work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
6157,"",HDIS,2003-11-10 00:00:00 UTC,"The Melian's hurt Machaon could repair,
Heal the slow chief and send again to war;
To Chiron Phoenix owed his long-lost sight,
And Phoebus' son recalled Androgeon to the light.
Here arts are vain, even magic here must fail,
The powerful mixture and the midnight spell.
The hand that can my captive heart release
And to this bosom give its wonted peace,
May the long thirst of Tantalus allay,
Or drive the infernal vulture from his prey.
For ills unseen what remedy is found,
Or who can probe the undiscovered wound?
The bed avails not or the leech's care,
Nor changing skies can hurt nor sultry air.
'Tis hard the elusive symptoms to explore:
Today the lover walks, tomorrow is no more;
A train of mourning friends attend his pall,
And wonder at the sudden funeral.
(ll. 81-98, p. 46)",,16221,"",The heart may be a captive,"",2009-09-14 19:46:05 UTC,""
6156,"",HDIS (Poetry),2003-11-10 00:00:00 UTC,"Long as of youth the joyous hours remain,
Me may Castalia's sweet recess detain,
Fast by the umbrageous vale lulled to repose,
Where Aganippe warbles as it flows;
Or roused by sprightly sounds from out the trance,
I'd in the ring knit hands and join the Muses' dance.
Give me to send the laughing bowl around,
My soul in Bacchus' pleasing fetters bound;
Let on this head unfading flowers reside,
There bloom the vernal rose's earliest pride;
And when, our flames commissioned to destroy,
Age step 'twixt love and me, and intercept our joy;
When my changed head these locks no more shall know,
And all its jetty honours turn to snow;
Then let me rightly spell of nature's ways.
(ll. 5-19, p. 26)",2011-06-27,16222,"","""Give me to send the laughing bowl around, / My soul in Bacchus' pleasing fetters bound.""",Fetters,2011-05-27 14:24:18 UTC,""
6165,"",HDIS,2003-12-30 00:00:00 UTC,"Thus Italy was moved;--nor did the chief
Æneas in his mind less tumult feel.
On every side his anxious thought he turns,
Restless, unfix'd, not knowing what to choose.
And as a cistern that in brim of brass
Confines the crystal flood, if chance the sun
Smite on it, or the moon's resplendent orb,
The quivering light now flashes on the walls,
Now leaps uncertain to the vaulted roof:
Such were the wavering motions of his mind.
'Twas night--and weary nature sunk to rest;
The birds, the bleating flocks, were heard no more.
At length, on the cold ground, beneath the damp
And dewy vault, fast by the river's brink,
The father of his country sought repose.
When lo! among the spreading poplar boughs,
Forth from his pleasant stream, propitious rose
The god of Tiber: clear transparent gauze
Infolds his loins, his brows with reeds are crown'd;
And these his gracious words to sooth his care:
(ll. 1-20, pp. 83-4)",,16331,"•I've included entries in both 'Liquid' and 'Optics'.
•First printed in Poems, by William Cowper, of the Inner Temple, Esq. in Three Volumes. Vol III. Containing his posthumous poetry, and a sketch of his life. By his kinsman, John Johnson, LL.D., 1815.
","The wavering motions of the mind are like ""quivering light"" reflected off a confined ""crystal flood"" in a brass cistern","",2009-09-14 19:46:32 UTC,""