work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
3958,"","Foudn again searching ""passion"" and ""throne"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2004-06-14 00:00:00 UTC,"Whoe'er he was, he does my fancy move,
Who painted first the little God of Love.
Plainly he saw the senseless Lovers snare,
What solid good they lose, for empty care;
Thence did he Justly windy Wings impart,
And made the God fly with a humane Heart.
By Fortune's waves he knew us wildly tost,
While, by each dash, we may be wreck'd, and lost.
Justly he knew what the old Poets sung,
That from the Seas Love's Beauteous Mother sprung.
E'er since which time, unhappy Lovers see,
Their Passion ne'er can be from Tempests free.
It Ebbs and Flows, unfixt, not long the same,
A rowling Ocean of tumultuous Flame.
He feign'd him blind, with true design, to show
That every Lover, while he Loves, is so.
Justly indeed his Darts were bearded found,
For, what they hurt, can never be made sound;
And 'ere we see him, he is sure to wound.
My Breast his Arrows, and his Image boast,
But sure his Wings, with which he flies, are lost.
My Heart's his Throne, yet Rebel Passions Jar,
Which Fire my Veins, and thro' my Blood make War.
Why Cruel Love, should you the Tyrant Play?
By what pretence can you demand your sway?
But you have Pow'r, and I must still obey.
When I am gone, who shall your praises sing?
And my Light Muse can weighty glories bring.
",,10289,•I've included Thrice: Throne and Revolution and War.,"""My Heart's his Throne, yet Rebel Passions Jar, / Which Fire my Veins, and thro' my Blood make War.""",Throne,2013-09-09 18:15:47 UTC,""
3968,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2005-02-09 00:00:00 UTC,"Tho' Sense prevailing Checks a kind return,
Tho' Sense, cold sense, permits you not to burn,
Yet Sense can never bid Amasia scorn.
By Fate's decree, Love rages in the Blood;
A Passion cannot be by force withstood,
For I would hate Amasia, if I cou'd.
Can I at once mention thy Name, and hate?
Love Choaks that Word, for Love to me is fate.
Resentment now does with soft Fondness Jar,
Reason and Love wage an Eternal War;
Love Fights--Love Conquers still--
And my own Heart is his Triumphant Car.
In vain I call my Senses to my aid,
In vain Rebel, he will be still obey'd,
For I am soon by ev'ry Sense betray'd.
Now, I resolve thy Beauties to despise,
And look--but look alas! with longing Eyes.
Each pointed Glance, with haughty Courage Arm'd,
Looses its Edge, and at thy sight grows Charm'd.
In all I yield, and strait, ye Pow'rs Divine!
My Heart, and Soul, as well as Eyes, are thine.
Whene'er I touch thee, I transported grow,
Whene'r I touch, which but in Thought I do,
More soft thou seem'st--
Than downy Swans, or than the Fleecy Snow.
Thy Fragrant Breath--
More smelling Sweet than richest Perfumes blows,
Than Scents of Violets, or the blooming Rose.
To catch new Sweets, oft flying Zephirs stay,
Around thy Lips, and with thy Tresses play,
Then pleas'd, with Whistlings fly--
And on their Wings bear the dear spoils away.
In thee all Odours keep their Lov'd aboad,
One sigh of yours would Charm, or make, a God.
From place to place, tastless of Food, I rove,
Loathing all else--my only food is Love.
Musick, be dumb--what Musick can I hear?
Amasia's Voice can only Charm my Ear,
All's discord else--there's only Musick there.
Thy Ayres, at once, Fann, while they raise the Fire,
Thy Words beyond all others Songs inspire,
Charming the Poet more than his Apollo's lyre.
Seraphick strains from every Accent spring,
Sing not Amasia--no--
For I should grow Immortal, should you sing.
Whene'er you speak, fond of the Charming sound,
With the Lov'd Voice the Hills, and Vales rebound,
Scarce, scarce at last by repetition drown'd.
O had the Vocal Nymph such strains restor'd,
Had Eccho's Voice been such, Narcissus had ador'd.
Ravish'd like me, he had Condemn'd his choice,
And had not Burn'd--
For the Reflection of a Face, but Voice.
",,10302,"","""Reason and Love wage an Eternal War""","",2009-09-14 19:34:52 UTC,"Vol. 2, Book 3, ""Letters of Love""
I've included the entire poem"
3969,"","Searching ""conque"" and ""heart"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-02-09 00:00:00 UTC,"The Beauteous Salmacis, who Lov'd her ease,
By her own Fountain Passes happy Days.
There she delights, there do her wishes please.
This Nymph was still unpractis'd in the chace,
She ne'er contended in a painful race.
Lov'd not to mingle with Diana's Train,
Nor draw the Bow, nor Hunt upon the Plain.
Oft her laborious Sisters bid her rise,
To Join with them, and get some stately Prize.
They urg'd her oft with Words repeated o'er,
To follows Staggs, or to pursue the Boar.
All would not do, she would no Quiver seize,
Nor for their toil forgo her pleasant ease.
But in her Fountain she delights to play,
By Night rests there, and there she Bathes by Day.
Still in that liquid Glass she drest her Charms,
And her fair Eyes with Loving glances Arms.
There still she learnt what Gesture best became,
There practic'd Charms, such as could raise a Flame.
Oft from one side she to the other Swims,
Then in fine Lawn arrays her Beauteous Limbs.
Oft, on soft Moss, stretcht at their length they lay,
And thro' the White, transparent Robes their Lovely shape display.
To the full view she leaves her Bosom bare,
Spreads o'er her Shoulders her loose, flowing Hair,
And shews her Face, her Neck, and Breasts exceeding fair.
Languishing now, on blooming Banks she lies,
And plucks such Flow'rs as please her Curious Eyes.
When she perciev'd, as she was busy'd there,
The Charming Son of Hermes coming near,
Who, soon as seen, the Virgin's wishes mov'd,
For he deserv'd to be by all belov'd.
His blooming Beauties she admir'd much more,
Than the fair Flow'rs for which she long'd before.
At the first sight, her wishes fill'd her Soul,
While soft Emotions in her Bosom rowl.
Her Fires grew fiercer, as he nearer came,
And now she fondly burns with glowing Flame.
Much she desir'd, yet still conceal'd she lies,
Till with soft looks she deckt her sparkling Eyes.
'Till she appear'd with all her utmost Art;
'Till all her Beauties bloom'd in every part,
That she might win the Charmer, and surprize a Heart.
With all her skill she does each Feature Arm,
And sets her Dress, who of her self might Charm.
She now at last in all her Robes applies,
To the dear Youth in looks, and moving sighs,
And by her melting Words she shews him how she dies.
With gaining ways, and soft, bewitching snares,
Her Passion thus she to the Swain declares.
Such are your Charms, dear Boy, your Beauties such,
All Nymphs must Love you, none can Love too much.
Pleasing your form, sure you are all Divine,
All Hearts you Conquer, as you Conquer mine.
Such are the wond'rous glories of your Face,
You were not born sure of a Mortal race.
Such, such the sparkling brightness of your Eyes,
Such the strange force which in their glances lies,
You are some God descended from the Skies.
Ah! you so much can on a suddain move,
I know, I know that you were born above,
You are the Son to the fair Queen of Love.
If I mistake, if then you are not so,
But the sweet Off-spring of some Prince below.
Happy, ah! thrice, thrice happy must they be,
Who are related, and ally'd to thee.
Blest are thy Parents: and that Woman's Breast,
Which gave thee Food, is infinitely blest,
But the fair Partn'r of thy Bed much more than all the rest.
If such there be, ah! do but grant me this,
Let me Embrace thee, let me fondly Kiss,
And by close stealth deprive her of her Bliss.
But if you yet from Nuptial vows are free,
Make me your Joyful Bride, ah! seal them now with me
The Love-sick Nymph thus far her Passion mov'd,
Thus told the Charming Youth how well she Lov'd
When fierce desires her farther Speech debarr'd,
And the Youth Blush'd for the fond things he heard
Still in his Blushes did he Lovelier seem,
Still more she wish'd to be belov'd by him.
So Apples blush upon the Sunny side,
Or polish'd Iv'ry with Vermillion dy'd.
So in Eclipses does the Moon appear,
When stains of Red her strugling Face does wear.
Closer she comes, and now in Am'rous pain,
She thinks to seize upon the Lovely Swain.
With bashful Anger her Embrace he shuns,
And from the Maid disdaining proudly, runs.
With nice reserve he flies the tempting snare,
Forbear, he cries, loose idle Nymph, forbear,
Or I'll forsake the place, and leave you there.
She, at this Menace from the Youth, reply'd.
'Tis yours, fair Swain, and so she stept aside.
Yet in a thicket of close, shrubby Trees,
She hides secure, and all his Actions sees.
He now believing there was none to view,
To the fair Banks of the Nymph's Fountain drew.
And sporting now, trips nimbly back again,
With bolder steps o'er all the Flow'ry plain.
Now, growing warm, he crosses o'er the Meads,
Comes to the Stream, and to the Knees he wades.
Then, to the Greens he takes the nearer ways,
His Silken Garments on the ground he lays.
And to the longing Maid, all, all the Man displays.
His Naked Beauties her fond sight amaz'd,
Who with impatient, eager wishes gaz'd.
Her sparkling Eyes, while she the Youth desires,
Glow with bright Beams, and shoot out shining Fires.
Their rays the Sun's on Silver streams surpass,
Or when reflected by a Chrystal Glass.
Mad to possess, and to enjoy the Swain,
She almost thinks to tell her Loves again,
So very much she burns with the transporting pain.
Now, from the Flow'ry Bank, to which he came,
The Lovely Boy leapt down into the Stream.
Then, with his Snowy Arms he loosely plays,
And sports, and wantons thro his liquid ways.
Still as he swims, his glitt'ring Limbs appear,
Thro' the smooth Streams, so undisturb'd, and clear.
Like Iv'ry Statues, which the Life surpass,
Or like a Lilly in a Chrystal Glass.
The ravish'd Virgin Cries, he's now my own,
And, strait disrob'd of all, impatient grown,
Pursues her eager Joys, and plunges to him down.
About his Neck, and o'er his strugling Wast,
Her circling Arms with longing folds she cast.
On ev'ry side she clasps him, as he swims,
And locks him closely with her twining Limbs.
So, when an Eagle with a Serpent flies,
Fast in his Talons, and then Mounts the Skies.
Around his Head, and Feet the Serpent clings,
And wreaths her tail about his spacious Wings.
Still, tho' detain'd, and forc'd, the strugling Boy
With all his Pow'rs resists the Virgin's Joy.
In vain, ingrateful, foolish Youth, she cries,
In vain, your scornful Pride my coming bliss denies.
Grant, grant ye Pow'rs! that no unhappy day,
May snatch this youth from my embrace away.
Propitious Pow'rs to the Nymph's Pray'rs incline,
For strait in one their diff'rent Figures twine.
And as their Souls Join'd when their transports flew,
Their Bodies mingled with each other too.
",,10305,"","""All Hearts you Conquer, as you Conquer mine""","",2009-09-14 19:34:52 UTC,"Vol. 3, Book 1, ""The Metamorphosis of Love""
I've included the entire poem"
4007,"","Searching ""conque"" and ""heart"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-02-09 00:00:00 UTC," Tho' the Amorous Beau,
So courtly and fine,
Admire a Dress,
And Face of fifteen.
Let Orinda but speak,
Her Tongue will surprize,
And make him her Slave,
Spight of Celia's bright Eyes.
Was she old and deform'd,
Her Wit and her Air,
Would conquer more Hearts,
Than the Young and the Fair.
Those Charms are more noble,
The Lovely and Kind
May vanquish the Body,
She conquers the Mind.
",2010-10-18,10391,"","""Was she old and deform'd, / Her Wit and her Air, / Would conquer more Hearts, / Than the Young and the Fair.""","",2010-10-18 17:14:36 UTC,I've included entire poem
4007,"","Searching ""conque"" and ""mind"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-02-06 00:00:00 UTC," Tho' the Amorous Beau,
So courtly and fine,
Admire a Dress,
And Face of fifteen.
Let Orinda but speak,
Her Tongue will surprize,
And make him her Slave,
Spight of Celia's bright Eyes.
Was she old and deform'd,
Her Wit and her Air,
Would conquer more Hearts,
Than the Young and the Fair.
Those Charms are more noble,
The Lovely and Kind
May vanquish the Body,
She conquers the Mind.
",2010-10-18,10392,"","""Those Charms are more noble, / The Lovely and Kind / May vanquish the Body, / She conquers the Mind.""","",2010-10-18 17:08:50 UTC,I've included entire poem
4008,"","Searching ""conque"" and ""heart"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-02-09 00:00:00 UTC,"Abandon'd Day, why dost thou now appear?
Thou must no more thy wonted Glories wear;
Oh! Rend thy self out of the circling Year.
With me thou'rt stript of all thy pompous Pride,
Art now no festival Cause, I no Bride:
In thee no more must the glad Musick sound,
Nor pleasing Healths in chearful Bowls go round,
But with sad Cypress dress'd, not Mirtle crown'd;
Ne'er grac'd again with joyful Pageantry:
The once glad Youth that did so honour thee
Is now no more; with him thy Triumph's lost,
He always own'd thee worthy of his Boast.
Such Adorations he still thought thy due,
I learn'd at last to celebrate thee too;
Tho' it was long e're I could be content,
To yield you more than formal Complement;
If my first Offering had been Free-Will,
I then perhaps might have enjoy'd thee still:
But now thou'rt kept like the first mystick Day,
When my reluctant Soul did Fate obey,
And trembling Tongue with the sad Rites comply'd,
With timerous Hand th' amazing Knot I ty'd,
While Vows and Duty check'd the doubting Bride.
At length my reconcil'd and conquer'd Heart,
When 'twas almost too late own'd thy Desert,
And wishes thou wast still, not that thou never wer't;
Wishes thee still that celebrated Day,
I lately kept with sympathizing Joy.
But Ah! thou now canst be no more to me,
Than the sad Relick of Solemnity;
To my griev'd Soul may'st thou no more appear,
Be blotted out of Fate's strict Calender.
May the Sun's Rays ne'er be to thee allow'd,
But let him double every thick wrought Cloud,
And wrap himself in a retiring Shroud;
Let unmixt Darkness shade the gloomy Air,
Till all our sable Horizon appear,
Dismale as I, black as the Weeds I wear;
With me thy abdicated State deplore,
And be like me, that's by thy self no more.",2010-10-18,10393,"","""At length my reconcil'd and conquer'd Heart, / When 'twas almost too late own'd thy Desert, / And wishes thou wast still, not that thou never wer't; / Wishes thee still that celebrated Day,/ I lately kept with sympathizing Joy.""","",2010-10-18 17:12:24 UTC,I've included entire poem
4352,"","",2004-06-22 00:00:00 UTC,"Right you conclude, reply'd the smiling Boy
Love ruins none, 'tis Men themselves destroy;
And those vile Wretches, which you lately saw,
Transgress'd his Rules, as well as Reason's Law.
They're not Love's Subjects, but the Slaves of Lust,
Nor is their Punishment so great, as just.
For Love and Lust essentially divide,
Like Day and Night, Humility and Pride;
One Darkness hides, t'other does always shine,
This of infernal Make, and that divine.
Reason no gen'rous Passion does oppose;
'Tis Lust, (not Love) and Reason, that are Foes.
She bids you scorn a base inglorious Flame,
Black as the gloomy Shade, from whence it came,
In this, her Precepts should Obedience find,
But yours is not of that ignoble kind.
You Err, in thinking she would disapprove
The brave Pursuit of honourable Love,
And therefore judge what's harmless, an Offence,
Invert her Meaning, and mistake her Sense.
She could not such insipid Counsel give,
As not to love at all, 'tis not to live,
But where bright Virtue, and true Beauty lies,
And that in Delia, charming Delia's Eyes.
Could you, contented, see th' Angelic Maid
In old Alexis' dull Embraces laid?
Or Rough-hewn Tityrus possess those Charms,
Which are in Heaven, the Heaven of Delia's Arms?
Consider, Youth, what Transports you forego,
The most intire Felicity below;
Which is by Fate alone reserv'd for you;
Monarchs have been deny'd, for Monarchs sue.
I own 'tis difficult to gain the Prize,
Or 'twould be cheap, and low in noble Eyes;
But there is one soft Minute, when the Mind
Is left unguarded, waiting to be kind,
Which the wise Lover understanding right,
Steals in like Day upon the Wings of Light.
You urge your Vow, but can those Vows prevail
Whose first Foundation, and whose Reason fail?
You vow'd to leave fair Delia, but you thought
Your Passion was a Crime, your Flame a Fault;
But since your Judgment err'd, it has no Force
To bind at all, but is dissolv'd of Course.
And therefore hesitate no longer here,
But banish all the dull Remains of Fear.
Dare you be happy Youth, but dare, and be;
I'll be your Convoy to the charming she.
What still irresolute? Debating still?
View her, and then forsake her if you will.
",,11425,
," 'Tis Lust, (not Love) and Reason, that are Foes","",2009-09-14 19:35:53 UTC,""
4352,"","",2004-06-22 00:00:00 UTC,"Right you conclude, reply'd the smiling Boy
Love ruins none, 'tis Men themselves destroy;
And those vile Wretches, which you lately saw,
Transgress'd his Rules, as well as Reason's Law.
They're not Love's Subjects, but the Slaves of Lust,
Nor is their Punishment so great, as just.
For Love and Lust essentially divide,
Like Day and Night, Humility and Pride;
One Darkness hides, t'other does always shine,
This of infernal Make, and that divine.
Reason no gen'rous Passion does oppose;
'Tis Lust, (not Love) and Reason, that are Foes.
She bids you scorn a base inglorious Flame,
Black as the gloomy Shade, from whence it came,
In this, her Precepts should Obedience find,
But yours is not of that ignoble kind.
You Err, in thinking she would disapprove
The brave Pursuit of honourable Love,
And therefore judge what's harmless, an Offence,
Invert her Meaning, and mistake her Sense.
She could not such insipid Counsel give,
As not to love at all, 'tis not to live,
But where bright Virtue, and true Beauty lies,
And that in Delia, charming Delia's Eyes.
Could you, contented, see th' Angelic Maid
In old Alexis' dull Embraces laid?
Or Rough-hewn Tityrus possess those Charms,
Which are in Heaven, the Heaven of Delia's Arms?
Consider, Youth, what Transports you forego,
The most intire Felicity below;
Which is by Fate alone reserv'd for you;
Monarchs have been deny'd, for Monarchs sue.
I own 'tis difficult to gain the Prize,
Or 'twould be cheap, and low in noble Eyes;
But there is one soft Minute, when the Mind
Is left unguarded, waiting to be kind,
Which the wise Lover understanding right,
Steals in like Day upon the Wings of Light.
You urge your Vow, but can those Vows prevail
Whose first Foundation, and whose Reason fail?
You vow'd to leave fair Delia, but you thought
Your Passion was a Crime, your Flame a Fault;
But since your Judgment err'd, it has no Force
To bind at all, but is dissolv'd of Course.
And therefore hesitate no longer here,
But banish all the dull Remains of Fear.
Dare you be happy Youth, but dare, and be;
I'll be your Convoy to the charming she.
What still irresolute? Debating still?
View her, and then forsake her if you will.
",,11426,•I've also included the embedded simile: so this entry appears twice: War and Optics.
,"""But there is one soft Minute, when the Mind / Is left unguarded,"" during which ""the wise Lover understanding right, /Steals in like Day upon the Wings of Light.""","",2009-11-29 04:53:49 UTC,""
7682,"",Reading,2013-09-18 15:04:13 UTC,"Wit, like a hasty Flood, may over-run us,
And too much Sense has oftentimes undone us:
Wit is a Flux, a Looseness of the Brain,
And Sense-abstract has too much Pride to reign:
Wit-unconcoct is the Extream of Sloth,
And too much Sense is the Extream of both;
Abstracted-Wit 'Tis own'd is a Disease,
But Sense-abstracted has no Power to please:
For Sense, like Water, is but Wit condense,
And Wit, like Air, is rarify'd from Sense:
Meer Sense is sullen; stiff, and unpolite,
Meer Wit is Apoplectick, thin, and light:
Wit is a King without a Parliament,
And Sense a Democratick Government:
Wit, like the French, wher'e'er it reigns destroys,
And Sense advanc'd is apt to Tyrannize:
Wit without Sense is like the Laughing-Evil,
And Sense unmix'd with Fancy is the D---l.
Wit is a Standing-Army Government,
And Sense a sullen stubborn P---t:
Wit by its haste anticipates its Fate,
And so does Sense by being obstinate:
Wit without Sense in Verse is all but Farce,
Sense without Wit in Verse is all mine A---.
Wit, like the French, performs before it thinks,
And thoughtful Sense without Performance sinks;
Sense without Wit is Flegmatick and pale,
And is all Head, forsooth, without a Tail:
Wit without Sense is Cholerick and Red,
Has Tail enough indeed, but has no Head.
Wit, like the jangling Chimes, rings all in one,
Till Sense, the Artist, sets them into Tune:
Wit, like the Belly, if it be not fed,
Will starve the Members, and distract the Head.
Wit is the Fruitful Womb where Thoughts conceive,
Sense is the Vital Heat which Life and Form must give:
Wit is the Teeming Mother brings them forth,
Sense is the Active Father gives them Worth.
United: Wit and Sense, makes Science thrive,
Divided: neither Wit nor Sense can live;
For while the Parties eagerly contend,
The Mortal Strife must in their mutual Ruin end.
(pp. 165-7, ll. 353-394)",,22798,"","""Wit is a Standing-Army Government, / And Sense a sullen stubborn P---t.""","",2013-09-18 15:04:13 UTC,""
7163,"",Reading ,2014-05-26 20:23:16 UTC,"For thus old Saws foretel, and Helenus
Anchises drooping Son enliven'd thus;
When Ilium now was in a sinking State;
And he was doubtful of his future Fate:
O Goddess born, with thy hard Fortune strive,
Troy never can be lost, and thou alive.
Thy Passage thou shalt free through Fire and Sword,
And Troy in Foreign Lands shall be restor'd.
In happier Fields a rising Town I see,
Greater than what e'er was, or is, or e'er shall be:
And Heav'n yet owes the: World a Race deriv'd from Thee.
Sages, and Chiefs of other Lineage born
The City shall extend, extended shall adorn:
But from Julus he must draw his Breath,
By whom thy Rome shall rule the conquer'd Earth:
Whom Heav'n will lend Mankind on Earth to reign,
And late require the precious Pledge again.
This Helenus to great AEneas told,
Which I retain, e'er since in other Mould:
My Soul was cloath'd; and now rejoice to view
My Country Walls rebuilt, and Troy reviv'd anew,
Rais'd by the fall: Decreed by Loss to Gain;
Enslav'd but to be free, and conquer'd but to reign.
(pp. 527-8; cf. pp. 831-2 in OUP)",,23863,"","""This Helenus to great AEneas told, / Which I retain, e'er since in other Mould: / My Soul was cloath'd; and now rejoice to view / My Country Walls rebuilt, and Troy reviv'd anew, / Rais'd by the fall: Decreed by Loss to Gain; / Enslav'd but to be free, and conquer'd but to reign.""","",2014-05-26 20:23:27 UTC,""