updated_at,id,text,theme,metaphor,work_id,reviewed_on,provenance,created_at,comments,context,dictionary
2009-09-14 19:35:10 UTC,10662," Whatever I behold
Is Silver all, and Indian Gold.
Croesus, and He who drank the foaming Bowl
Of floating Gold, was but a common Soul,
Compar'd to Me,
To whom the Riches of the Sea
With ev'ry Billow rowl.
No: I shall ne'er be poor, shall never pine
For want of Money, or of Wine.
Here's a whole Fleet, a Cargo come,
Some from the Streights, from the East Indies some.
Some fill my Granaries with Corn,
And some into my Coffers pour
All Pointy's pillag'd Wealth, an unexhausted Store:
Here rowls a Sea of Wine from Bourdeaux and Leghorn.
So can the pow'rful Grape our Reason cheat,
And o'er our giddy Fancy reign.
Till from the Trance recover'd, we regain
Our better Minds, and find it all Deceit.","","""So can the pow'rful Grape our Reason cheat, / And o'er our giddy Fancy reign.""",4146,,"Searching ""stamp"" and ""soul"" in HDIS (Poetry); Found again ""coin""; found again ""gold""",2005-04-08 00:00:00 UTC,•,Stanza III,""
2009-09-14 19:35:10 UTC,10663,"Ah cruel Nymph! of Women Thou the worst!
Thee surely Mountains bred, Thee Tygers nurst.
For Rocks and Tygers soft and human be,
If Rocks and Tygers are compar'd with Thee.
For generous Love Thou mak'st no kind Return,
Unworthy of the Flames with which I burn!
But now I come to cure my fond Disease;
This Steel thy flinty Breast will surely please.
Think not I mean thy Choler to create,
Or breed new Matter for thy Scorn or Hate.
This Gift th' unpleasing Object shall remove;
Then you will smile, you will my Pangs approve,
'Tis such a Present, such a Sight you Love.","","""But now I come to cure my fond Disease; / This Steel thy flinty Breast will surely please.""",4147,,Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2005-06-13 00:00:00 UTC,"","",""
2009-09-14 19:35:43 UTC,11247,"My Foes, like Bulls of Bashan, lye
Around me ev'ry Way;
On me with open Mouths they fly,
Like Lyons on their Prey.
Like Water spilt my Force is spent,
My Bones asunder go,
My Heart do's like soft Wax relent,
And midst my Bowels flow",Psalm 22,"""My Heart do's like soft Wax relent, / And midst my Bowels flow""",4312,,"Searching ""heart"" and ""wax"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-03-27 00:00:00 UTC,•REVISIT. Is this supposed to be Psalm XXII?,"",""
2009-09-14 19:36:27 UTC,11971,"[1]Tell me, some God, whence does this Change arise;
Why gentle Sleep forsakes my weary Eyes?
Why, turning often, all the tedious Night
In Pain I lie, and watch the springing Light?--
What cruel Dæmon haunts my tortur'd Mind?
Sure, if 'twere Love, I shou'd th'Invader find;
Unless disguis'd he lurks, the crafty Boy,
With silent Arts Ingenious to destroy.
Alas! 'tis so--'tis fix'd the secret Dart;
I feel the Tyrant ravaging my Heart.
Then, shall I yield; or th'Infant Flame oppose?
I yield!--Resistance wou'd increase my Woes:
For struggling Slaves a sharper Doom sustain,
Than such as stoop Obedient to the Chain.
I own thy Pow'r, Almighty Love! I'm thine;
With pinion'd Hands behold me here resign!
Let this Submission then my Life obtain;
Small Praise 'twill be, if thus unarm'd I'm slain.
Go, join thy Mother's Doves; with Myrtle braid thy Hair;
The God of War Himself a Chariot shall prepare;
Then Thou Triumphant thro' the Shouting Throng
Shalt ride, and move with Art the willing Birds along;
While Captive Youths and Maids, in solemn State
Adorn the Scene, and on thy Triumph wait.
There I, a later Conquest of thy Bow,
In Chains will follow too; and as I go,
To pitying Eyes the new-made Wound will show.
Next, all that dare Love's Sov'reign Pow'r defy,
In Fetters bound inglorious shall pass by:
All shall submit to thee--Th'applauding Crowd
Shall lift their Hands, and sing thy Praise aloud.
Soft Looks shall in thy Equipage appear,
With am'rous Play, Mistake, and jealous Fear.
Be this thy Guard, Great Love!--be this thy Train;
Since these extend o'er Men and Gods thy Reign;
But robb'd of these, thy Pow'r is weak and vain.
From Heav'n thy Mother shall the Pomp survey,
And smiling, scatter fragrant Show'rs of Roses in thy way;
Whilst Thou, array'd in thy unrivall'd Pride,
On Golden Wheels, all Gold thy Self, shalt ride:
Thy spreading Wings shall richest Di'monds wear,
And Gems shall sparkle in thy lovely Hair.
Thus passing by, thy Arm shall hurl around
Ten Thousand Fires, Ten Thousand Hearts shall wound.
This is thy Practice, Love, and this thy Gain;
From this thou canst not, if thou wou'dst, refrain;
Since e'en thy Presence, with prolifick Heat,
Does reach the Heart, and active Flames create.
From Conquer'd India, so the[2] Jovial God,
Drawn o'er the Plains by harness'd Tigers, rode.
Then since, Great Love, I take a willing Place
Amidst thy Spoils, the Sacred Show to grace;
O cease to wound, and let thy fatal Store
Of piercing Shafts be spent on me no more.
No more, too pow'rful in my Charmer's Eyes,
Torment a Slave, that for her Beauty dies;
Or look in Smiles from thence, and I shall be
A Slave no longer, but a God, like Thee!","",""" What cruel Dæmon haunts my tortur'd Mind? / Sure, if 'twere Love, I shou'd th'Invader find;""",4555,,Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2005-05-04 00:00:00 UTC,"•Note 1 gives, ""In Imitation of OVID, Amorum Lib. I. Eleg. 2."" Note 2: ""BACCHUS""
•I've included twice: Haunting and Demon",I've included the entire poem,""
2011-07-15 14:10:26 UTC,11974," Tell me, some God, whence does this Change arise;
Why gentle Sleep forsakes my weary Eyes?
Why, turning often, all the tedious Night
In Pain I lie, and watch the springing Light?--
What cruel Dæmon haunts my tortur'd Mind?
Sure, if 'twere Love, I shou'd th'Invader find;
Unless disguis'd he lurks, the crafty Boy,
With silent Arts Ingenious to destroy.
Alas! 'tis so--'tis fix'd the secret Dart;
I feel the Tyrant ravaging my Heart.
Then, shall I yield; or th'Infant Flame oppose?
I yield!--Resistance wou'd increase my Woes:
For struggling Slaves a sharper Doom sustain,
Than such as stoop Obedient to the Chain.
I own thy Pow'r, Almighty Love! I'm thine;
With pinion'd Hands behold me here resign!
Let this Submission then my Life obtain;
Small Praise 'twill be, if thus unarm'd I'm slain.
Go, join thy Mother's Doves; with Myrtle braid thy Hair;
The God of War Himself a Chariot shall prepare;
Then Thou Triumphant thro' the Shouting Throng
Shalt ride, and move with Art the willing Birds along;
While Captive Youths and Maids, in solemn State
Adorn the Scene, and on thy Triumph wait.
There I, a later Conquest of thy Bow,
In Chains will follow too; and as I go,
To pitying Eyes the new-made Wound will show.
Next, all that dare Love's Sov'reign Pow'r defy,
In Fetters bound inglorious shall pass by:
All shall submit to thee--Th'applauding Crowd
Shall lift their Hands, and sing thy Praise aloud.
Soft Looks shall in thy Equipage appear,
With am'rous Play, Mistake, and jealous Fear.
Be this thy Guard, Great Love!--be this thy Train;
Since these extend o'er Men and Gods thy Reign;
But robb'd of these, thy Pow'r is weak and vain.
From Heav'n thy Mother shall the Pomp survey,
And smiling, scatter fragrant Show'rs of Roses in thy way;
Whilst Thou, array'd in thy unrivall'd Pride,
On Golden Wheels, all Gold thy Self, shalt ride:
Thy spreading Wings shall richest Di'monds wear,
And Gems shall sparkle in thy lovely Hair.
Thus passing by, thy Arm shall hurl around
Ten Thousand Fires, Ten Thousand Hearts shall wound.
This is thy Practice, Love, and this thy Gain;
From this thou canst not, if thou wou'dst, refrain;
Since e'en thy Presence, with prolifick Heat,
Does reach the Heart, and active Flames create.
From Conquer'd India, so the Jovial God,
Drawn o'er the Plains by harness'd Tigers, rode.
Then since, Great Love, I take a willing Place
Amidst thy Spoils, the Sacred Show to grace;
O cease to wound, and let thy fatal Store
Of piercing Shafts be spent on me no more.
No more, too pow'rful in my Charmer's Eyes,
Torment a Slave, that for her Beauty dies;
Or look in Smiles from thence, and I shall be
A Slave no longer, but a God, like Thee!","","""Alas! 'tis so--'tis fix'd the secret Dart; / I feel the Tyrant [Love] ravaging my Heart.""",4555,2011-07-15,Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2005-05-04 00:00:00 UTC,"•Note 1 gives, ""In Imitation of OVID, Amorum Lib. I. Eleg. 2."" Note 2: ""BACCHUS""
",I've included the entire poem,""
2009-09-14 19:36:48 UTC,12281,"Mnemosyne, in the Pierian grove,
The scene of her intrigue with mighty Jove,
The empress of Eleuther, fertile earth,
Brought to olympian Jove the Muses forth;
Bless'd offsprings, happy maids, whose pow'rful art
Can banish cares, and ease the painful heart.
Absent from heav'n, to quench his am'rous flame,
Nine nights the god of gods compress'd the dame.
Now thrice three times the moon concludes her race,
And shews the produce of the god's embrace,
Fair daughters, pledges of immortal Jove,
In number equal to the nights of love;
Bless'd maids, by harmony of temper join'd;
And verse, their only care, employs their mind.
The virgin songsters first beheld the light
Near where Olympus rears his snowy height;
Where to the maids fair stately domes ascend,
Whose steps a constant beauteous choir attend.
Not far from hence the Graces keep their court,
And with the god of love in banquets sport;
Meanwhile the nine their heav'nly voices raise
To the immortal pow'rs, the song of praise;
They tune their voices in a sacred cause,
Their theme the manners of the gods, and laws:
When to Olympus they pursue their way,
Sweet warbling, as they go, the deathless lay,
Meas'ring to Jove, with gentle steps, the ground,
The sable earth returns the joyful sound.
Great Jove, their sire, who rules th'æthereal plains,
Confirm'd in pow'r, of gods the monarch reigns;
His father Saturn hurl'd from his command,
He grasps the thunder with his conqu'ring hand;
He gives the bolts their vigour as they fly,
And bids the red-hot light'ning pierce the sky;
His subject deitys obey his nod,
All honours flow from him of gods the god;
From him the Muses sprung, no less their sire,
Whose attributes the heav'nly maids inspire:
Clio begins the lovely tuneful race,
Melpomene which, and Euterpe, grace,
Terpsichore all joyful in the choir,
And Erato to love whose lays inspire;
To these Thalia and Polymnia join,
Urania, and Calliope divine,
The first, in honour, of the tuneful nine;
She the great acts of virtuous monarchs sings,
Companion only for the best of kings.
Happy of princes, foster sons of Jove,
Whom at his birth the nine with eyes of love
Behold; to honours they his days design;
He first among the scepter'd hands shall shine;
Him they adorn with ev'ry grace of song,
And soft persuasion dwells upon his tongue;
To him, their judge, the people turn their eye,
On him for justice in their cause rely,
Reason alone his upright judgement guides,
He hears impartial, and for truth decides;
Thus he determines from a sense profound,
And of contention heals the poys'nous wound.
Wise kings, when subjects grow in faction strong,
First calm their minds, and then redress their wrong,
By their good counsels bid the tumult cease,
And sooth contending partys into peace;
His aid with duteous rev'rence they implore,
And as a god their virtuous prince adore:
From whom the Muses love such blessings flow,
To them a righteous prince the people owe.
From Jove, great origin, all monarchs spring,
From mighty Jove of kings himself the king;
From the Pierian maids, the heav'nly nine,
And from Apollo, sire of verse divine,
Far shooting deity whose beams inspire,
The poets spring, and all who strike the lyre.
Bless'd whom with eyes of love the Muses view,
Sweet flow his words, gentle as falling dew.
Is there a man by rising woes oppress'd,
Who feels the pangs of a distracted breast,
Let but the bard, who serves the nine, rehearse
The acts of heros pass'd, the theme for verse,
Or if the praise of gods, who pass their days
In endless ease above, adorns the lays,
The pow'rful words administer relief,
And from the wounded mind expel the grief;
Such are the charms which to the bard belong,
A gift from gods deriv'd, the pow'r of song.","","For a wise and virtuous king ""Reason alone his upright judgement guides""",4670,,HDIS,2004-09-01 00:00:00 UTC,"•Again, this is an issue for me: guidance seems not to fit in the category of government... REVISIT.","",""
2011-05-09 20:19:35 UTC,18372,"Nor ask who in Livonia will succeed,
Whether the Warlike Pole, or Russian Czar,
The sleeping Genius of the North will rouze,
Against the Fury of th' Unthinking Swede,
And ravish their lost Laurels from his Youthful Brows.
Or whether MARLBOROUGH designs
To storm Saar-Louis, or attack the Lines.
Campaigns, My Friend, and Sieges are
Below Thy more important Care.
Nor should such ruffling Storms molest
The Halcyon Smoothness of thy Breast
Doubt, Avarice, and the pale Multitude
Of greedy Harpyes, which intrude
Ev'n at our Meals, no Entrance find
On the strong Armour of your Mind,
Which You can straiten or unbend;
Skill'd in those generous Arts which bless
Whom Fortune and the Muse caress,
The Gentleman, the Scholar, and the Friend
","","""Nor should such ruffling Storms molest / The Halcyon Smoothness of thy Breast / Doubt, Avarice, and the pale Multitude / Of greedy Harpyes, which intrude / Ev'n at our Meals, no Entrance find / On the strong Armour of your Mind, / Which You can straiten or unbend.""",6842,,"Searching ""mind"" and ""unbend"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2011-05-09 20:19:35 UTC,"","",""
2012-04-27 18:02:49 UTC,19725,"Bless God, who did not give our Soul
To their sharp Teeth a Prey.
Our Soul, as from a broken Snare
A Bird escapes, is fled;
Our Help is from th' Almighty's Care,
Who Earth and Heav'n has spread.","","""Bless God, who did not give our Soul / To their sharp Teeth a Prey.""",7231,,"Searching ""soul"" and ""bird"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2012-04-27 18:02:49 UTC,"",Psalm 124:6-7,Animals
2012-04-27 18:05:52 UTC,19726,"Bless God, who did not give our Soul
To their sharp Teeth a Prey.
Our Soul, as from a broken Snare
A Bird escapes, is fled;
Our Help is from th' Almighty's Care,
Who Earth and Heav'n has spread.","","""Our Soul, as from a broken Snare / A Bird escapes, is fled.""",7231,,"Searching ""soul"" and ""bird"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2012-04-27 18:04:26 UTC,"",Psalm 124:6-8,Animals
2013-07-11 05:18:36 UTC,21628,"The Man that's Resolute and Just,
Firm to his Principles and Trust,
Nor Hopes, nor Fears can blind;
No Passions his Designs controll,
Not Love, that Tyrant of the Soul,
Can shake his steddy Mind.
(p. 12, ll. 1-6)","","""The Man that's Resolute and Just, / Firm to his Principles and Trust, / Nor Hopes, nor Fears can blind; / No Passions his Designs controll, / Not Love, that Tyrant of the Soul, / Can shake his steddy Mind.""",7524,,Searching in C-H Lion,2013-07-11 05:18:36 UTC,"","",""