text,updated_at,metaphor,created_at,context,theme,reviewed_on,dictionary,comments,provenance,id,work_id
"Leave to thy foes these errors, and these ills;
To Nature just, their cause and cure explore.
Not short Heaven's bounty, boundless our expense;
No niggard, Nature; men are prodigals.
We waste, not use, our time; we breathe, not live.
Time wasted is existence, used is life.
And bare existence man, to live ordain'd,
Wrings and oppresses with enormous weight.
And why? Since time was given for use, not waste,
Enjoin'd to fly, with tempest, tide, and stars,
To keep his speed, nor ever wait for man;
Time's use was doom'd a pleasure; waste, a pain;
That man might feel his error, if unseen;
And, feeling, fly to labour for his cure;
Not, blundering, split on idleness for ease.
Life's cares are comforts; such by Heaven design'd;
He that has none, must make them, or be wretched.
Cares are employments; and without employ
The soul is on a rack; the rack of rest,
To souls most adverse; action all their joy.
(ll. 145-164, pp. 54-5 in CUP edition)",2013-06-05 20:56:24 UTC,"""The soul is on a rack; the rack of rest, / To souls most adverse; action all their joy.""",2013-06-05 20:56:24 UTC,Night the Second,"",,"","",Reading,20399,7400
"O treacherous Conscience! while she seems to sleep
On rose and myrtle, lull'd with siren song;
While she seems, nodding o'er her charge, to drop
On headlong appetite the slacken'd rein,
And give us up to licence, unrecall'd,
Unmark'd,---see, from behind her secret stand,
The sly informer minutes every fault,
And her dread diary with horror fills.
Not the gross act alone employs her pen;
She reconnoitres Fancy's airy band,
A watchful foe! the formidable spy,
Listening, o'erhears the whispers of our camp;
Our dawning purposes of heart explores,
And steals our embryos of iniquity.
As all-rapacious usurers conceal
Their Doomsday-book from all-consuming heirs;
Thus, with indulgence most severe, she treats
Us spendthrifts of inestimable time;
Unnoted, notes each moment misapplied;
In leaves more durable than leaves of brass,
Writes our whole history; which Death shall read
In every pale delinquent's private ear;
And Judgment publish; publish to more worlds
Than this; and endless Age in groans resound.
Lorenzo, such that sleeper in thy breast!
Such is her slumber; and her vengeance such
For slighted counsel; such thy future peace!
And think'st thou still thou canst be wise too soon?
(ll. 256-283, pp. 57-8 in CUP edition)",2013-06-05 21:02:12 UTC,"""Not the gross act alone employs her pen; / She reconnoitres Fancy's airy band, / A watchful foe! the formidable spy, / Listening, o'erhears the whispers of our camp; / Our dawning purposes of heart explores, / And steals our embryos of iniquity.""",2013-06-05 21:02:12 UTC,Night the Second,"",,Inhabitants,"",Reading,20402,7400
"Where shall I find him? Angels! tell me where.
You know him: he is near you: point him out:
Shall I see glories beaming from his brow,
Or trace his footsteps by the rising flowers?
Your golden wings, now hovering o'er him, shed
Protection; now are waving in applause
To that blest Son of Foresight! Lord of Fate!
That awful Independent on To-morrow!
Whose work is done; who triumphs in the past;
Whose yesterdays look backward with a smile;
Nor, like the Parthian, wound him as they fly;
That common, but opprobrious lot! Past hours,
If not by guilt, yet wound us by their flight,
If folly bounds our prospect by the grave,
All feeling of futurity benumb'd;
All god-like passion for eternals quench'd;
All relish of realities expired;
Renounced all correspondence with the skies;
Our freedom chain'd; quite wingless our desire;
In sense dark-prison'd all that ought to soar;
Prone to the centre; crawling in the dust;
Dismounted every great and glorious aim;
Embruted every faculty divine;
Heart-buried in the rubbish of the world:
The world, that gulf of souls, immortal souls,
Souls elevate, angelic, wing'd with fire
To reach the distant skies, and triumph there
On thrones, which shall not mourn their masters changed;
Though we from earth, ethereal they that fell.
Such veneration due, O man, to man.
(ll. 325-354, pp. 59-60 in CUP edition)",2013-06-05 21:06:51 UTC,"""Our freedom chain'd; quite wingless our desire; / In sense dark-prison'd all that ought to soar / Prone to the centre; crawling in the dust; / Dismounted every great and glorious aim; / Embruted every faculty divine; / Heart-buried in the rubbish of the world.""",2013-06-05 21:06:51 UTC,Night the Second,"",,Animals and Fetters and Rooms,"",Reading,20404,7400
"But here, Lorenzo, the delusion lies;
That solar shadow, as it measures life,
It life resembles too: Life speeds away
From point to point, though seeming to stand still.
The cunning fugitive is swift by stealth:
Too subtle is the movement to be seen;
Yet soon man's hour is up, and we are gone.
Warnings point out our danger; gnomons, time:
As these are useless when the sun is set;
So those, but when more glorious Reason shines.
Reason should judge in all; in Reason's eye,
That sedentary shadow travels hard.
But such our gravitation to the wrong,
So prone our hearts to whisper what we wish,
'Tis later with the wise than he's aware;
A Wilmington goes slower than the sun:
And all mankind mistake their time of day;
E'en age itself. Fresh hopes are hourly sown
In furrow'd brows. So gentle life's descent,
We shut our eyes, and think it is a plain.
We take fair days in Winter for the Spring;
And turn our blessings into bane. Since oft
Man must compute that age he cannot feel,
He scarce believes he's older for his years.
Thus, at life's latest eve, we keep in store
One disappointment sure, to crown the rest,--
The disappointment of a promised hour.
(ll. 420-446, p. 62 in CUP edition)",2013-06-05 21:11:17 UTC,"""Warnings point out our danger; gnomons, time: / As these are useless when the sun is set; / So those, but when more glorious Reason shines. / Reason should judge in all; in Reason's eye, / That sedentary shadow travels hard.""",2013-06-05 21:11:17 UTC,Night the Second,"",,Eye,"",Reading,20407,7400
"On this, or similar, Philander!--thou
Whose mind was moral as the Preacher's tongue,
And strong to wield all science worth the name;--
How often we talk'd down the summer's sun,
And cool'd our passions by the breezy stream!
How often thaw'd and shorten'd winter's eve,
By conflict kind, that struck out latent truth,
Best found, so sought; to the recluse more coy!
Thoughts disentangle, passing o'er the lip;
Clean runs the thread; if not, 'tis thrown away
Or kept to tie up nonsense for a song;
Song, fashionably fruitless; such as stains
The fancy, and unhallow'd passion fires;
Chiming her saints to Cytherea's fane.
(ll. 447-460, pp. 62-3)",2013-06-05 21:12:22 UTC,"""Thoughts disentangle, passing o'er the lip; / Clean runs the thread; if not, 'tis thrown away / Or kept to tie up nonsense for a song; / Song, fashionably fruitless; such as stains / The fancy, and unhallow'd passion fires; / Chiming her saints to Cytherea's fane.""",2013-06-05 21:12:22 UTC,Night the Second,"",,"","",Reading,20408,7400
"Know'st thou, Lorenzo, what a friend contains?
As bees mix'd nectar draw from fragrant flowers,
So men, from FRIENDSHIP, wisdom and delight;
Twins tied by Nature, if they part, they die.
Hast thou no friend to set thy mind abroach?
Good sense will stagnate. Thoughts shut up want air,
And spoil, like bales unopen'd to the sun.
Had thought been all, sweet speech had been denied;
Speech, thought's canal! speech, thought's criterion too!
Thought in the mine may come forth gold or dross;
When coin'd in word, we know its real worth.
If sterling, store it for thy future use;
'Twill buy thee benefit; perhaps, renown.
Thought, too, deliver'd, is the more possess'd:
Teaching we learn; and giving we retain
The births of intellect; when dumb, forgot.
Speech ventilates our intellectual fire;
Speech burnishes our mental magazine,
Brightens for ornament, and whets for use.
What numbers, sheath'd in erudition, lie,
Plunged to the hilts in venerable tomes,
And rusted in; who might have borne an edge,
And play'd a sprightly beam, if born to speech;
If born blest heirs of half their mother's tongue!
'Tis thought's exchange which, like the' alternate push
Of waves conflicting, breaks the learned scum,
And defecates the student's standing pool.
(ll. 461-487, p. 63 in CUP edition)",2013-06-05 21:15:23 UTC,"""Good sense will stagnate. Thoughts shut up want air, / And spoil, like bales unopen'd to the sun.""",2013-06-05 21:15:23 UTC,Night the Second,"",,"","UNUSUAL, INTERESTING METAPHOR.",Reading,20409,7400
"Know'st thou, Lorenzo, what a friend contains?
As bees mix'd nectar draw from fragrant flowers,
So men, from FRIENDSHIP, wisdom and delight;
Twins tied by Nature, if they part, they die.
Hast thou no friend to set thy mind abroach?
Good sense will stagnate. Thoughts shut up want air,
And spoil, like bales unopen'd to the sun.
Had thought been all, sweet speech had been denied;
Speech, thought's canal! speech, thought's criterion too!
Thought in the mine may come forth gold or dross;
When coin'd in word, we know its real worth.
If sterling, store it for thy future use;
'Twill buy thee benefit; perhaps, renown.
Thought, too, deliver'd, is the more possess'd:
Teaching we learn; and giving we retain
The births of intellect; when dumb, forgot.
Speech ventilates our intellectual fire;
Speech burnishes our mental magazine,
Brightens for ornament, and whets for use.
What numbers, sheath'd in erudition, lie,
Plunged to the hilts in venerable tomes,
And rusted in; who might have borne an edge,
And play'd a sprightly beam, if born to speech;
If born blest heirs of half their mother's tongue!
'Tis thought's exchange which, like the' alternate push
Of waves conflicting, breaks the learned scum,
And defecates the student's standing pool.
(ll. 461-487, p. 63 in CUP edition)",2013-06-05 21:26:43 UTC,"""'Tis thought's exchange which, like the' alternate push / Of waves conflicting, breaks the learned scum, / And defecates the student's standing pool.""",2013-06-05 21:26:43 UTC,Night the Second,"",,"","",Reading,20414,7400
"Celestial Happiness, whene'er she stoops
To visit earth, one shrine the goddess finds,
And one alone, to make her sweet amends
For absent heaven,--the bosom of a friend;
Where heart meets heart, reciprocally soft,
Each other's pillow to repose divine.
Beware the counterfeit: in Passion's flame
Hearts melt; but melt like ice, soon harder froze.
True love strikes root in Reason, Passion's foe:
Virtue alone entenders us for life;
I wrong her much--entenders us for ever:
Of Friendship's fairest fruits, the fruit most fair
Is Virtue kindling at a rival fire,
And emulously rapid in her race.
O the soft enmity! endearing strife!
This carries friendship to her noon-tide point,
And gives the rivet of eternity.
(ll. 516-532, pp. 64-5 in CUP edition)",2013-06-05 21:34:11 UTC,"""Celestial Happiness, whene'er she stoops / To visit earth, one shrine the goddess finds, / And one alone, to make her sweet amends / For absent heaven,--the bosom of a friend; / Where heart meets heart, reciprocally soft, / Each other's pillow to repose divine.""",2013-06-05 21:34:11 UTC,Night the Second,"",,Inhabitants and Rooms,"",Reading,20418,7400
"Our dying friends come o'er us like a cloud,
To damp our brainless ardours, and abate
That glare of life which often blinds the wise.
Our dying friends are pioneers, to smooth
Our rugged pass to death; to break those bars
Of terror and abhorrence Nature throws
Cross our obstructed way; and thus to make
Welcome, as safe, our port from every storm.
Each friend by Fate snatch'd from us is a plume
Pluck'd from the wing of human vanity,
Which makes us stoop from our aƫrial heights,
And, damp'd with omen of our own decease,
On drooping pinions of ambition lower'd,
Just skim earth's surface, ere we break it up,
O'er putrid pride to scratch a little dust,
And save the world a nuisance. Smitten friends
Are angels sent on errands full of love;
For us they languish, and for us they die:
And shall they languish, shall they die, in vain?
Ungrateful, shall we grieve their hovering shades,
Which wait the revolution in our hearts?
Shall we disdain their silent, soft address;
Their posthumous advice, and pious prayer?
Senseless, as herds that graze their hallow'd graves,
Tread under foot their agonies and groans,
Frustrate their anguish, and destroy their deaths?
(ll. 277-302, pp. 80-1 in CUP edition)",2013-06-06 14:08:06 UTC,"""Ungrateful, shall we grieve their hovering shades, / Which wait the revolution in our hearts?""",2013-06-06 14:08:06 UTC,Night the Third,"",,"","",Reading,20423,7401
"Lorenzo! no; the thought of death indulge;
Give it its wholesome empire! let it reign,
That kind chastiser of thy soul in joy!
Its reign will spread thy glorious conquests far,
And still the tumults of thy ruffled breast:
Auspicious era! golden days, begin!
The thought of death shall, like a god, inspire.
And why not think on death? Is life the theme
Of every thought, and wish of every hour,
And song of every joy? Surprising truth!
The beaten spaniel's fondness not so strange.
To wave the numerous ills that seize on life
As their own property, their lawful prey;
Ere man has measured half his weary stage,
His luxuries have left him no reserve,
No maiden relishes, unbroach'd delights;
On cold-served repetitions he subsists,
And in the tasteless present chews the past;
Disgusted chews, and scarce can swallow down.
Like lavish ancestors, his earlier years
Have disinherited his future hours,
Which starve on orts, and glean their former field.
(ll. 303-324, p. 81)",2013-06-06 14:11:53 UTC,"""The thought of death shall, like a god, inspire.""",2013-06-06 14:11:53 UTC,Night the Third,"",,"","",Reading,20426,7401