text,updated_at,metaphor,created_at,context,theme,reviewed_on,dictionary,comments,provenance,id,work_id
" Whatever I behold
Is Silver all, and Indian Gold.
Croesus, and He who drank the foaming Bowl
Of floating Gold, was but a common Soul,
Compar'd to Me,
To whom the Riches of the Sea
With ev'ry Billow rowl.
No: I shall ne'er be poor, shall never pine
For want of Money, or of Wine.
Here's a whole Fleet, a Cargo come,
Some from the Streights, from the East Indies some.
Some fill my Granaries with Corn,
And some into my Coffers pour
All Pointy's pillag'd Wealth, an unexhausted Store:
Here rowls a Sea of Wine from Bourdeaux and Leghorn.
So can the pow'rful Grape our Reason cheat,
And o'er our giddy Fancy reign.
Till from the Trance recover'd, we regain
Our better Minds, and find it all Deceit.",2009-09-14 19:35:10 UTC,"""So can the pow'rful Grape our Reason cheat, / And o'er our giddy Fancy reign.""",2005-04-08 00:00:00 UTC,Stanza III,"",,"",•,"Searching ""stamp"" and ""soul"" in HDIS (Poetry); Found again ""coin""; found again ""gold""",10662,4146
"Ah cruel Nymph! of Women Thou the worst!
Thee surely Mountains bred, Thee Tygers nurst.
For Rocks and Tygers soft and human be,
If Rocks and Tygers are compar'd with Thee.
For generous Love Thou mak'st no kind Return,
Unworthy of the Flames with which I burn!
But now I come to cure my fond Disease;
This Steel thy flinty Breast will surely please.
Think not I mean thy Choler to create,
Or breed new Matter for thy Scorn or Hate.
This Gift th' unpleasing Object shall remove;
Then you will smile, you will my Pangs approve,
'Tis such a Present, such a Sight you Love.",2009-09-14 19:35:10 UTC,"""But now I come to cure my fond Disease; / This Steel thy flinty Breast will surely please.""",2005-06-13 00:00:00 UTC,"","",,"","",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),10663,4147
"[1]Tell me, some God, whence does this Change arise;
Why gentle Sleep forsakes my weary Eyes?
Why, turning often, all the tedious Night
In Pain I lie, and watch the springing Light?--
What cruel Dæmon haunts my tortur'd Mind?
Sure, if 'twere Love, I shou'd th'Invader find;
Unless disguis'd he lurks, the crafty Boy,
With silent Arts Ingenious to destroy.
Alas! 'tis so--'tis fix'd the secret Dart;
I feel the Tyrant ravaging my Heart.
Then, shall I yield; or th'Infant Flame oppose?
I yield!--Resistance wou'd increase my Woes:
For struggling Slaves a sharper Doom sustain,
Than such as stoop Obedient to the Chain.
I own thy Pow'r, Almighty Love! I'm thine;
With pinion'd Hands behold me here resign!
Let this Submission then my Life obtain;
Small Praise 'twill be, if thus unarm'd I'm slain.
Go, join thy Mother's Doves; with Myrtle braid thy Hair;
The God of War Himself a Chariot shall prepare;
Then Thou Triumphant thro' the Shouting Throng
Shalt ride, and move with Art the willing Birds along;
While Captive Youths and Maids, in solemn State
Adorn the Scene, and on thy Triumph wait.
There I, a later Conquest of thy Bow,
In Chains will follow too; and as I go,
To pitying Eyes the new-made Wound will show.
Next, all that dare Love's Sov'reign Pow'r defy,
In Fetters bound inglorious shall pass by:
All shall submit to thee--Th'applauding Crowd
Shall lift their Hands, and sing thy Praise aloud.
Soft Looks shall in thy Equipage appear,
With am'rous Play, Mistake, and jealous Fear.
Be this thy Guard, Great Love!--be this thy Train;
Since these extend o'er Men and Gods thy Reign;
But robb'd of these, thy Pow'r is weak and vain.
From Heav'n thy Mother shall the Pomp survey,
And smiling, scatter fragrant Show'rs of Roses in thy way;
Whilst Thou, array'd in thy unrivall'd Pride,
On Golden Wheels, all Gold thy Self, shalt ride:
Thy spreading Wings shall richest Di'monds wear,
And Gems shall sparkle in thy lovely Hair.
Thus passing by, thy Arm shall hurl around
Ten Thousand Fires, Ten Thousand Hearts shall wound.
This is thy Practice, Love, and this thy Gain;
From this thou canst not, if thou wou'dst, refrain;
Since e'en thy Presence, with prolifick Heat,
Does reach the Heart, and active Flames create.
From Conquer'd India, so the[2] Jovial God,
Drawn o'er the Plains by harness'd Tigers, rode.
Then since, Great Love, I take a willing Place
Amidst thy Spoils, the Sacred Show to grace;
O cease to wound, and let thy fatal Store
Of piercing Shafts be spent on me no more.
No more, too pow'rful in my Charmer's Eyes,
Torment a Slave, that for her Beauty dies;
Or look in Smiles from thence, and I shall be
A Slave no longer, but a God, like Thee!",2009-09-14 19:36:27 UTC,""" What cruel Dæmon haunts my tortur'd Mind? / Sure, if 'twere Love, I shou'd th'Invader find;""",2005-05-04 00:00:00 UTC,I've included the entire poem,"",,"","•Note 1 gives, ""In Imitation of OVID, Amorum Lib. I. Eleg. 2."" Note 2: ""BACCHUS""
•I've included twice: Haunting and Demon",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),11971,4555
" Tell me, some God, whence does this Change arise;
Why gentle Sleep forsakes my weary Eyes?
Why, turning often, all the tedious Night
In Pain I lie, and watch the springing Light?--
What cruel Dæmon haunts my tortur'd Mind?
Sure, if 'twere Love, I shou'd th'Invader find;
Unless disguis'd he lurks, the crafty Boy,
With silent Arts Ingenious to destroy.
Alas! 'tis so--'tis fix'd the secret Dart;
I feel the Tyrant ravaging my Heart.
Then, shall I yield; or th'Infant Flame oppose?
I yield!--Resistance wou'd increase my Woes:
For struggling Slaves a sharper Doom sustain,
Than such as stoop Obedient to the Chain.
I own thy Pow'r, Almighty Love! I'm thine;
With pinion'd Hands behold me here resign!
Let this Submission then my Life obtain;
Small Praise 'twill be, if thus unarm'd I'm slain.
Go, join thy Mother's Doves; with Myrtle braid thy Hair;
The God of War Himself a Chariot shall prepare;
Then Thou Triumphant thro' the Shouting Throng
Shalt ride, and move with Art the willing Birds along;
While Captive Youths and Maids, in solemn State
Adorn the Scene, and on thy Triumph wait.
There I, a later Conquest of thy Bow,
In Chains will follow too; and as I go,
To pitying Eyes the new-made Wound will show.
Next, all that dare Love's Sov'reign Pow'r defy,
In Fetters bound inglorious shall pass by:
All shall submit to thee--Th'applauding Crowd
Shall lift their Hands, and sing thy Praise aloud.
Soft Looks shall in thy Equipage appear,
With am'rous Play, Mistake, and jealous Fear.
Be this thy Guard, Great Love!--be this thy Train;
Since these extend o'er Men and Gods thy Reign;
But robb'd of these, thy Pow'r is weak and vain.
From Heav'n thy Mother shall the Pomp survey,
And smiling, scatter fragrant Show'rs of Roses in thy way;
Whilst Thou, array'd in thy unrivall'd Pride,
On Golden Wheels, all Gold thy Self, shalt ride:
Thy spreading Wings shall richest Di'monds wear,
And Gems shall sparkle in thy lovely Hair.
Thus passing by, thy Arm shall hurl around
Ten Thousand Fires, Ten Thousand Hearts shall wound.
This is thy Practice, Love, and this thy Gain;
From this thou canst not, if thou wou'dst, refrain;
Since e'en thy Presence, with prolifick Heat,
Does reach the Heart, and active Flames create.
From Conquer'd India, so the Jovial God,
Drawn o'er the Plains by harness'd Tigers, rode.
Then since, Great Love, I take a willing Place
Amidst thy Spoils, the Sacred Show to grace;
O cease to wound, and let thy fatal Store
Of piercing Shafts be spent on me no more.
No more, too pow'rful in my Charmer's Eyes,
Torment a Slave, that for her Beauty dies;
Or look in Smiles from thence, and I shall be
A Slave no longer, but a God, like Thee!",2011-07-15 14:10:26 UTC,"""Alas! 'tis so--'tis fix'd the secret Dart; / I feel the Tyrant [Love] ravaging my Heart.""",2005-05-04 00:00:00 UTC,I've included the entire poem,"",2011-07-15,"","•Note 1 gives, ""In Imitation of OVID, Amorum Lib. I. Eleg. 2."" Note 2: ""BACCHUS""
",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),11974,4555
"Nor ask who in Livonia will succeed,
Whether the Warlike Pole, or Russian Czar,
The sleeping Genius of the North will rouze,
Against the Fury of th' Unthinking Swede,
And ravish their lost Laurels from his Youthful Brows.
Or whether MARLBOROUGH designs
To storm Saar-Louis, or attack the Lines.
Campaigns, My Friend, and Sieges are
Below Thy more important Care.
Nor should such ruffling Storms molest
The Halcyon Smoothness of thy Breast
Doubt, Avarice, and the pale Multitude
Of greedy Harpyes, which intrude
Ev'n at our Meals, no Entrance find
On the strong Armour of your Mind,
Which You can straiten or unbend;
Skill'd in those generous Arts which bless
Whom Fortune and the Muse caress,
The Gentleman, the Scholar, and the Friend
",2011-05-09 20:19:35 UTC,"""Nor should such ruffling Storms molest / The Halcyon Smoothness of thy Breast / Doubt, Avarice, and the pale Multitude / Of greedy Harpyes, which intrude / Ev'n at our Meals, no Entrance find / On the strong Armour of your Mind, / Which You can straiten or unbend.""",2011-05-09 20:19:35 UTC,"","",,"","","Searching ""mind"" and ""unbend"" in HDIS (Poetry)",18372,6842
"The Man that's Resolute and Just,
Firm to his Principles and Trust,
Nor Hopes, nor Fears can blind;
No Passions his Designs controll,
Not Love, that Tyrant of the Soul,
Can shake his steddy Mind.
(p. 12, ll. 1-6)",2013-07-11 05:18:36 UTC,"""The Man that's Resolute and Just, / Firm to his Principles and Trust, / Nor Hopes, nor Fears can blind; / No Passions his Designs controll, / Not Love, that Tyrant of the Soul, / Can shake his steddy Mind.""",2013-07-11 05:18:36 UTC,"","",,"","",Searching in C-H Lion,21628,7524