text,updated_at,metaphor,created_at,context,theme,reviewed_on,dictionary,comments,provenance,id,work_id
"Objects, which thro' the Senses make their Way,
And just Impressions to the Soul convey,
Give her Occasion first her self to move,
And to exert her Hatred, or her Love.
Ideas, which to some impulsive seem,
Act not upon the Mind, but That on them.
When she to foreign Objects Audience gives,
Their Strokes and Motions in the Brain perceives,
As these Perceptions we Ideas name,
From her own Pow'r and active Nature came,
So when discern'd by Intellectual Light,
Her self her various Passions does excite,
To Ill her Hate, to Good her Appetite:
To shun the first, the latter to procure,
She chuses Means by free Elective Pow'r.
She can their various Habitudes survey,
Debate their Fitness, and their Merit weigh,
And while the Means suggested she compares,
She to the Rivals This or That prefers.
(VII, ll. 446-464, pp. 338-9)
",2013-08-07 14:31:35 UTC,"""Objects, which thro' the Senses make their Way, / And just Impressions to the Soul convey, Give her Occasion first her self to move, / And to exert her Hatred, or her Love.""",2005-05-17 00:00:00 UTC,Book VII,"",,Impressions,•INTEREST. RICH passage. ,"Searching ""soul"" and ""impression"" in HDIS (Poetry)",10780,4167
"These Out-guards of the Mind are sent abroad,
And still patrolling beat the neighb'ring Road:
Or to the Parts remote obedient fly,
Keep Posts advanc'd, and on the Frontier lye.
The watchful Centinels at ev'ry Gate,
At ev'ry Passage to the Senses wait.
Still travel to and fro the Nervous way,
And their Impressions to the Brain convey,
Where their Report the Vital Envoys make,
And with new Orders are remanded back.
Quick, as a darted Beam of Light, they go,
Thro' diff'rent Paths to diff'rent Organs flow,
Whence they reflect as swiftly to the Brain,
To give it Pleasure, or to give it Pain.
(VI, ll. 670-683, pp. 305-6)",2013-08-07 14:45:08 UTC,"""Still travel to and fro the Nervous way, / And their Impressions to the Brain convey, / Where their Report the Vital Envoys make, / And with new Orders are remanded back.""",2005-05-18 00:00:00 UTC,Book VI,"",,Inhabitants,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),10784,4167
"Thou know'st the secret Soul's imperial Throne
Surrounded with thick Darkness, like thy own,
Where she to all the Senses Audience gives,
Appoints their Tasks, their Messages receives,
And passes Judgement in her Sov'reign Court
On every Envoy's true or false Report;
How her sole Nod our Motions does controul,
And guide the various Parts to serve the Whole;
Can'st say what diff'rent Turns the Spirits take,
When they of diff'rent Kinds Impressions make;
What vital Springs those Spirits in their Flight
Strike to cause Torment, what to give Delight;
Can'st tell the Manner how the Actors move,
When they excite our Anger or our Love,
By what Contrivance and mechanick Art
Our Passions interrupt the beating Heart;
How they encrease the vital Lab'rour's Toil,
When they constrain the Blood to freeze or boil;
Whence martial Ardour warms the Heroe's Breast,
How shiv'ring Fears th' arterial Flood arrest;
How active Joy dilates the swelling Veins,
And Shame the modest Face with Blushes stains:
Thou know'st these Secrets, and ten thousand more,
Which narrow-sighted Man can ne'er explore,
Who to a high Conceit of Wit arrives,
Yet knows not how he thinks, or moves, or lives,
(pp. 100-1)",2012-01-10 16:58:09 UTC,"""Can'st say what diff'rent Turns the Spirits take, / When they of diff'rent Kinds Impressions make; / What vital Springs those Spirits in their Flight / Strike to cause Torment, what to give Delight.""",2004-07-28 00:00:00 UTC,End of Book III,"",2012-01-10,Impressions,"""Thou"" is God. Alfred performs after a banquet. ",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),11340,4339
"In man, the more we dive, the more we see
Heaven's signet stamping an immortal make.
Dive to the bottom of his soul, the base
Sustaining all, what find we? Knowledge, love.
As light and heat essential to the sun,
These to the soul. And why, if souls expire?
How little lovely here! How little known!
Small knowledge we dig up with endless toil;
And love unfeign'd may purchase perfect hate.
Why starved, on earth, our angel-appetites,
While brutal are indulged their fulsome fill?
Were then capacities Divine conferr'd,
As a mock diadem, in savage sport,
Rank insult of our pompous poverty,
Which reaps but pain from seeming claims so fair?
In future age lies no redress? and shuts
Eternity the door on our complaint?
If so, for what strange ends were mortals made!
The worst to wallow, and the best to weep;
The man who merits most, must most complain.
Can we conceive a disregard in Heaven,
What the worst perpetrate, or best endure?
(ll 253-174, pp. 185-6)",2013-06-12 15:34:18 UTC,"""In man, the more we dive, the more we see / Heaven's signet stamping an immortal make.""",2013-06-12 15:34:18 UTC,Night the Seventh,"",,Impressions,"",Reading,20552,7411