text,updated_at,metaphor,created_at,context,theme,reviewed_on,dictionary,comments,provenance,id,work_id
"O, Montagu! forgive me, if I sing
Thy wisdom tempered with the milder ray
Of soft humanity, and kindness bland:
So wide its influence, that the bright beams
Reach the low vale where mists of ignorance lodge,
Strike on the innate spark which lay immersed,
Thick-clogged, and almost quenched in total night--
On me it fell, and cheered my joyless heart.
Unwelcome is the first bright dawn of light
To the dark soul; impatient, she rejects,
And fain would push the heavenly stranger back;
She loathes the cranny which admits the day;
Confused, afraid of the intruding guest;
Disturbed, unwilling to receive the beam,
Which to herself her native darkness shows.
The effort rude to quench the cheering flame
Was mine, and e'en on Stella could I gaze
With sullen envy, and admiring pride,
Till, doubly roused by Montagu, the pair
Conspire to clear my dull, imprisoned sense,
And chase the mists which dimmed my visual beam.
Oft as I trod my native wilds alone,
Strong gusts of thought would rise, but rise to die;
The portals of the swelling soul ne'er oped
By liberal converse, rude ideas strove
Awhile for vent, but found it not, and died.
Thus rust the Mind's best powers. Yon starry orbs,
Majestic ocean, flowery vales, gay groves,
Eye-wasting lawns, and heaven-attempting hills
Which bound th' horizon, and which curb the view;
All those, with beauteous imagery, awaked
My ravished soul to ecstasy untaught,
To all the transport the rapt sense can bear;
But all expired, for want of powers to speak;
All perished in the mind as soon as born,
Erased more quick than cyphers on the shore,
O'er which cruel waves, unheedful roll.
Such timid rapture as young Edwin seized,
When his lone footsteps on the Sage obtrude,
Whose noble precept charmed his wondering
Such rapture filled Lactilla's vacant soul,
When the bright Moralist, in softness dressed,
Opes all the glories of the mental world,
Deigns to direct the infant thought, to prune
The budding sentiment, uprear the stalk
Of feeble fancy, bid idea live,
Woo the abstracted spirit form its cares,
And gently guide her to scenes of peace.
Mine was than balm, and mine the grateful heart,
Which breathes its thanks in rough, but timid strains.
(ll. 30-79, pp. 395-6)",2013-11-17 16:56:53 UTC,"""Unwelcome is the first bright dawn of light / To the dark soul; impatient, she rejects, / And fain would push the heavenly stranger back; / She loathes the cranny which admits the day; / Confused, afraid of the intruding guest; / Disturbed, unwilling to receive the beam, / Which to herself her native darkness shows.""",2003-07-29 00:00:00 UTC,"","",2003-10-23,Rooms,"•I've included all the stanzas but the first because of the density of metaphors (8 entries total).
•INTEREST. There is more at work here: cranny, guest, etc. -- Yes, a Camera Obscura metaphor.",Reading,14992,5612
"O, Montagu! forgive me, if I sing
Thy wisdom tempered with the milder ray
Of soft humanity, and kindness bland:
So wide its influence, that the bright beams
Reach the low vale where mists of ignorance lodge,
Strike on the innate spark which lay immersed,
Thick-clogged, and almost quenched in total night--
On me it fell, and cheered my joyless heart.
Unwelcome is the first bright dawn of light
To the dark soul; impatient, she rejects,
And fain would push the heavenly stranger back;
She loathes the cranny which admits the day;
Confused, afraid of the intruding guest;
Disturbed, unwilling to receive the beam,
Which to herself her native darkness shows.
The effort rude to quench the cheering flame
Was mine, and e'en on Stella could I gaze
With sullen envy, and admiring pride,
Till, doubly roused by Montagu, the pair
Conspire to clear my dull, imprisoned sense,
And chase the mists which dimmed my visual beam.
Oft as I trod my native wilds alone,
Strong gusts of thought would rise, but rise to die;
The portals of the swelling soul ne'er oped
By liberal converse, rude ideas strove
Awhile for vent, but found it not, and died.
Thus rust the Mind's best powers. Yon starry orbs,
Majestic ocean, flowery vales, gay groves,
Eye-wasting lawns, and heaven-attempting hills
Which bound th' horizon, and which curb the view;
All those, with beauteous imagery, awaked
My ravished soul to ecstasy untaught,
To all the transport the rapt sense can bear;
But all expired, for want of powers to speak;
All perished in the mind as soon as born,
Erased more quick than cyphers on the shore,
O'er which cruel waves, unheedful roll.
Such timid rapture as young Edwin seized,
When his lone footsteps on the Sage obtrude,
Whose noble precept charmed his wondering.
Such rapture filled Lactilla's vacant soul,
When the bright Moralist, in softness dressed,
Opes all the glories of the mental world,
Deigns to direct the infant thought, to prune
The budding sentiment, uprear the stalk
Of feeble fancy, bid idea live,
Woo the abstracted spirit form its cares,
And gently guide her to scenes of peace.
Mine was than balm, and mine the grateful heart,
Which breathes its thanks in rough, but timid strains.
(ll. 30-79, pp. 395-6)",2013-11-17 17:09:00 UTC,"""Such rapture filled Lactilla's vacant soul, /
When the bright Moralist, in softness dressed, / Opes all the glories of the mental world, / Deigns to direct the infant thought, to prune / The budding sentiment, uprear the stalk / Of feeble fancy, bid idea live, / Woo the abstracted spirit form its cares, / And gently guide her to scenes of peace.""",2003-07-29 00:00:00 UTC,"","",2009-12-28,Inhabitants,•I've included all the stanzas but the first because of the density of metaphors (8 entries total).,Reading,14999,5612
"'Tis liberty alone that gives the flower
Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume,
And we are weeds without it. All constraint,
Except what wisdom lays on evil men,
Is evil; hurts the faculties, impedes
Their progress in the road of science; blinds
The eyesight of discovery, and begets
In those that suffer it, a sordid mind
Bestial, a meagre intellect, unfit
To be the tenant of man's noble form.
Thee therefore still, blame-worthy as thou art,
With all thy loss of empire, and though squeezed
By public exigence till annual food
Fails for the craving hunger of the state,
Thee I account still happy, and the chief
Among the nations, seeing thou art free!
My native nook of earth! Thy clime is rude,
Replete with vapours, and disposes much
All hearts to sadness, and none more than mine;
Thine unadulterate manners are less soft
And plausible than social life requires,
And thou hast need of discipline and art
To give thee what politer France receives
From Nature's bounty,--that humane address
And sweetness, without which no pleasure is
In converse, either starved by cold reserve,
Or flush'd with fierce dispute, a senseless brawl;
Yet being free, I love thee. For the sake
Of that one feature, can be well content,
Disgraced as thou hast been, poor as thou art,
To seek no sublunary rest beside.
But once enslaved, farewell! I could endure
Chains no where patiently, and chains at home
Where I am free by birthright, not at all.
Then what were left of roughness in the grain
Of British natures, wanting its excuse
That it belongs to freemen, would disgust
And shock me. I should then with double pain
Feel all the rigour of thy fickle clime;
And if I must bewail the blessing lost
For which our Hampdens and our Sidneys bled,
I would at least bewail it under skies
Milder, among a people less austere,
In scenes which, having never known me free,
Would not reproach me with the loss I felt.
Do I forebode impossible events,
And tremble at vain dreams? Heaven grant I may!
But the age of virtuous politics is past,
And we are deep in that of cold pretence.
Patriots are grown too shrewd to be sincere,
And we too wise to trust them. He that takes
Deep in his soft credulity the stamp
Designed by loud declaimers on the part
Of liberty, themselves the slaves of lust,
Incurs derision for his easy faith
And lack of knowledge, and with cause enough.
For when was public virtue to be found
Where private was not? Can he love the whole
Who loves no part? he be a nation's friend
Who is in truth the friend of no man there?
Can he be strenuous in his country's cause,
Who slights the charities for whose dear sake
That country, if at all, must be beloved?
(Bk. V, ll. 446-508, pp. 222-4)",2009-09-14 19:42:34 UTC,"A meagre intellect is ""unfit / To be tenant of man's noble form""",2003-12-29 00:00:00 UTC,"",Mind-Body,,Inhabitants,•Note: In Cowper the metaphorical categories I am at such pains to distinguish are mixed and are often used to make assertions about more than just the mind. INTEREST.,HDIS,15021,5614
"The night was winter in his roughest mood,
The morning sharp and clear. But now at noon
Upon the southern side of the slant hills,
And where the woods fence off the northern blast,
The season smiles, resigning all its rage,
And has the warmth of May. The vault is blue
Without a cloud, and white without a speck
The dazzling splendour of the scene below.
Again the harmony comes o'er the vale,
And through the trees I view the embattled tower
Whence all the music. I again perceive
The soothing influence of the wasted strains,
And settle in soft musings as I tread
The walk still verdant under oaks and elms,
Whose outspread branches overarch the glade.
The roof though moveable through all its length
As the wind sways it, has yet well sufficed,
And intercepting in their silent fall
The frequent flakes, has kept a path for me.
No noise is here, or none that hinders thought.
The redbreast warbles still, but is content
With slender notes and more than half suppress'd.
Pleased with his solitude, and flitting light
From spray to spray, where'er he rests he shakes
From many a twig the pendent drops of ice,
That tinkle in the wither'd leaves below.
Stillness accompanied with sounds so soft
Charms more than silence. Meditation here
May think down hours to moments. Here the heart
May give an useful lesson to the head,
And learning wiser grow without his books.
Knowledge and wisdom, far from being one,
Have ofttimes no connection. Knowledge dwells
In heads replete with thoughts of other men,
Wisdom in minds attentive to their own.
Knowledge, a rude unprofitable mass,
The mere materials with which wisdom builds,
Till smooth'd and squared and fitted to its place,
Does but encumber whom it seems to enrich.
Knowledge is proud that he has learn'd so much;
Wisdom is humble that he knows no more.
Books are not seldom talismans and spells
By which the magic art of shrewder wits
Holds an unthinking multitude enthrall'd.
Some to the fascination of a name
Surrender judgement hood-wink'd. Some the style
Infatuates, and through labyrinths and wilds
Of error, leads them by a tune entranced.
While sloth seduces more, too weak to bear
The insupportable fatigue of thought,
And swallowing therefore without pause or choice
The total grist unsifted, husks and all.
But trees, and rivulets whose rapid course
Defies the check of winter, haunts of deer,
And sheep-walks populous with bleating lambs,
And lanes in which the primrose ere her time
Peeps through the moss that clothes the hawthorn root,
Deceive no student. Wisdom there, and truth,
Not shy as in the world, and to be won
By slow solicitation, seize at once
The roving thought, and fix it on themselves.
(Bk. VI, ll. 57-117 pp. 238-40)",2009-09-14 19:42:34 UTC,"Knowledge and wisdom dwell in the head: knowledge in ""heads replete with thoughts of other men"" and wisdom ""in minds attentive of their own""",2003-12-29 00:00:00 UTC,"","",,Inhabitants,•There is a complete allegory of wisdom and knowledge here. REVISIT.,HDIS,15023,5614
"Cover'd with laurels, from the northern shore,
A blooming hero came, Arpasia's friend,
Arpasia's lover, whom the deathful din
Of constant action in the sanguine field,
And months of weary march, and years of toil,
Estrang'd not from the maid, whose soverign eye
Gilded his path to glory. Soon as peace
Sent her white doves to close the scene of blood
And bear the branching olive, swift the youth
Hasted to Albion's shore, and anxious sought
The hoarded treasure of his virgin heart.
He sought and found her on the fatal day,
She parted from her Theron; parted soon
To meet again. And tho' Arpasia ne'er
Had lov'd Sophronius (so the youth was call'd)
As women love, who give the maiden heart
In dear exchange of passion, glad she saw
A tender friend, escap'd from ruthless war
Return'd with honour to his native land,
The land he had defended: and her tears
Mix'd with her chaste embraces. Theron then
Quick hastening to Arpasia, instant saw
Rapture that weeps, and blushes that denote
The heart's strong triumph at a treasure sav'd
From the devouring war. Her heart he knew
Lodg'd in his own true bosom, yet he feared,
(Fear still is Love's attendant) that the joy
Thron'd in her eye, and from her rubied lip
Pouring the ardent welcome, might, perchance,
Nourish a dangerous softness, yet he prais'd
Her generous warmth and join'd the glowing zeal.
But when the youth, beneath the self-same roof,
With supplication strong to be receiv'd,
A chosen guest entreated, and his suit
Incautious friendship granted, who can draw
The pangs that seiz'd on Theron? Many a day
He fed in silence on his master griefs,
And bath'd his lonely pillow with his tears,
Far from Arpasia's mansion: Ev'ry friend,
Save she who cou'd administer relief,
Appear'd with comfort in their looks--while she,
(Cold as the marble that receives the drops
Of some pale mourner, at the urn which holds
The sainted ashes of the maid he lov'd)
Remain'd untouched, and while forlorn he lay
Death-sick beneath the chill of her neglect,
Sophronius was her theme. His health, his fame,
His rising fortune, and reward in arms,
Flam'd from her pen, which courted Theron's Muse,
To blazon forth his prowess in the war,
His fair deserts in peace. Yet still she talk'd
Of Friendship's early bonds, and nam'd not Love,
Nor seem'd to know the madness and despair
That rag'd in Theron's bosom, but led on
By Pity's gentle hand--for from the youth,
From change of climate, from fatigues of war,
And the heart's tender tumult, growing still,
That gently Pity claim'd, which the kind fair
(Without a thought that wrong'd the spotless faith,
Plighted to Theron) gave, with soul sincere;
Theron meanwhile believ'd it Love, fond Love enthron'd
Upon the mutual heart, and mad'ning thence,
Exclaim'd, infuriate--""Yes! they both shall fall!
""Since Pity thus can light her savage torch,
""And bind upon her altar, Love himself,
""Love in his turn, shall boast a sacrifice,
""And mark for death his victim!"" Strait he rose,
'Twas the deep noon of night, he strode along,
A poignard snatch'd, and as he reach'd the dome
Of his Arpasia; soften'd at the view
From his torn heart these mournful accents broke:
""Oh had the chance been Theron's, had some maid,
""Bright as the morning star, her virgin heart
""Laid in the circle of these courted arms,
""And breath'd a passion warmer than e'er touch'd
""The breast of woman, tho' Compassion's sigh,
""The tenderest tear that ever Pity shed,
""The truest throb that ever Friendship knew
""Might plead his cause, nor these, nor death itself,
""Shou'd shake his plighted faith to false Arpasia,
""Shou'd shake his faith, ah no! by yonder heav'n
""Not the bright synod of the Gods shou'd draw
""His settled heart aside, tho' to the power
""Of heav'nly beauty, gold shou'd add a charm
""Richer than proud Golconda."" Scarce these words
Burst from his heart, e'en from the opening door
Rush'd forth, with hurrying step and troubled air,
Some one infolded in a thick disguise,
That needed scarce the darkness of the night
To mock discovery. Theron, at the view
Sudden retir'd unseen, and torpid stood
A few sad moments; then, with frantic haste
Pursued--Ah, hell-born Jealousy!
Thou child of Love,
Performing deeds more terrible than hate!
From shadows thinner than the fleeting night
That floats along the vale, or haply seems
To wrap the mountain in its hazy vest,
(Which the first sun-beam dissipates in air.)
How dost thou conjure monsters which ne'er mov'd
But in the chaos of thy frenzied brain!
Thence hurling frighted Reason from her throne,
And with her all the charities that wait
To grace her virtuous Court! Theron soon
O'ertook whom he pursu'd, nor doubting ought,
(For Jealousy allows no pause of sense).
It was his happy rival, rais'd his hand,
In which the poignard trembled, and in rage,
To madness, struck the bosom of--Arpasia!
Yes! 'twas Arpasia's self.
The faithful mistress, from her lover's arm,
Thus met her fate utimely, for e'er word,
Cou'd utterance find, the dagger in her breast
Transfix'd she found--""And hast thou kill'd me, Love?""
--Was all she spoke, then died in his embrace.
Upon her Theron's brow pale Horror sate,
""Kill thee!"" he cried--then deep into his heart
Plung'd the fell blade, with poor Arpasia's blood,
Distain'd and reeking--agoniz'd he fell
And kiss'd the wound--expiring in her arms.
",2018-06-18 15:16:00 UTC,"""From shadows thinner than the fleeting night / That floats along the vale, or haply seems / To wrap the mountain in its hazy vest, / (Which the first sun-beam dissipates in air.) / How dost thou conjure monsters which ne'er mov'd / But in the chaos of thy frenzied brain!""",2004-07-27 00:00:00 UTC,"","",,"","•I've included thrice: Weather, Shadows, Monsters",HDIS (Poetry),15036,5619
"Whilst our minds are taken up with the objects or business before us, we are commonly happy, whatever the object or business be; when the mind is absent, and the thoughts are wandering to something else than what is passing in the place in which we are, we are often miserable.
(p. 22)",2013-06-04 16:43:39 UTC,"""[W]hen the mind is absent, and the thoughts are wandering to something else than what is passing in the place in which we are, we are often miserable""",2005-08-18 00:00:00 UTC,"Book I. Preliminary Considerations, Chapter 6. Human Happiness",Wandering,,Inhabitants,"","Searching ""mind"" in Liberty Fund OLL",15076,5640
"Now slow along the blossom'd dale we go
Wooing sequester'd Silence, where she sits
Embow'r'd with shrubs (impervious to the ken
Of eyes which keep their worship for the world)
Refuge of tender hearts, who still must fear
(So delicately white th'unsullied gloss
Of innocence in love and faith engag'd)
To ""spot its snowy mantle,""* should it mix
With the mad multitude, where passions fell,
And strangers to their bosom, enter wild,
Like Sin and Death in Paradise, to jar
On the soft music of according souls!
*Sterne",2010-06-22 19:25:33 UTC,"Silence is the ""Refuge of tender hearts must fear mixing ""With the mad multitude, where passions fell, / And strangers to their bosom, enter wild, / Like Sin and Death in Paradise, to jar / On the soft music of according souls!""",2006-03-05 00:00:00 UTC,"","",2010-06-22,Inhabitants,"•Footnote gives, ""Sterne."" Note, ""mad multitude"" appears in Dryden's translation of the Aeneid and in Aaron Hill.
•I've included twice: Stranger and Music","Searching ""passion"" and ""stranger"" in HDIS (Poetry); found again ""bosom""",15084,5644
"ANG.
Oh, that every heart was like mine, a stranger to dissimulation! Why is the countenance made a mask for the soul, when it should be a mirror, in which every eye might behold the true features of the mind, in the deformity of vice, or the loveliness of virtue!
(III.iii)",2013-08-16 04:26:59 UTC,"""Oh, that every heart was like mine, a stranger to dissimulation!""",2006-03-06 00:00:00 UTC,"Act III, scene iii","",,Inhabitants,"","Searching ""heart"" and ""stranger"" in HDIS (Drama)",15086,5643
"Without such instances as you mention my dear, my mind, which was once likely to become the seat of the Furies, has not only been calmed and improved by the instructions of my present dear mamma, but also by attention to opinions given in company, concerning people judged to possess violent uncontrouled passions, and others who submitted to the decrees of Providence like christians.—But here comes my dear mamma.
(Vol. II, pages 6-7)",2011-09-28 01:26:27 UTC,"""Without such instances as you mention my dear, my mind, which was once likely to become the seat of the Furies, has not only been calmed and improved by the instructions of my present dear mamma, but also by attention to opinions given in company, concerning people judged to possess violent uncontrouled passions, and others who submitted to the decrees of Providence like christians.""",2010-07-15 18:41:20 UTC,"In ""The Reformation""; spoken by Miss Sutton","",,"","",Contributed by PC Fleming,17959,6747
"To omit many ancient systems of this kind, Des Cartes, about the middle of the last century, dissatisfied with the materia prima, the substantial forms, and the occult qualities of the Peripatetics, conjectured boldly, that the heavenly bodies of our system are carried round by a vortex or whirlpool of subtile matter, just as straws and chaff are carried round in a tub of water. He conjectured, that the soul is seated in a small gland in the brain, called the pineal gland: That there, as in her chamber of presence, she receives intelligence of every thing that affects the senses, by means of a subtile fluid contained in the nerves, called the animal spirits; and that she dispatches these animal spirits, as her messengers, to put in motion the several muscles of the body, as there is occasion. By such conjectures as these, Des Cartes could account for every phænomenon in nature, in such a plausible manner, as gave satisfaction to a great part of the learned world for more than half a century.
(I.iii, p. 47)",2012-03-01 17:30:31 UTC,"""He conjectured, that the soul is seated in a small gland in the brain, called the pineal gland: That there, as in her chamber of presence, she receives intelligence of every thing that affects the senses, by means of a subtile fluid contained in the nerves, called the animal spirits; and that she dispatches these animal spirits, as her messengers, to put in motion the several muscles of the body, as there is occasion.""",2012-03-01 17:30:06 UTC,Chapter 3. Of Hypothesis,"",,Rooms and Throne,USE IN ENTRY,Reading,19616,5642