id,dictionary,theme,reviewed_on,metaphor,created_at,provenance,comments,work_id,text,context,updated_at
8445,Court,"",2009-05-20,"""Shall human reason frame a rule to draw / Before its puny court the cognizance / Of a Divine eternal ordinance / With warrants of its own?""",2004-06-15 00:00:00 UTC,"Searching ""rule"" and ""reason"" in HDIS (Poetry); found again searching ""court"" and ""reason""",•REVISIT and find publication information.,3215,"With Him the past abides--the eternal past--
The future is fulfill'd--and first and last
Stand obvious to the immeasurable sense,
Mere digits in the vast circumference.
Thro' chinks and crevices we dimly trace
Existence in the forms of time and place;
Predicamental loopholes, poor and small,
That bound our vision through the dungeon-wall:
The future, or the present, or the past,
The there or here--a simultaneous, vast
Infinite omnipresence--First and last
Centre in Him, the ineffably sublime,
Beyond all thought or language. If a crime--
I feel it or I fear it even thus,
In words of human usage to discuss
The Eternal Essence, and delineate
Infinitude--Shall the puny prate
Be suffer'd, which would limit and confine,
In an imaginary moral line,
The compass of eternal power and law?
Shall human reason frame a rule to draw
Before its puny court the cognizance
Of a Divine eternal ordinance
With warrants of its own? Not more uncouth
The fines or forfeits in a barber's booth,
Or regulations in a billiard-room--
If quoted and applied to guide the doom
Of ermined judges in the learned hall
Bent on a serious plea--than those you call
Your axioms absolute and general.","",2013-06-12 17:32:44 UTC
8606,Metal,"",,"""What though Astrea decks my soul in gold, / My mortal lumber trembles with the cold;""",2005-05-31 00:00:00 UTC,Searching in HDIS (Poetry),"",3335,"Interest, thou universal god of men,
Wait on the couplet and reprove the pen;
If aught unwelcome to thy ears shall rise,
Hold jails and famine to the poet's eyes,
Bid satire sheathe her sharp avenging steel,
And lose a number rather than a meal.
Nay, prithee, honour, do not make us mad,
When I am hungry something must be had:
Can honest consciousness of doing right
Provide a dinner or a bed at night?
What though Astrea decks my soul in gold,
My mortal lumber trembles with the cold;
Then, cursed tormentor of my peace, begone!
Flattery's a cloak, and I will put it on.","",2009-09-14 19:33:40 UTC
15968,"","",,"The ""tender, feeling heart"" is ""Compassion's throne""",2004-08-07 00:00:00 UTC,"Searching ""throne"" and ""heart"" in HDIS (Poetry)","•A footnote explains that ""The attribution of this poem is questionable.""",6009,"D---, in sweet friendship's firmest bands
Link'd to my inmost soul! now pensive Eve
Steals slowly thro' yon misty meads,
What polish'd page of Rome, or wiser Greece,
Say, shall we next enraptur'd turn?
Shall we by murm'ring Mincio rove? or sit
Beneath the darksome pines that Pan
Planted in that Sicilian valley wild,
True region of poetic bliss?
Or in Achilles' loudly-thund'ring car
Be whirl'd o'er Troy's ensanguin'd plain;
Or see him strive Patroclus' shrieking ghost,
Poor unsubstantial shade! to clasp
With eager arms?--But let us never fail
Nightly to visit the soft bard
Best suited to the tender, feeling heart,
Compassion's throne: O joy refin'd!
To watch the big tear from thy meaning eye
Steal secret, while Medea's soul
With jealousy, maternal love, with rage
And haughty indignation fir'd,
Now points the dagger to her smiling babes,
Now, touch'd with nature, hurls away
The deathful steel! Or while Orestes starts
In madness from the opiate couch
Where his fond Pylades for many a day,
And many a bitter night, had watch'd
His limbs convuls'd, and ghastly staring eyes
Fix'd on the Furies! Milder scenes
Invite us next--the grove where Comus built
His magic dome, and Echo heard
The nymph's distress:--or where, in cavern deep
Sweet Melancholy sits, to hear
The bubb'ling brook, or awful bell, or plaint
Of ever-wakeful Philomel.--
Thus with the Muses pass the blissful hours
Till, dearest Youth, snatch'd far away,
In solitude thou leav'st thy weeping Friend.
Who then with cordial looks and smiles
Can lull my cares? To whom can I unfold
My secret breast? Whom else can trust?
Whom else can love? Beneath cold Midnight's gleam
Thy absence will I oft lament,
Stretch'd in thy fav'rite grove, near Itchin's stream,
Close to those ivy'd mould'ring walls,
While the lone Cloysters echo to my woes.","",2009-09-14 19:45:17 UTC
15970,"","",,"""[L]ove-darting Eyes"" may show ""How many hearts their empire own""",2004-08-11 00:00:00 UTC,"Searching ""mind"" and ""empire"" in HDIS (Poetry); found again searching ""heart"" and ""empire"" (8/22/2004)","•Cross-reference: See also Crowe's poem (dated 1827): ""To a Lady, Fortune-Telling with Cards""",6011,By those love-darting Eyes I find
How many hearts their empire own;
I see the sweetness of thy mind
That keeps the hearts those Eyes have won:,"",2009-09-14 19:45:17 UTC
16427,"","",,"""Not until my dream became / Like a child's legend on the tideless sand. / Which the first foam erases half, and half / Leaves legible""",2006-10-03 00:00:00 UTC,"Reading Reisner, Thomas A. ""Tablua Rasa: Shelley's Metaphor of Mind."" Ariel IV.2 (197): 90-102. p. 95.",•I've included twice: Legend and Sand,6206,"Not until my dream became
Like a child's legend on the tideless sand.
Which the first foam erases half, and half
Leaves legible. At length I rose, and went,
Visiting my flowers from pot to pot, and thought 155
To set new cuttings in the empty urns,
And when I came to that beside the lattice,
I saw two little dark-green leaves
Lifting the light mould at their birth, and then
I half-remembered my forgotten dream.","",2009-09-14 19:46:51 UTC
16534,"","",,"""What was this grief, which ne'er in other minds / A mirror found""",2005-10-21 00:00:00 UTC,"Searching ""mind"" and ""mirror"" in HDIS (Poetry)","",6239,"Though such were in his spirit, as the fiends
Which wake and feed an everliving woe,--
What was this grief, which ne'er in other minds
A mirror found,--he knew not--none could know;
But on whoe'er might question him he turned
The light of his frank eyes, as if to show
He knew not of the grief within that burned,
But asked forbearance with a mournful look;
Or spoke in words from which none ever learned","",2009-09-14 19:47:12 UTC
16638,"","",,"""Reason is to imagination as the instrument to the agent, as the body to the spirit, as the shadow to the substance.""",2006-10-03 00:00:00 UTC,Reading,"•I've included four times: Instrument, Body, Shadow, Substance.",6293,"According to one mode of regarding those two classes of mental action, which are called reason and imagination, the former may be considered as mind contemplating the relations borne by one thought to another, however produced, and the latter, as mind acting upon those thoughts so as to color them with its own light, and composing from them, as from elements, other thoughts, each containing within itself the principle of its own integrity. The one is the ro noielv, or the principle of synthesis, and has for its objects those forms which are common to universal nature and existence itself; the other is the ro xoyiselv, or principle of analysis, and its action regards the relations of things simply as relations; considering thoughts, not in their integral unity, but as the algebraical representations which conduct to certain general results. Reason is the enumeration of qualities already known; imagination is the perception of the value of those qualities, both separately and as a whole. Reason respects the differences, and imagination the similitudes of things. Reason is to imagination as the instrument to the agent, as the body to the spirit, as the shadow to the substance.","",2009-09-14 19:47:32 UTC
17275,"",Pineal Gland,,"""He stammers,--instantaneously is drawn /
A bordered piece of inspiration-lawn, / Which being thrice unto his nose applied, / Into his pineal gland the vapours glide; / And now again we hear the doctor roar / On subjects he dissected thrice before.""",2009-03-05 00:00:00 UTC,Reading,Pineal Gland. Interesting passage.,6496,"Hervenis, harping on the hackneyed text,
By disquisitions is so sore perplexed,
He stammers,--instantaneously is drawn
A bordered piece of inspiration-lawn,
Which being thrice unto his nose applied,
Into his pineal gland the vapours glide;
And now again we hear the doctor roar
On subjects he dissected thrice before.
I own at church I very seldom pray,
For vicars, strangers to devotion, bray.
Sermons, though flowing from the sacred lawn,
Are flimsy wires from reason's ingot drawn;
And, to confess the truth, another cause
My every prayer and adoration draws:
In all the glaring tinctures of the bow,
The ladies front me in celestial row.
(Though, when black melancholy damps my joys,
I call them nature's trifles, airy toys;
Yet when the goddess Reason guides the strain,
I think them, what they are, a heavenly train.)
The amorous rolling, the black sparkling eye,
The gentle hazel, and the optic sly;
The easy shape, the panting semi-globes,
The frankness which each latent charm disrobes;
The melting passions, and the sweet severe,
The easy amble, the majestic air;
The tapering waist, the silver-mantled arms,
All is one vast variety of charms.
Say, who but sages stretched beyond their span,
Italian singers, or an unmanned man,
Can see Elysium spread upon their brow,
And to a drowsy curate's sermon bow?
","",2009-09-14 19:49:38 UTC
17276,Metal,"",2009-03-16,"""Sermons, though flowing from the sacred lawn, / Are flimsy wires from reason's ingot drawn.""",2009-03-05 00:00:00 UTC,Reading,"",6496,"Hervenis, harping on the hackneyed text,
By disquisitions is so sore perplexed,
He stammers,--instantaneously is drawn
A bordered piece of inspiration-lawn,
Which being thrice unto his nose applied,
Into his pineal gland the vapours glide;
And now again we hear the doctor roar
On subjects he dissected thrice before.
I own at church I very seldom pray,
For vicars, strangers to devotion, bray.
Sermons, though flowing from the sacred lawn,
Are flimsy wires from reason's ingot drawn;
And, to confess the truth, another cause
My every prayer and adoration draws:
In all the glaring tinctures of the bow,
The ladies front me in celestial row.
(Though, when black melancholy damps my joys,
I call them nature's trifles, airy toys;
Yet when the goddess Reason guides the strain,
I think them, what they are, a heavenly train.)
The amorous rolling, the black sparkling eye,
The gentle hazel, and the optic sly;
The easy shape, the panting semi-globes,
The frankness which each latent charm disrobes;
The melting passions, and the sweet severe,
The easy amble, the majestic air;
The tapering waist, the silver-mantled arms,
All is one vast variety of charms.
Say, who but sages stretched beyond their span,
Italian singers, or an unmanned man,
Can see Elysium spread upon their brow,
And to a drowsy curate's sermon bow?
","",2009-09-14 19:49:38 UTC
17277,"","",,"""Though, when black melancholy damps my joys, /
I call them nature's trifles, airy toys; / Yet when the goddess Reason guides the strain, / I think them, what they are, a heavenly train.""",2009-03-05 00:00:00 UTC,Reading,"",6496,"Hervenis, harping on the hackneyed text,
By disquisitions is so sore perplexed,
He stammers,--instantaneously is drawn
A bordered piece of inspiration-lawn,
Which being thrice unto his nose applied,
Into his pineal gland the vapours glide;
And now again we hear the doctor roar
On subjects he dissected thrice before.
I own at church I very seldom pray,
For vicars, strangers to devotion, bray.
Sermons, though flowing from the sacred lawn,
Are flimsy wires from reason's ingot drawn;
And, to confess the truth, another cause
My every prayer and adoration draws:
In all the glaring tinctures of the bow,
The ladies front me in celestial row.
(Though, when black melancholy damps my joys,
I call them nature's trifles, airy toys;
Yet when the goddess Reason guides the strain,
I think them, what they are, a heavenly train.)
The amorous rolling, the black sparkling eye,
The gentle hazel, and the optic sly;
The easy shape, the panting semi-globes,
The frankness which each latent charm disrobes;
The melting passions, and the sweet severe,
The easy amble, the majestic air;
The tapering waist, the silver-mantled arms,
All is one vast variety of charms.
Say, who but sages stretched beyond their span,
Italian singers, or an unmanned man,
Can see Elysium spread upon their brow,
And to a drowsy curate's sermon bow?
","",2009-09-14 19:49:38 UTC