text,updated_at,metaphor,created_at,context,theme,reviewed_on,dictionary,comments,provenance,id,work_id
"O Wisdom! if thy soft controul
Can soothe the sickness of the soul,
Can bid the warring passions cease,
And breathe the calm of tender peace;--
Wisdom! I bless thy gentle sway,
And ever, ever will obey.
(ll. 1-6, p. 79)",2014-03-08 17:26:53 UTC,"""O Wisdom! if thy soft controul / Can soothe the sickness of the soul, / Can bid the warring passions cease, / And breathe the calm of tender peace;-- / Wisdom! I bless thy gentle sway, / And ever, ever will obey.""",2004-01-03 00:00:00 UTC,"","",,"","",HDIS (Poetry); confirmed in ECCO-TCP.,14498,5404
"Such were the notes our chaster Sappho sung,
And every Muse dropped honey on her tongue.
Blest shade! how pure a breath of praise was thine,
Whose spotless life was faultless as thy line;
In whom each worth and every grace conspire,--
The Christian's meekness, and the poet's fire.
Learn'd without pride, a woman without art;
The sweetest manners, and the gentlest heart.
Smooth like her verse her passions learned to move,
And her whole soul was harmony and love.
Virtue that breast without a conflict gained,
And easy, like a native monarch, reigned.
On earth still favoured as by Heaven approved,
The world applauded, and Alexis loved.
With love, with health, with fame and friendship blest,
And of a cheerful heart the constant feast,
What more of bliss sincere could earth bestow?
What purer heaven could angels taste below?
But bliss from earth's vain scenes too quickly flies;
The golden cord is broke;--Alexis dies!
Now in the leafy shade and widowed grove
Sad Philomela mourns her absent love;
Now deep retired in Frome's enchanting vale,
She pours her tuneful sorrows on the gale;
Without one fond reserve the world disclaims,
And gives up all her soul to heavenly flames.
Yet in no useless gloom she wore her days;
She loved the work, and only shunned the praise:
Her pious hand the poor, the mourner blest;
Her image lived in every kindred breast.
Thynn, Carteret, Blackmore, Orrery approved,
And Prior praised, and noble Hertford loved;
Seraphic Kenn, and tuneful Watts were thine,
And virtue's noblest champions filled the line.
Blest in thy friendships! in thy death, too, blest!
Received without a pang to endless rest.
Heaven called the saint matured by length of days,
And her pure spirit was exhaled in praise.
Bright pattern of thy sex, be thou my Muse;
Thy gentle sweetness through my soul diffuse:
Let me thy palm, though not thy laurel share,
And copy thee in charity and prayer:--
Though for the bard my lines are far too faint,
Yet in my life let me transcribe the saint.
(ll. 1-44, pp. 96-7)",2013-11-17 16:46:15 UTC,"""Virtue that breast without a conflict gained, / And easy, like a native monarch, reigned.""",2004-01-03 00:00:00 UTC,"","",2004-06-15,"",•I've included this twice in Government: Rule and Subjection and Monarch,HDIS (Poetry),14503,5406
"-------------------- tibi lilia plenis
Ecce ferunt nymphae calathis.
VIRGIL.
Flowers to the fair: To you these flowers I bring,
And strive to greet you with an earlier spring.
Flowers sweet, and gay, and delicate like you;
Emblems of innocence, and beauty too.
With flowers the Graces bind their yellow hair,
And flowery wreaths consenting lovers wear.
Flowers, the sole luxury which nature knew,
In Eden's pure and guiltless garden grew.
To loftier forms are rougher tasks assign'd;
The sheltering oak resists the stormy wind,
The tougher yew repels invading foes,
And the tall pine for future navies grows;
But this soft family, to cares unknown,
Were born for pleasure and delight alone.
Gay without toil, and lovely without art,
They spring to cheer the sense, and glad the heart.
Nor blush, my fair, to own you copy these;
Your best, your sweetest empire is--to please.
(p. 95-6)",2014-03-08 17:23:15 UTC,"""Nor blush, my fair, to own you copy these; / Your best, your sweetest empire is--to please.""",2005-11-02 00:00:00 UTC,I've included the entire poem,"",,Empire,REVISIT. DELETE? THIS ISN'T A METAPHOR OF MIND.,ECCO,14543,5433
"Chand.
Considerate age, my Lord, views motives,
And not acts; when neither warbling voice,
Nor trilling pipe is heard, nor pleasure sits
With trembling age; the voice of Conscience then,
Sweeter than music in a summer's eve,
Shall warble round the snowy head, and keep
Sweet symphony to feather'd angels, sitting
As guardians round your chair; then shall the pulse
Beat slow, and taste, and touch, and sight, and sound, and smell,
That sing and dance round Reason's fine-wrought throne,
Shall flee away, and leave him all forlorn;
Yet not forlorn if Conscience is his friend.
",2009-09-14 19:42:15 UTC,"The senses may ""sing and dance round Reason's fine-wrought throne""",2004-07-19 00:00:00 UTC,"","",,"","","Searching ""throne"" and ""reason"" in HDIS (Poetry)",14907,5585
"On Eloquence, prevailing art!
Whose force can chain the list'ning heart;
The throb of Sympathy inspire,
And kindle every great desire;
With magic energy controul
And reign the sov'reign of the soul!
That dreams while all its passions swell,
It shares the power it feels so well;
As visual objects seem possest
Of those clear hues by light imprest;
Oh, skill'd in every grace to charm,
To soften, to appal, to warm;
Fill with thy noblest rage the breast,
Bid on those lips thy spirit rest,
That shall, in BRITAIN's Senate, trace
The wrongs of AFRIC's Captive Race!--
But Fancy o'er the tale of woe
In vain one heighten'd tint would throw;
For ah, the Truth, is all we guess
Of anguish in its last excess:
Fancy may dress in deeper shade
The storm that hangs along the glade,
Spreads o'er the ruffled stream its wing,
And chills awhile the flowers of Spring:
But, where the wintry tempests sweep
In madness, o'er the darken'd deep;
Where the wild surge, the raging wave,
Point to the hopeless wretch a grave;
And Death surrounds the threat'ning shore--
Can Fancy add one horror more?
(pp. 21-3, ll. 321-350)",2011-09-02 19:29:43 UTC,"""On Eloquence, prevailing art! / Whose force can chain the list'ning heart; / The throb of Sympathy inspire, / And kindle every great desire; / With magic energy controul / And reign the sov'reign of the soul!""",2011-09-02 19:29:43 UTC,"","",,"","",Reading,19131,7080
"Sonnet II.
Written At The Close Of Spring
The garland's fade that Spring so lately wove,
Each simple flower, which she had nurs'd in dew,
Anemonies, that spangled every grove,
The primrose wan, and hare-bell, mildly blue.
No more shall violets linger in the dell,
Or purple orchis variegate the plain,
Till Spring again shall call forth every bell,
And dress with humid hands her wreaths again.
Ah! poor humanity! so frail, so fair,
Are the fond visions of thy early day,
Till tyrant passion, and corrosive care,
Bid all thy fairy colours fade away!
Another May new buds and flowers shall bring;
Ah! why has happiness no second Spring? ",2013-06-13 14:58:59 UTC,"Ah! poor humanity! so frail, so fair, / Are the fond visions of thy early day, / Till tyrant passion, and corrosive care, / Bid all thy fairy colours fade away!""",2013-06-13 14:58:59 UTC,"","",,"","",Reading,20603,7415
"Sonnet XXI.
Supposed to be Written by Werter
Go, cruel tyrant of the human breast!
To other hearts, thy burning arrows bear;
Go, where fond hope, and fair illusion rest!
Ah! why should love inhabit with despair!
Like the poor maniac I linger here,
Still haunt the scene, where all my treasure lies;
Still seek for flowers, where only thorns appear,
'And drink delicious poison from her eyes!'
Towards the deep gulph that opens on my sight
I hurry forward, passion's helplesss slave!
And scorning reason's mild and sober light,
Pursue the path that leads me to the grave!
So round the flame the giddy insect flies,
And courts the fatal fire, by which it dies!",2013-06-13 15:12:14 UTC,"Go, cruel tyrant of the human breast! / To other hearts, thy burning arrows bear; / Go, where fond hope, and fair illusion rest!""",2013-06-13 15:11:55 UTC,"","",,"","Quoting ""Eloisa and Abelard,"" l. 122",Reading,20608,7419
"Sonnet XXI.
Supposed to be Written by Werter
Go, cruel tyrant of the human breast!
To other hearts, thy burning arrows bear;
Go, where fond hope, and fair illusion rest!
Ah! why should love inhabit with despair!
Like the poor maniac I linger here,
Still haunt the scene, where all my treasure lies;
Still seek for flowers, where only thorns appear,
'And drink delicious poison from her eyes!'
Towards the deep gulph that opens on my sight
I hurry forward, passion's helplesss slave!
And scorning reason's mild and sober light,
Pursue the path that leads me to the grave!
So round the flame the giddy insect flies,
And courts the fatal fire, by which it dies!",2013-06-13 15:14:37 UTC,"""I hurry forward, passion's helplesss slave!
And scorning reason's mild and sober light, / Pursue the path that leads me to the grave!""",2013-06-13 15:13:16 UTC,"","",,Fetters,"Quoting ""Eloisa and Abelard,"" l. 122",Reading,20609,7419
"But if thou com'st with frown austere
To nurse the brood of care and fear;
To bid our sweetest passions die,
And leave us in their room a sigh;
Or if thine aspect stern have power
To wither each poor transient flower,
That cheers the pilgrimage of woe,
And dry the springs whence hope should flow;
WISDOM, thine empire I disclaim,
Thou empty boast of pompous name!
In gloomy shade of cloisters dwell,
But never haunt my chearful cell.
Hail to pleasure's frolic train;
Hail to fancy's golden reign;
Festive mirth, and laughter wild,
Free and sportful as the child;
Hope with eager sparkling eyes,
And easy faith, and fond surprise:
Let these, in fairy colours drest,
Forever share my careless breast;
Then, tho' wise I may not be,
The wise themselves shall envy me.
(pp. 57-8)",2014-03-08 17:30:32 UTC,"""But if thou com'st with frown austere / To nurse the brood of care and fear; / To bid our sweetest passions die, / And leave us in their room a sigh; / Or if thine aspect stern have power / To wither each poor transient flower, / That cheers the pilgrimage of woe, / And dry the springs whence hope should flow; / WISDOM, thine empire I disclaim, / Thou empty boast of pompous name!""",2014-03-08 17:30:32 UTC,"","",,Animals and Empire,"",Reading; text from ECCO-TCP.,23517,5404
"But if thou com'st with frown austere
To nurse the brood of care and fear;
To bid our sweetest passions die,
And leave us in their room a sigh;
Or if thine aspect stern have power
To wither each poor transient flower,
That cheers the pilgrimage of woe,
And dry the springs whence hope should flow;
WISDOM, thine empire I disclaim,
Thou empty boast of pompous name!
In gloomy shade of cloisters dwell,
But never haunt my chearful cell.
Hail to pleasure's frolic train;
Hail to fancy's golden reign;
Festive mirth, and laughter wild,
Free and sportful as the child;
Hope with eager sparkling eyes,
And easy faith, and fond surprise:
Let these, in fairy colours drest,
Forever share my careless breast;
Then, tho' wise I may not be,
The wise themselves shall envy me.
(pp. 57-8)",2014-03-08 17:35:02 UTC,"""Hail to pleasure's frolic train; / Hail to fancy's golden reign; / Festive mirth, and laughter wild, / Free and sportful as the child; / Hope with eager sparkling eyes, / And easy faith, and fond surprise: / Let these, in fairy colours drest, / Forever share my careless breast; / Then, tho' wise I may not be, / The wise themselves shall envy me.""",2014-03-08 17:35:02 UTC,"","",,Empire and Inhabitants,"TYPO: ""driest""/drest",Reading; text from ECCO-TCP.,23518,5404