updated_at,reviewed_on,context,comments,theme,id,text,provenance,created_at,work_id,metaphor,dictionary
2010-03-24 02:35:00 UTC,2010-03-23,"",•I've included twice in Architecture: Prison and Tent of Clay,"",8477,"To heav'n's blest regions, where perfection reigns,
And knowledge absolute her throne maintains;
There when the soul, in search of purer day,
Loos'd from mortality's impris'ning clay
Shall swifter than the forked lightning dart,
His vain attainments shall like shades depart,
And vision infinite of truths divine
That far beyond his weak conception shine,
Drown the faint glimmerings of his mental rays
In one all-pow'rful and immortal blaze.
",HDIS,2004-07-28 00:00:00 UTC,3228,"""There [to Heaven's Regions] when the soul, in search of purer day, / Loos'd from mortality's impris'ning clay / Shall swifter than the forked lightning dart.""",""
2009-09-14 19:41:43 UTC,,"","","",14718,"Full many a circling year had roll'd,
Since Eldred sought the martial field:
Lewellyn's sire, in battle bold;
Courage, the warrior's bosom steel'd.","Searching ""bosom"" and ""steel"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-06-13 00:00:00 UTC,5500,"""Courage, the warrior's bosom steel'd.""",Metal
2009-09-14 19:42:51 UTC,,"", ,"",15132,"Whate'er pursuits the attentive mind employ
Must mark our manners with a strong alloy.
Gaming a feature of the human frame
In various states and various climes the same,
Can the warm'd breast with strong sensation strike,
And rude and courtly bosoms charm alike.
For this old Rome's luxurious youth would slight[1]
The healthful labor, and the sportive fight;
For this among the extended woods that spread
Where the blue German hid his restless head[2],
The rugged inmates won by lust of play
Dear life, and dearer freedom gave away:
Even in the dusky tribes by Nature placed
Mid the lone horrors of the Atlantic waste,
Where scarce the claim of property obtains,
In savage fury dreadful, Gaming reigns.
Hence though the sons of wealth in this delight
Now waste with wakeful toil the livelong night,
Though on one stake will ample fortunes lie,
And mortgaged manors wait a single die;
Yet here no form peculiar can we trace
No striking character of modern race.
But Cards by dull invention first design'd
To sooth a frantic Monarch's listless mind[3],
O'er Europe now extend their strong controul,
And almost seem to fascinate the soul:
Of every calling, and of every state,
The grave, the gay, the humble, and the great,
Save the hard sons of wretched labor, fed
By daily drudgery, with daily bread,
How few but give to this unmeaning play
Three tedious hours from every circling day!
Nor let the serious Muse though light they seem,
Beneath her solemn care such trifles deem;
Weak masters though they be, their potent art
Gives a strong tincture to the human heart:
As the fang'd brood hot Libya's sands among
Though by fierce rage or maddening hunger stung,
If the clear stream their form reflected shew,
Loose all their vengeance on the shadowy foe;
So here those powers by Reason unrepress'd
Whose furious whirlwinds shook the human breast,
Bade with deep wounds contending nations bleed,
And urg'd the daring, or the atrocious deed,
In trifling cares their idle force engage,
And waste on mimic forms their harmless rage.--
Yet let not Fashion's modern votaries boast
Of harsher manners through their influence lost:
If life's severer evils they subdue,
And smooth the rugged mind, they weaken too;
If savage Hate they quell, and wild Desire,
They damp the Poet's, and the Patriot's fire,
The fervid glow of Friendship's flame remove,
And almost quench the golden lamp of Love.","Searching ""mind"" and ""alloy"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-04-14 00:00:00 UTC,5663,"""Whate'er pursuits the attentive mind employ / Must mark our manners with a strong alloy""",Metal
2009-09-14 19:42:52 UTC,,"",•See previous in Naucratia (1798). ,"",15142,"Full on the shore the giddy vessel drives,
And the rude shock her solid timbers rives,
The lashing wave her batter'd planks divides,
And o'er her deck the sea resistless rides.--
Say shall no voice in pitying strains relate
The hardy mariner's untimely fate,
Who oft Britannia's streaming flag unfurl'd
To the wild inmates of the Southern world,
Or with bold prow the hostile fleet explor'd
When louder than the surge the battle roar'd?
Yes! yes! to them the sorrowing Muse shall pay
The votive tribute of a mournful lay:
Yet while she pours the unavailing tear
Some transient gleams the night of horror chear.
For scenes that frequent shapes of Death impart
Arm the firm breast, and steel the manly heart;
And he who oft has seen his ghastly form
Glare in the fight, and thunder in the storm,
Will with bold arm his tyrant force engage,
And while he combats mitigates his rage.","Searching ""heart"" and ""steel"" in HDIS (Poetry); found again ""breast""",2005-06-10 00:00:00 UTC,5673,"""For scenes that frequent shapes of Death impart / Arm the firm breast, and steel the manly heart""",Metal
2009-09-14 19:42:52 UTC,,"", ,"",15143,"Crown'd by success, and deck'd in impious pride,
See in stern pomp the imperious Consul ride,
With each sad victim of uncertain war
Dragg'd in remorseless triumph at his car.
While Kings and Chiefs superior insult know,
And only feel pre-eminence in woe.
O had of Gothic days the rudest knight
Seen these barbarians, falsely deem'd polite,
Shout as the wretched Hero pass'd along,
Scorn'd and affronted by the unfeeling throng,
How had he turn'd aside the indignant eye
As the dire pageant mov'd exulting by,
To curse the hearts that selfish maxims steel,
And execrate the effects of patriot zeal.--","Searching ""heart"" and ""steel"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-06-10 00:00:00 UTC,5663,"""To curse the hearts that selfish maxims steel, / And execrate the effects of patriot zeal.--""",Metal
2009-09-14 19:42:53 UTC,,"", ,"",15147,"No! with parental care your army lead,
Behold with grief the meanest soldier bleed,
They love their leaders, but their tyrants hate,
We owe their lives and welfare to the state.
When Mars permits be each attention shewn,
And spare their blood though lavish of your own.
But when by various wrongs your bosom's steel'd,
Your groaning country calling to the field,
And 'twixt the foe and you the uncertain scale
Of fight must shew whose fortune shall prevail,
Eager for War, and prodigal of blood,
Loose all their ardor like a rushing flood,
Then shall they shew that valor courts applause,
Nor fears to perish in a glorious cause.","Searching ""bosom"" and ""steel"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-06-13 00:00:00 UTC,5676,"""But when by various wrongs your bosom's steel'd, / Your groaning country calling to the field, / And 'twixt the foe and you the uncertain scale / Of fight must shew whose fortune shall prevail""",Metal
2009-09-14 19:43:00 UTC,,"",•C-H takes from Poems (1808),"",15196,"Then comes a troop in gilded uniform,
The goodly band Johnsonian. Cowley first,
Poetic child, whose philosophic muse
Distracts, delights, torments, and captivates.
Let me attend, when, from the world retir'd,
He turn'd his restive Pegasus to graze,
And thought, and wrote, sedate and sober prose.
Comes Milton next, that like his wakeful bird
Sings darkling, sings and mourns his eye-sight lost,
And nightly wanders to the Muses' haunt,
Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill,
Smit with the love of sacred song; to us
Displaying nature, and the blissful scenes
Of Paradise, though not to him returns
Day, or the sweet approach of ev'n or morn,
Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose,
Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine.
Sweet bard, that bears us softly now, and, smooth
As that unwrinkled flood that slowly winds
By Windsor's haughty tow'rs, and visits shores
Divinely various--rushes now, and leaps,
Confounding sense, immeasurable depth,
A foaming cataract, whose thund'ring fall
Disorders hell, and utmost earth and heav'n.
Comes Butler then, incomparable wit,
And not to be reprov'd, save when his muse
Decorum overleaps, and here and there
Bolts the coarse jest, to the chaste eye and ear
Offensive; for behind the comic mask
We find the scholar and the man of sense,
The friend of virtue, and the foe of vice.
Then follows courtly Waller, and in vain
On Amoret or Saccharissa calls,
With budget full of trifles, birth-day odes,
Congratulations, songs, and compliments,
And mythologic tales. Then Denham charms,
And from his own Parnassus, Cooper's Hill,
Sings the wide prospect that extended lies
Under his proud survey. Then Sprat. And then
Roscommon fills with elegant remark,
His verse as elegant; unspotted lines
Flow from a mind unspotted as themselves.
Then Wilmot tunes his reed, and in his song
Gives early specimen of genius, rare
And prone to excellence. But ah! how vain
Poetic hopes! The prime of life is lost,
His talent wasted, and the giddy fool
Grows old in pleasure, and denies his God.
The grave in view, a holy friend his guide,
He views his conduct with remorse, repents,
Acknowledges his fault, curses the wit
Of erring man that so outwits itself,
And dies, a martyr to the pains of vice.
Then Yalden sings, and fills us with delight,
His harp so tun'd that as the morning breaks
It breathes spontaneous rapture, and again
At ev'ning close with solemn eulogy
Welcomes the reign of night. With dewy eye
But harlot tear, then Otway's muse begins,
And charms who hears her with her Syren air;
To decency, alas, no friend, to vice
No enemy. His Celia then proclaims
Enamour'd Duke, at Floriana's grave
Sweet lamentation chanting. Dorset then
Hums nobly liberal, and hums too much,
Scarce heard an hour. Chaste Montague succeeds,
Stepney less pure, and Walsh with feeble wing
Half flying, half on foot. Then comes a bard,
Worn out and penniless, and poet still
Though bent with years, and in impetuous rhyme
Pours out his unexhausted song. What muse
So flexible, so generous as thine,
Immortal Dryden. From her copious fount
Large draughts he took, and unbeseeming song
Inebriated sang. Who does not grieve,
To hear the soul and insolent rebuke
Of angry satire from a bard so rare?
To trace the lubricous and oily course
Of abject adulation, the lewd line
Of shameless vice, from page to page, and find
The judgment brib'd, the heart unprincipled,
And only loyal at th' expence of truth,
Of justice, and of virtue? Meaner strain
The dapper wit commends of sprightly Garth.
We smile to see fantastic Poetry
Shake hands with Physic, and with grave burlesque
Arrange his gallipots, and gild his pills;
Then march in dreadful armour to the field,
To screen her new ally from hostile shocks,
With pestle truncheon, Cloacinian helm,
And levell'd squirt. Then heartily we laugh
With laughter-loving King, and much applaud
That vein of mirth which, innocent and clear,
In silver neatness flows. Young Phillips then,
Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme,
A shilling, breeches, and chimeras dire,
Sings gravely jocund. Dismal rag applauds,
With sympathetic ardour touch'd, at sound
Of tatter'd galligaskins, college duns,
And subtle catchpole. Modest Pomfret then,
To soar aloft unable, with light wing
Above the plain scarce elevated skims,
A short and feeble flight. So have I seen
The spaniel-hunted quail with lowly wing
Shear the smooth air: and so too have I heard
That she can sweetly clamour, though compell'd
To tread the humble vale, nor ever mount
High as the ev'ning swift or morning lark.
Then blameless Hughes, in union with Pepusch,
Still to the eloquent orchestra tunes
His virtuous, unmeaning song. And now,
In tones that might attract an angel's ear,
Flows the smooth strain of righteous Addison.
Then Blackmore says an everlasting tale,
Bless'd with a callous muse. Genius in vain
Laughs at the fond attempt, for still he bawls,
And with gigantic dissonance subdues
The universal hiss. No poet--true--
But mark the man, and you shall find him good.
And what's the poet if the man be naught?
Let Buckingham reply. Genius and wit
May flourish for a day, and snatch the wreath
From awkward probity; but soon shall fade
The ready laurels of a vicious muse,
While amaranthine honours crown the brow
Of unpoetic virtue. Waller's muse
In courteous Granville lives, in Granville dies.
Who can refuse applause to tragic Rowe?
Who can withhold his honest praise from thee,
Tickel, thou friend of Addison, and virtue?
Who is not startled at the fertile wit
Of beardless Congreve? and who does not grieve
That 'twas not drawn in the defence of virtue?
How sweet the music of thy happy lines,
Poetic Prior; full of mirth thy muse,
And exquisite her jest. Ah! hear it not,
Ye sober fair, for fulsome is the tale,
And only fit for the distemper'd ear
Of jovial libertines. His graver song
Applaud unsatisfied, and ever laugh
To see him mount his furious Pegasus
Pindaric, often back'd, but back'd in vain,
And never to be tam'd by crazy wits.
'Twas an unruly and a hard-mouth'd horse,
""And slung his rider if he sat not sure,""
Dan Cowley said. Yet up sprung Mat, resolv'd.
O'er sea and land with an unbounded loose
Runs the mad steed, a Gilpin race I ween.
Hardly the muse can sit the head-strong horse.
See, now she gallops round the Belgic shore,
Now through the raging ocean ploughs her way,
To rough Ierne's camps; there sounds alarms,
In the dank marshes finds her glorious theme,
And plunges after him through Boyne's fierce flood.
Back to his Albion then, then with stiff wing
East, over Danube and Propontis' shores,
From the Moeotis to the northern sea,
To visit the young Muscovite; thence up,
Resolv'd to reach the high empyrean sphere,
And ask for William an Olympic crown.
Till, lost in trackless fields of shining day,
Unhors'd, and all revers'd, down, down she comes,
Comes rushing with uncommon ruin down.
Glorious attempt, but not unhappy fate.
'Twas lucky, Mat, thou had'st not giv'n a name
To some Icarian gulf, or shook at least
The carnal man so sore, that he had limp'd,
And lamely hobbled to the verge of life;
But, thanks to fate, thy pace is even yet,
And happily the Muse her mirthful song
In durance vile prolongs. So have I heard
The captive finch, in narrow cage confin'd,
Charm all his woe away with cheerful song,
Which might have melted e'en a heart of steel
To give him liberty. Hence, hence, away
Ye meaner wits, hide your diminish'd heads,
See genius self approaches. Homer's soul
A puny child informs. Let envy laugh
To see an urchin ugly as herself
The glory of our isle. For thee, great bard,
We twine the laurel wreath, and grant it thine
Thrice-won. Shall any mortal tongue presume
To scatter censure on thy charming page?
Hark, 'tis the din of twenty thousand curs
Who bark at excellence. Who best deserves
Must feel the scourge of infinite abuse,
For man to man is fiercer than the wolf,
More cruel than the tiger. Who can brook
The sight of aught more worthy than himself?
Invite an angel from the courts of heav'n,
Our critic eye shall spy a thousand faults
Where not a fault exists. Mistake me not,
I name not thee an angel, haughty bard,
Thy deeds were human. With an honest heart
I love the poet, but detest the man.
Thy purer lays what mortal can despise,
Thy baser song what mortal can approve,
Thou witty, dirty, patriotic Dean?
Laugh on, laugh on. With pencil exquisite
Picture the features of encourag'd vice,
And fashionable folly. Give the fair,
The peerless Stella, everlasting worth,
Deride thy narrow paper-sparing friend;
And gall the great. But why shall thy sweet Muse
Turn scavenger, and the foul kennel rake
For themes and similes? What heart but grieves,
To find an equal portion in thy song
Of elegantly fair and grossly foul?
Now honest Gay, a city shepherd, sings,
Nor sings in vain to us. In Arcady
We love to stray, and dream of happy days
No eye has seen, no heart has felt. We love
The land of Fairy, and the puny deeds
Of dapper elves. Whate'er the frantic poet
In his wild mood imagines, we applaud.
Nor wholly scorn with Gay or Broom to stray,
Or Ambrose Philips, through enchanted land
To painted meadows, flow'ry lawns and hills,
To crystal floods, cool groves, and shady bow'rs,
And rills that babble, tinkle, purl, and murmur.
How sweet the song that from thy mellow pipe,
Dear Parnel, flow'd. Death overheard amaz'd,
And his stone couch forsook, all wonder now,
And now all envy. Sure he thought no bard
Of mortal mixture could such tones create;
Or if of mortal mixture, he had liv'd
Double the days of man, and stol'n from years
Due to the reign of silence and of death,
Song so divine. With the bad thought possess'd,
He keen'd his arrow on a flint, advanc'd,
And threw it greedily, his lipless jaws
Gnashing with hate. So fell betimes the bard,
So triumph'd death, and at the bloody deed
Shook his lean bones with laughter. Cursed fiend,
Thou bane of excellence, go hence, and laugh;
Yet shall the pious poet sing again,
And thou shalt hear, and with eternal wrath
Ay burning, dance with agony, and gnaw,
Howling for pain, the adamantine gates
Of treble-bolted Hell.","Searching ""heart"" and ""steel"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-06-10 00:00:00 UTC,5685,"""So have I heard / The captive finch, in narrow cage confin'd, / Charm all his woe away with cheerful song, / Which might have melted e'en a heart of steel / To give him liberty""",Metal
2009-09-14 19:43:15 UTC,,"","","",15286,"To the door he went,
And left her. She obey'd, to be set free
From this her dreary mansion little loth,
And having paid her landlord, left his house,
And came to Ernest's. With a gracious smile,
Such as the tender father gives his child,
He at his door receiv'd her. To her room
Now he conducts her, at the table's head
Now seats her, and proclaims her with delight
Queen of the feast. With cheerfulness and ease
She rules the board, and half forgets her grief.
Day rose, and day retir'd. Night after night
Withdrew, and ere she thinks of preparation
The promis'd week is gone. She begs one more,
And yet another. To protract her stay
Ernest consents, unwilling to dismiss
A guest so lovely. At the long delay
Young Henry too was pleas'd, with secret love
Towards Ophelia burning. For what youth
Can look on woman beauteous as the morn
With tearful eyes emerging from distress,
All penitence and sorrow--and not love?
Is there a man whose iron heart is proof
Against such charms? Lay not his bones by mine.
For should they touch, 'twere like a sudden spark
Let fall by chance among the nitrous casks
Lodg'd in the bowels of a ship of war,
Which in a moment blows her to the Moon.","Searching ""heart"" and ""iron"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-06-07 00:00:00 UTC,5729,"""Is there a man whose iron heart is proof / Against such charms?""",Metal
2009-09-14 19:43:16 UTC,,"",•C-H takes from Poems (1808),"",15292,"""Then hear,"" said Gilbert. ""To this spot I came,
""Intending hurt to none. From the loud surge
""But ill escap'd, and climbing the rude cliff
""Through a steep moulder'd gap, at a small hut
""Belonging to the fisher and his son,
""I found this suit, and chang'd it for my own
""All dripping wet. Soon as the tempest ceas'd
""I left the hut thus clad, and tow'rds the wood
""Came with all speed, well knowing these my friends
""And these my sisters had not hearts of steel,
""And might be griev'd at my delay. I saw,
""Just as my weary feet had reach'd this spot,
""This lovely maid upon that bench asleep.
""I saw, and was refresh'd; but had not gaz'd
""A moment's space, ere yonder villain came,
""Thy friend; and I retir'd, and unperceiv'd
""Beheld the dev'lish antic at his wiles.
""I knew his purpose, (for the outward act
""Gives true assurance of the inward mind,)
""And burning with impatience stood awhile,
""Till he all passion seiz'd the helpless maid
""Alone and sleeping, and with touch profane
""Thought to have feasted on those crimson lips
""And that vermilion cheek. I sprung to help her
""And sure my arm had more than usual strength,
""For with one blow I fell'd him to the earth,
""And set the captive free. She fled alarm'd,
""And hardly stay'd to cast one thankful look
""On him who sav'd her--but that gracious smile
""Repays me well. The shameless villain rose,
""And, cursing me by ev'ry name above,
""Ran at my life. The second blow you saw,
""Which plung'd him headlong in the miry brook.
""And if an act like this can need defence,
""I stand prepar'd to give it; for be sure,
""Had it been Fred'rick I had done the same,
""And Fred'rick had deserv'd it.""","Searching ""heart"" and ""steel"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-06-10 00:00:00 UTC,5732,"""'And these my sisters had not hearts of steel, / 'And might be griev'd at my delay""",Metal
2012-08-14 14:33:41 UTC,,"","CRAZY! USE IN ENTRY: ""This is not said figuratively.""",Meta-Metaphorical,19915,"When the fierce Sun darts vertical his beams,
And thirst and hunger mix their wild extremes;
When the sharp iron * wounds his inmost soul,
And his strain'd eyes in burning anguish roll;
Will the parch'd negro find, ere he expire,
No pain in hunger, and no heat in fire?
[...]
* This is not said figuratively. The writer of these lines has seen a complete set of chains, fitted to every separate limb of these unhappy, innocent men; together with instruments for wrenching open the jaws, contrived with such ingenious cruelty as would shock the humanity of an inquisitor.
(ll. 171-6, p. 13, p. 106 in Wood)",Reading,2012-08-14 14:32:46 UTC,5681,"""When the sharp iron wounds his inmost soul, / And his strain'd eyes in burning anguish roll; / Will the parch'd negro find, ere he expire, / No pain in hunger, and no heat in fire?""",Fetters