work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
5771,"","Searching ""breast"" and ""cave"" in HDIS (Poetry);",2006-01-18 00:00:00 UTC,"To his illumin'd sight was then consign'd
The deep recesses of the Human Mind;
The ever-varying path of tortuous Art,
And the dark passage to the Tyrant's heart;
Th' umbrageous winding of the thorny road,
That leads to quick-ey'd Jealousy's abode;
The gath'ring storms that o'er Resentment roll;
The swelling waves that toss the fearful soul;
The calm that breathes around the Infant's rest,
The rugged cavern of the Murd'rer's breast;
The dread materials by the Furies brought,
With which are forg'd Despair's tempestuous thought;
The shaft, that, mingling pleasure with the pain,
Bathes in the blood that warms the Lover's vein.",,15378,"","To Shakespeare's illumined sight was consigned ""The rugged cavern of the Murd'rer's breast""","",2009-09-14 19:43:29 UTC,""
6052,"","Searching ""mind"" and ""conque"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-02-06 00:00:00 UTC,"'Enough--the pow'r I now bestow enjoy,
'In Virtue's cause the forceful harp employ:
'Go forth, ye glorious conquerors of the mind,
'Atchieve the hallow'd task to you assign'd:
'Applaud the valiant, and the base controul,
'Disturb, exalt, enchant the human soul.'
",,16041,""," ""Go forth, ye glorious conquerors of the mind""","",2009-09-14 19:45:30 UTC,""
6053,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2005-02-14 00:00:00 UTC,"Yon midnight bell, that frights the peaceful air!
Commands the Fathers to their wonted pray'r:
Now in long order flows the sable throng,
Like a dark, sullen stream that creeps along:
Why joins not Abelard the sainted train?
Does torpid sloth his ling'ring steps detain?
These walls, that pillow steep'd in tears, attest
That sleep is exil'd from this tortur'd breast:
This lamp proclaims the same, whose trembling beam
Guides while my hand pursues the glowing theme:
While the dread secret from my soul I tear,
And unreserv'd my bosom'd feelings bare.
Ah me! the passion that my soul misled
Was check'd, not conquer'd; buried, but not dead:
Now bursting from the grave, in evil hour,
It hastens to its prey with fiercer pow'r,
And, vulture-like, with appetite increas'd
It riots on the undiminish'd feast.
Daughter of Paraclete dost thou complain
In iron silence that I lock'd my pain?
That not to thee (soft solacer in woe)
I bad the troubled waves of Anguish flow?
Methought the course of three long years' retreat
Would scarce thy length'ning sacrifice complete:
Methought I should profane the hallow'd rite,
Did my laments thy pitying ear affright:
Thus at the altar, wrapt in holy dread,
The youth of Macedon in silence bled,
Nor from his tortur'd and consuming hand
Dismiss'd the living close-adhering brand[1].
But now thy slow inauguration's o'er,
And thou hast reach'd Religion's tranquil shore,
Now that stern habit throws without controul
Her chain of adamant around thy soul,
May not th' unhappy Abelard disclose
(To her who pities most) his train of woes?",,16042,•Rich passage,"Sleep may be ""exil'd from this tortur'd breast""
","",2009-09-14 19:45:30 UTC,""
6053,Negated Metaphor,"Searching ""conque"" and ""soul"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-02-14 00:00:00 UTC,"Yon midnight bell, that frights the peaceful air!
Commands the Fathers to their wonted pray'r:
Now in long order flows the sable throng,
Like a dark, sullen stream that creeps along:
Why joins not Abelard the sainted train?
Does torpid sloth his ling'ring steps detain?
These walls, that pillow steep'd in tears, attest
That sleep is exil'd from this tortur'd breast:
This lamp proclaims the same, whose trembling beam
Guides while my hand pursues the glowing theme:
While the dread secret from my soul I tear,
And unreserv'd my bosom'd feelings bare.
Ah me! the passion that my soul misled
Was check'd, not conquer'd; buried, but not dead:
Now bursting from the grave, in evil hour,
It hastens to its prey with fiercer pow'r,
And, vulture-like, with appetite increas'd
It riots on the undiminish'd feast.
Daughter of Paraclete dost thou complain
In iron silence that I lock'd my pain?
That not to thee (soft solacer in woe)
I bad the troubled waves of Anguish flow?
Methought the course of three long years' retreat
Would scarce thy length'ning sacrifice complete:
Methought I should profane the hallow'd rite,
Did my laments thy pitying ear affright:
Thus at the altar, wrapt in holy dread,
The youth of Macedon in silence bled,
Nor from his tortur'd and consuming hand
Dismiss'd the living close-adhering brand[1].
But now thy slow inauguration's o'er,
And thou hast reach'd Religion's tranquil shore,
Now that stern habit throws without controul
Her chain of adamant around thy soul,
May not th' unhappy Abelard disclose
(To her who pities most) his train of woes?",,16043,•I've included twice: Conquest and Burial
•Rich passage,"""Ah me! the passion that my soul misled / Was check'd, not conquer'd; buried, but not dead.""","",2009-09-14 19:45:30 UTC,""
6053,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2005-02-14 00:00:00 UTC,"Yon midnight bell, that frights the peaceful air!
Commands the Fathers to their wonted pray'r:
Now in long order flows the sable throng,
Like a dark, sullen stream that creeps along:
Why joins not Abelard the sainted train?
Does torpid sloth his ling'ring steps detain?
These walls, that pillow steep'd in tears, attest
That sleep is exil'd from this tortur'd breast:
This lamp proclaims the same, whose trembling beam
Guides while my hand pursues the glowing theme:
While the dread secret from my soul I tear,
And unreserv'd my bosom'd feelings bare.
Ah me! the passion that my soul misled
Was check'd, not conquer'd; buried, but not dead:
Now bursting from the grave, in evil hour,
It hastens to its prey with fiercer pow'r,
And, vulture-like, with appetite increas'd
It riots on the undiminish'd feast.
Daughter of Paraclete dost thou complain
In iron silence that I lock'd my pain?
That not to thee (soft solacer in woe)
I bad the troubled waves of Anguish flow?
Methought the course of three long years' retreat
Would scarce thy length'ning sacrifice complete:
Methought I should profane the hallow'd rite,
Did my laments thy pitying ear affright:
Thus at the altar, wrapt in holy dread,
The youth of Macedon in silence bled,
Nor from his tortur'd and consuming hand
Dismiss'd the living close-adhering brand[1].
But now thy slow inauguration's o'er,
And thou hast reach'd Religion's tranquil shore,
Now that stern habit throws without controul
Her chain of adamant around thy soul,
May not th' unhappy Abelard disclose
(To her who pities most) his train of woes?",,16044,•I've included twice: Resurrected Corpse and Vulture
•Rich passage,"A passion may burst ""from the grave, in evil hour"" and hasten to its prey with fiercer pow'r and ""vulture-like, with appetite increas'd"" riot on the undiminish'd feast","",2009-09-14 19:45:31 UTC,""
6053,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2005-02-14 00:00:00 UTC,"Yon midnight bell, that frights the peaceful air!
Commands the Fathers to their wonted pray'r:
Now in long order flows the sable throng,
Like a dark, sullen stream that creeps along:
Why joins not Abelard the sainted train?
Does torpid sloth his ling'ring steps detain?
These walls, that pillow steep'd in tears, attest
That sleep is exil'd from this tortur'd breast:
This lamp proclaims the same, whose trembling beam
Guides while my hand pursues the glowing theme:
While the dread secret from my soul I tear,
And unreserv'd my bosom'd feelings bare.
Ah me! the passion that my soul misled
Was check'd, not conquer'd; buried, but not dead:
Now bursting from the grave, in evil hour,
It hastens to its prey with fiercer pow'r,
And, vulture-like, with appetite increas'd
It riots on the undiminish'd feast.
Daughter of Paraclete dost thou complain
In iron silence that I lock'd my pain?
That not to thee (soft solacer in woe)
I bad the troubled waves of Anguish flow?
Methought the course of three long years' retreat
Would scarce thy length'ning sacrifice complete:
Methought I should profane the hallow'd rite,
Did my laments thy pitying ear affright:
Thus at the altar, wrapt in holy dread,
The youth of Macedon in silence bled,
Nor from his tortur'd and consuming hand
Dismiss'd the living close-adhering brand[1].
But now thy slow inauguration's o'er,
And thou hast reach'd Religion's tranquil shore,
Now that stern habit throws without controul
Her chain of adamant around thy soul,
May not th' unhappy Abelard disclose
(To her who pities most) his train of woes?",2009-07-31,16045,•I've included twice: Resurrected Corpse and Vulture
•Rich passage,"""Ah me! the passion that my soul misled / Was check'd, not conquer'd; buried, but not dead: / Now bursting from the grave, in evil hour, / It hastens to its prey with fiercer pow'r, / And, vulture-like, with appetite increas'd / It riots on the undiminish'd feast.""","",2009-09-14 19:45:31 UTC,""
6053,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2005-02-14 00:00:00 UTC,"Yon midnight bell, that frights the peaceful air!
Commands the Fathers to their wonted pray'r:
Now in long order flows the sable throng,
Like a dark, sullen stream that creeps along:
Why joins not Abelard the sainted train?
Does torpid sloth his ling'ring steps detain?
These walls, that pillow steep'd in tears, attest
That sleep is exil'd from this tortur'd breast:
This lamp proclaims the same, whose trembling beam
Guides while my hand pursues the glowing theme:
While the dread secret from my soul I tear,
And unreserv'd my bosom'd feelings bare.
Ah me! the passion that my soul misled
Was check'd, not conquer'd; buried, but not dead:
Now bursting from the grave, in evil hour,
It hastens to its prey with fiercer pow'r,
And, vulture-like, with appetite increas'd
It riots on the undiminish'd feast.
Daughter of Paraclete dost thou complain
In iron silence that I lock'd my pain?
That not to thee (soft solacer in woe)
I bad the troubled waves of Anguish flow?
Methought the course of three long years' retreat
Would scarce thy length'ning sacrifice complete:
Methought I should profane the hallow'd rite,
Did my laments thy pitying ear affright:
Thus at the altar, wrapt in holy dread,
The youth of Macedon in silence bled,
Nor from his tortur'd and consuming hand
Dismiss'd the living close-adhering brand.
But now thy slow inauguration's o'er,
And thou hast reach'd Religion's tranquil shore,
Now that stern habit throws without controul
Her chain of adamant around thy soul,
May not th' unhappy Abelard disclose
(To her who pities most) his train of woes?",2011-05-26,16046,•Rich passage,"""Now that stern habit throws without controul / Her chain of adamant around thy soul / May not th' unhappy Abelard disclose / (To her who pities most) his train of woes?""",Fetters,2011-05-26 20:50:48 UTC,""
6052,"","Searching ""engrav"" and ""heart"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-03-09 00:00:00 UTC,"'Now on the bosom of the list'ning Youth
'Impress, engrave the sacred form of Truth;
'Bid them, as varying life unfolds to view,
'Be still thro' all her scenes to honor true;
'True to the man on Friendship's list enroll'd,
'Th' entrusted secret of his soul untold.
'Woe to that Chief, and blasted be his fame,
'Whose mean soul chills Affection's holy flame;
'Forgetting that he once, with zeal impress'd,
'Drank the pure drops that flow'd from Friendship's breast.
",,16051,"","""'Now on the bosom of the list'ning Youth / 'Impress, engrave the sacred form of Truth""","",2009-09-14 19:45:32 UTC,""
6064,"","Searching ""heart"" and ""iron"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-06-07 00:00:00 UTC,"When Churchill enter'd on the critic war,
With thunder clothing his loud-crushing car;
Tho' party-zeal inflam'd his iron heart,
And prejudice sharp pointed ev'ry dart;
With glowing thoughts, his mind profusely teem'd;
And, on his burnish'd armour, Genius beam'd:
Meanwhile, th' illumin'd spirit, from her throne
Beheld his course, and ""mark'd him for her own.""",,16062,"","""Tho' party-zeal inflam'd his iron heart, / And prejudice sharp pointed ev'ry dart; / With glowing thoughts, his mind profusely teem'd.""",Metal,2013-10-12 03:43:24 UTC,""
6147,Blank Slate,"Searching ""mind"" and ""blank"" in HDIS (poetry)",2005-03-02 00:00:00 UTC,"A subject now arrests the wand'ring lay,
A theme congenial to my closing day:
Say, in the future world, to friendship true,
Shall friends with friends the social pact renew?
Search the deep record of the Sibyl's leaves,
There no instruction the blank mind receives
Bid Science spread her riches to the eye,
Consult her volume--it makes no reply!
Not all the wisdom of the wisest sage
Can break the slumber of the silent page:
In this distress, the soul, entranc'd in fright,
Looks all around, and all around is night.
At length with smiling lip, and cheering eye,
Gay Hope, the Hebe of the Christian sky,
Appears--she mitigates the circling gloom;
And o'er the cheek of Darkness throws a bloom.
Hark! now the Cherub rears her voice divine:
'To soothe the gath'ring cares of man be mine;
'Be mine to raise, endu'd with sacred power,
'The human blossom bending from the shower:
'To those now weeping o'er a kindred urn
'This bland consoling answer I return:",,16204,•REVISIT. How is the blank slate metaphor operating here?,"In the ""deep record of the Sibyl's leaves, / There no instruction the blank mind receives.""","",2009-09-14 19:46:02 UTC,""