or great hearts,
Then by all virtuous means, at least, we might
Desire it, and put forth our efforts for it:
But e'en when honestly inherited,
Or gain'd by virtuous means, how rarely is it
Dispens'd for good, or innocently us'd!
How oft it pampers indolence, that generates
Ennui, and feebleness, and rank disease!
And then the mind and heart deteriorate,
And lose the intellectual rank of man!","","""Without reflection, or comparison / They take what offers to th' untroubled mirror / Of their slight intellects""",6324,,"Searching ""thought"" and ""mirror"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-12-14 00:00:00 UTC,"","",""