work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
4141,"",HDIS (Poetry),2004-07-27 00:00:00 UTC,"The Mind no nobler Wisdom can attain,
Than to inspect and study all the Man:
His awful Looks confess the Race Divine;
In him the Beauties of the Godhead shine:
With Majesty he fills great Reason's Throne,
The Subject World their rightful Monarch own:
His ranging Soul in narrow Bounds contains
All Nature's Works, o'er which in Peace he reigns;
His Head resembles Jove's Eternal Seat,
In which Inthron'd, he sways the Heav'nly State,
And with assembled Gods, consults of Fate:
The feather'd Envoys, all in shining Crowds;
Attend his Throne, and watch his awful Nods:
Catch his Commands, and thro' the Liquid Air
To the low World the Sacred Errand bear:
Just so the Head of Man contains within
The Intellect, with Rays and Light Divine:
The Senses stand around; the Spirits roam
To seize and bring the fleeting Objects home:
Thro' every Nerve and every Pore they pass,
And fill with chearful Light the gloomy Space;
The Heart, the Center of the manly Breast,
Just like the Sun, in lovely Purple drest,
Diffuses all the Liquid Crimson round,
Whence Life, and Vigour, Heat and Strength abound:
And as great Phoebus sometimes rages high,
And scorches with his Beams the sultry Sky:
So when the Heart with Rage, or flaming Ire,
Grows warm, or burns with Love's consuming Fire:
The catching Virals spread the Flames afar.
And all the Limbs the hot Contagion share,
As solid Shores contain the liquid Seas,
Just so the Stomach, a soft watry Mass,
Stagnates beneath and fills the lower Space:
Here, Winds, and Rains, and humid Vapours lie,
And these exhal'd with Heat, all upwards fly:
As mantling Clouds conceal the fickly Sun,
Dissolve in Dew and drive the Tempest down:
So when thick Humours from the Stomach rise,
They damp the Soul, and sprightly Faculties:
Then Night and Death their gloomy Shades display,
Till the bright Spark within, the heav'nly Ray,
Dispels the Darkness, and restores the Day.
",,10646,"","""The Senses stand around; the Spirits roam / To seize and bring the fleeting Objects home: / Thro' every Nerve and every Pore they pass.""",Empire,2013-06-26 17:16:56 UTC,""
4555,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2005-05-04 00:00:00 UTC,"[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!",,11971,"•Note 1 gives, ""In Imitation of OVID, Amorum Lib. I. Eleg. 2."" Note 2: ""BACCHUS""
•I've included twice: Haunting and Demon",""" What cruel Dæmon haunts my tortur'd Mind? / Sure, if 'twere Love, I shou'd th'Invader find;""","",2009-09-14 19:36:27 UTC,I've included the entire poem