work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
4792,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2003-11-24 00:00:00 UTC," At other times he pried through nature's store,
Whate'er she in the ethereal round contains,
Whate'er she hides beneath her verdant floor,
The vegetable and the mineral reigns;
Or else he scann'd the globe, those small domains,
Where restless mortals such a turmoil keep,
Its seas, its floods, its mountains, and its plains;
But more he search'd the mind, and roused from sleep
Those moral seeds whence we heroic actions reap.
(Canto II, ll. 91-99, p. 202)",2010-12-30,12722,"•Sambrook gives for ""moral Seeds"": ""cf. 'Seeds of Art', Au. 50; 'Seeds of Freedom', Liberty iii. 539-40. Lucretius refers to atoms, the first elements of all matter, as semina rerum. For the many kinds of 'seeds' in English descriptive verse and scientific prose, see J. Arthos, The Language of Natural Description in Eighteenth-Century Poetry (Ann Arbor, 1949), pp. 300-6. Locke, Thoughts concerning Education (1692), sect. 84, 100, likens the developing mind to a seed-plot"" (n. 99, p. 391).","""But more he search'd the mind, and roused from sleep / Those moral seeds whence we heroic actions reap.""","",2010-12-30 23:18:04 UTC,""
7490,"",Searching in C-H Lion,2013-06-28 14:25:01 UTC,"LAURA.
He says that, tho' he were not nobly born,
Nature has form'd him noble, generous, brave,
Truely magnanimous, and warmly scorning
Whatever bears the smallest Taint of Baseness:
That every easy Virtue is his own;
Not learnt by painful Labour, but inspir'd,
Implanted in his Soul--Chiefly one Charm
He in his graceful Character observes:
That tho' his Passions burn with high Impatience,
And sometimes, from a noble Heat of Nature,
Are ready to fly off, yet the least Check
Of ruling Reason brings them back to Temper,
And gentle Softness.
(I.i)",,21236,"","""He says that, tho' he were not nobly born, / Nature has form'd him noble, generous, brave, / Truely magnanimous, and warmly scorning / Whatever bears the smallest Taint of Baseness: / That every easy Virtue is his own; / Not learnt by painful Labour, but inspir'd, / Implanted in his Soul.""","",2013-06-28 14:25:01 UTC,""
7490,"",C-H Lion,2013-06-28 15:08:30 UTC,"SIFFREDI.
[After a pathetic Pause, looking on the Scene before him.]
Have I liv'd
To these enfeebled Years, by Heaven reserv'd,
To be a dreadful Monument of Justice?--
Rodolpho, raise the King, and bear him hence
From this distracting Scene of Blood and Death.
Alas! I dare not give him my Assistance;
My Care would only more enflame his Rage.
Behold the fatal Work of my dark Hand,
That by rude Force the Passions would command,
That ruthless sought to root them from the Breast;
They may be rul'd, but will not be opprest.
Taught hence, Ye Parents, who from Nature stray,
And the great Ties of social Life betray;
Ne'er with your Children act a Tyrant's Part:
'Tis your's to guide, not violate the Heart.
Ye vainly wise, who o'er Mankind preside,
Behold my righteous Woes, and drop your Pride!
Keep Virtue's simple Path before your Eyes,
Nor think from Evil Good can ever rise.
(V.viii)",,21264,"","""Behold the fatal Work of my dark Hand, / That by rude Force the Passions would command, / That ruthless sought to root them from the Breast; / They may be rul'd, but will not be opprest.""","",2013-06-28 15:08:30 UTC,"Act V, scene viii"
7504,"",Reading; text from C-H Lion,2013-07-07 15:33:01 UTC,"'Tis raging noon; and, vertical, the sun
Darts on the head direct his forceful rays.
O'er heaven and earth, far as the ranging eye
Can sweep, a dazzling deluge reigns; and all
From pole to pole is undistinguish'd blaze.
In vain the sight, dejected, to the ground
Stoops for relief; thence hot-ascending steams
And keen reflection pain. Deep to the root
Of vegetation parch'd, the cleaving fields
And slippery lawn an arid hue disclose,
Blast Fancy's bloom, and wither e'en the soul.
Echo no more returns the cheerful sound
Of sharpening scythe: the mower sinking heaps
O'er him the humid hay, with flowers perfumed;
And scarce a chirping grasshopper is heard
Through the dumb mead. Distressful Nature pants.
The very streams look languid from afar;
Or, through the unshelter'd glade, impatient, seem
To hurl into the covert of the grove.
(p. 49 in Sambrook ed.)",,21470,"Similar text in 1744. Earlier editions read ""Burnt to the Heart / Are the refreshless Fields; their arid Hue / Adds a new Fever to the sickening Soul""","""Deep to the root / Of vegetation parch'd, the cleaving fields / And slippery lawn an arid hue disclose, / Blast Fancy's bloom, and wither e'en the soul.""","",2013-07-07 15:33:01 UTC,""
7505,"",Reading,2013-07-07 19:28:06 UTC,"Yet the kind source of every gentle art,
And all the soft civility of life:
Raiser of human kind! by Nature cast,
Naked, and helpless, out amid the woods
And wilds, to rude inclement elements;
With various seeds of art deep in the mind
Implanted, and profusely pour'd around
Materials infinite, but idle all.
Still unexerted, in the unconscious breast,
Slept the lethargic powers; Corruption still,
Voracious, swallow'd what the liberal hand
Of bounty scatter'd o'er the savage year:
And still the sad barbarian, roving, mix'd
With beasts of prey; or for his acorn-meal
Fought the fierce tusky boar; a shivering wretch!
Aghast, and comfortless, when the bleak north,
With Winter charged, let the mix'd tempest fly,
Hail, rain, and snow, and bitter-breathing frost:
Then to the shelter of the hut he fled;
And the wild season, sordid, pined away.
For home he had not; home is the resort
Of love, of joy, of peace and plenty, where,
Supporting and supported, polish'd friends,
And dear relations mingle into bliss.
But this the rugged savage never felt,
E'en desolate in crowds; and thus his days
Roll'd heavy, dark, and unenjoy'd along:
A waste of time! till Industry approach'd,
And roused him from his miserable sloth:
His faculties unfolded; pointed out,
Where lavish Nature the directing hand
Of art demanded; show'd him how to raise
His feeble force by the mechanic powers,
To dig the mineral from the vaulted earth,
On what to turn the piercing rage of fire,
On what the torrent, and the gather'd blast;
Gave the tall ancient forest to his axe;
Taught him to chip the wood, and hew the stone,
Till by degrees the finish'd fabric rose;
Tore from his limbs the blood-polluted fur,
And wrapt them in the woolly vestment warm,
Or bright in glossy silk, and flowing lawn;
With wholesome viands fill'd his table, pour'd
The generous glass around, inspired to wake
The life-refining soul of decent wit:
Nor stopp'd at barren bare necessity;
But still advancing bolder, led him on
To pomp, to pleasure, elegance, and grace;
And, breathing high ambition through his soul,
Set science, wisdom, glory, in his view,
And bade him be the Lord of all below.
(pp. 90-1 in Sambrook ed.)",,21489,Text from C-H Lion. Seed metaphor not explicit in 1730. ,"Yet the kind source of every gentle art, / And all the soft civility of life: / Raiser of human kind! by Nature cast, / Naked, and helpless, out amid the woods / And wilds, to rude inclement elements; / With various seeds of art deep in the mind / Implanted, and profusely pour'd around / Materials infinite, but idle all.""","",2013-07-07 19:28:06 UTC,""