text,updated_at,metaphor,created_at,context,theme,reviewed_on,dictionary,comments,provenance,id,work_id
"This verse, O gentle Hamilton! be thine,
(Each softer grace bedew thy darling shrine);
Nature to thee did her best gifts impart,
The mildest manners and the warmest heart;
Honour erected in thy breast its throne,
And kind Humanity was all thy own.
Yet when thy country's wrong to action moved,
You rose to save, and left that ease you loved;
For this she grieves thy early fate to see;
And 'midst her sufferings finds a tear for thee.
But thou perhaps hast well escaped her doom,
Thy eyes are closed, nor sees her ills to come;
Abandon'd o'er, to shameless men a prey,
And slow, deceiving friends, far worse than they;
The kindred triumph of thy noble blood,
Thy name enroll'd amidst the few that stood.
Fair, beaming clear, through life, the patriot flame,
And deaf to honours that begun in shame;
Each duty paid that friendship could demand;
Each nobler deed to save a destin'd land.
An age, corrupt amidst the civil storm,
Would suffer struggling Virtue to perform;
To fix his country, ever free, he tried--
Found the brave labour vain, resigned, and died.
(cf. p. 259 in 1760 ed.)",2014-08-20 04:14:08 UTC,"""Honour erected in thy breast its throne, / And kind Humanity was all thy own.""",2004-08-07 00:00:00 UTC,"","",2012-01-12,Throne,I've included the entire poem,"Searching ""throne"" and ""heart"" in HDIS (Poetry)",8482,3232
"Thus as the hero spoke, the kings divide,
And mingled murmurs round th' assembly glide,
Heard like the sound which warn the careful swain
Of sudden winds or thick descending rain;
When mountain echoes catch the sullen roar
Of billows bursting on the sandy shore,
And hurl it round in airy circles tost,
Till in the distant clouds the voice is lost.
The king of men to sudden rage resign'd,
At once, the empire of his mighty mind,
With sharp reproaches hast'ning to reply;
But, more sedate, the Pylian monarch nigh,
In act to rise, the angry chief confin'd;
And, whisp'ring, thus address'd with head declin'd:
It ill becomes the prince, whose sov'reign hand
Sways the dread scepter of supreme command,
To be the first in discord; and obey
As headlong passion blindly leads the way.
For when the kings in rash debate engage,
'Tis yours to check and moderate their rage;
Since, of the various ills that can distress
Confed'rate councils and prevent success,
Discord is chief; where'er the fury sways,
The parts she severs, and the whole betrays.",2014-02-23 21:13:24 UTC,"""The king of men to sudden rage resign'd, / At once, the empire of his mighty mind.""",2004-08-11 00:00:00 UTC,"","",,Empire,"","Searching ""mind"" and ""empire"" in HDIS (Poetry); confirmed in ECCO in 1757 edition",14264,5318
"What time your poppy-crowned God
Sends his truth-telling scouts abroad,
Ere yet the cock to matins rings,
And the lark with mounting wings,
The simple village swain has warn'd
To shake off sleep by labour earn'd;
Or on the rose's silken hem,
Aurora weeps her earliest gem;
Or beneath the opening dawn,
Smiles the fair-extended lawn.
When in the soft encircled shade
Ye find reclined the gentle maid,
Each busy motion laid to rest,
And all compos'd her peaceful breast:
Swift paint the fair internal scene,
The phantom labours of your reign;
The living imag'ry adorn
With all the limnings of the morn,
With all the treasures nature keeps
Conceal'd below the forming deeps;
Or dress'd in the rich waving pride,
That covers the green mountain's side,
Or blooms beneath the am'rous gale
In the wide embosom'd vale.
Let pow'rful Music too essay
The magic of her hidden lay:
While each harsh thought away shall fly
Down the full stream of harmony,
Compassion mild shall fill their place,
Each gentle minister of grace,
Pity, that often melts to Love,
Let weeping Pity, kind improve,
The soften'd heart, prepar'd to take
Whate'er impressions Love shall make.
Oh! in that kind, that sacred hour,
When Hate, when Anger have no pow'r;
When sighing Love, mild simple boy,
Courtship sweet, and tender joy,
Alone possess the fair one's heart;
Let me then, Fancy, bear my part.
(p. 378)",2011-07-14 21:19:35 UTC,"""The softenâd heart, prepar'd to take / Whate'er impressions Love shall make.""",2011-07-14 21:17:39 UTC,"","",,Impressions,Found this entry mistitled (it also had a strange act/scene ascription?). Googling pulled it up in Google Books. ,"Searching ""heart"" and ""impression"" in HDIS (Poetry)
",18875,6997
"Invidious Grave! how do'st thou rend in sunder
Whom Love has knit, and Sympathy made one;
A Tie more stubborn far than Nature's Band!
Friendship! Mysterious Cement of the Soul!
Sweetner of Life! and Solder of Society!
I owe thee much. Thou hast deserv'd from me,
Far, far beyond what I can ever pay.
Oft have I prov'd the Labours of thy Love,
And the warm Efforts of the gentle Heart
Anxious to please. Oh! when my Friend and I
In some thick Wood have wander'd heedless on,
Hid from the vulgar Eye; and sat us down
Upon the sloping Cowslip-cover'd Bank,
Where the pure limpid Stream has slid along
In grateful Errors thro' the Under-wood
Sweet-murmuring: Methought! the shrill-tongu'd Thrush
Mended his Song of Love; the sooty Black-bird
Mellow'd his Pipe, and soften'd ev'ry Note:
The Eglantine smell'd sweeter, and the Rose
Assum'd a Dye more deep; whilst ev'ry Flow'r
Vy'd with its Fellow-Plant in Luxury
Of Dress. Oh! then the longest Summer's Day
Seem'd too, too much in Haste: Still the full Heart
Had not imparted half: 'Twas Happiness
Too exquisite to last. Of Joys departed
Not to return, how painful the Remembrance!
(pp. 8-9, ll. 85-110)",2013-10-03 02:20:43 UTC,"""Friendship! Mysterious Cement of the Soul!""",2013-10-03 02:20:43 UTC,"","",,"","",Reading,22911,7698
"How shocking must thy Summons be, O Death !
To him that is at Ease in his Possessions;
Who counting on long Years of Pleasure here,
Is quite unfurnish'd for that World to come!
In that dread Moment, how the frantick Soul
Raves round the Walls of her Clay Tenement,
Runs to each Avenue, and shrieks for Help,
But shrieks in vain! How wishfully she looks
On all she's leaving, now no longer hers!
A little longer, yet a little longer,
Oh! might she stay, to wash away her Stains,
And fit her for her Passage! Mournful Sight!
Her very Eyes weep Blood; and every Groan
She heaves is big with Horror: But the Foe,
Like a stanch Murth'rer steady to his Purpose,
Pursues her close through ev'ry Lane of Life,
Nor misses once the Track, but presses on;
Till forc'd at last to the tremendous Verge,
At once she sinks to everlasting Ruin.
(pp. 23-4, ll. 350-368)",2013-10-03 02:22:23 UTC,"""In that dread Moment, how the frantick Soul / Raves round the Walls of her Clay Tenement, / Runs to each Avenue, and shrieks for Help, / But shrieks in vain!""",2013-10-03 02:22:23 UTC,"","",,Rooms,"",Reading,22912,7698
"Sure! 'tis a serious Thing to Die! My Soul!
What a strange Moment must it be, when near
Thy Journey's End, thou hast the Gulf in View!
That awful Gulf, no Mortal e'er repass'd
To tell what's doing on the other Side!
Nature runs back, and shudders at the Sight,
And every Life-string bleeds at Thoughts of parting!
For part they must: Body and Soul must part;
Fond Couple! link'd more close than wedded Pair.
This wings its Way to its Almighty Source,
The Witness of its Actions, now its Judge:
That drops into the dark and noisome Grave,
Like a disabled Pitcher of no Use.
(p. 24, ll. 369-381)",2013-10-03 02:23:46 UTC,"""For part they must: Body and Soul must part; / Fond Couple! link'd more close than wedded Pair.""",2013-10-03 02:23:46 UTC,"","",,Inhabitants,"",Reading,22913,7698
"Sure! 'tis a serious Thing to Die! My Soul!
What a strange Moment must it be, when near
Thy Journey's End, thou hast the Gulf in View!
That awful Gulf, no Mortal e'er repass'd
To tell what's doing on the other Side!
Nature runs back, and shudders at the Sight,
And every Life-string bleeds at Thoughts of parting!
For part they must: Body and Soul must part;
Fond Couple! link'd more close than wedded Pair.
This wings its Way to its Almighty Source,
The Witness of its Actions, now its Judge:
That drops into the dark and noisome Grave,
Like a disabled Pitcher of no Use.
(p. 24, ll. 369-381)",2013-10-03 02:25:18 UTC,"""This wings its Way to its Almighty Source, / The Witness of its Actions, now its Judge: / That drops into the dark and noisome Grave, / Like a disabled Pitcher of no Use.""",2013-10-03 02:25:18 UTC,"","",,"","",Reading,22914,7698
"[...] Here Friends and Foe
Lie close; unmindful of their former Feuds.
The Lawn-rob'd Prelate, and plain Presbyter,
E'er while that stood aloof, as shy to meet,
Familiar mingle here, like Sister-Streams
That some rude interposing Rock had split.
Here is the large-limb'd Peasant: Here the Child
Of a Span long, that never saw the Sun,
Nor press'd the Nipple, strangled in Life's Porch.
Here is the Mother with her Sons and Daughters;
The barren Wife; and long demurring Maid,
Whose lonely unappropriated Sweets
Smil'd like yon Knot of Cowslips on the Cliff,
Not to be come at by the willing Hand.
Here are the Prude severe, and gay Coquet,
The sober Widow, and the young green Virgin,
Cropp'd like a Rose, before 'tis fully blown,
Or half its Worth disclos'd. Strange Medley here!
Here garrulous Old Age winds up his Tale;
And jovial Youth of lightsome vacant Heart,
Whose ev'ry Day was made of Melody,
Hears not the Voice of Mirth: The shrill-tongu'd Shrew,
Meek as the Turtle-Dove, forgets her Chiding.
Here are the Wise, the Generous, and the Brave;
The Just, the Good, the Worthless, the Prophane,
The downright Clown, and perfectly Well-bred;
The Fool, the Churl, the Scoundrel, and the Mean,
The supple Statesman, and the Patriot stern;
The Wrecks of Nations, and the Spoils of Time,
With all the Lumber of Six Thousand Years.
(pp. 32-3, ll. 511-512)",2013-10-03 02:28:00 UTC,"""Here garrulous Old Age winds up his Tale; / And jovial Youth of lightsome vacant Heart, / Whose ev'ry Day was made of Melody, / Hears not the Voice of Mirth.""",2013-10-03 02:28:00 UTC,"","",,"","",Reading,22915,7698
"Poor Man! how happy once in thy first State!
When yet but warm from thy great Maker's Hand,
He stamp'd thee with his Image, and well pleas'd
Smil'd on his last fair Work. Then all was well.
Sound was the Body, and the Soul serene;
Like two sweet Instruments ne'er out of Tune,
That play their several Parts. Nor Head, nor Heart,
Offer'd to ache: Nor was there Cause they should;
For all was pure within: No fell Remorse,
Nor anxious Castings up of what might be,
Alarm'd his peaceful Bosom: Summer Seas
Shew not more smooth, when kiss'd by Southern Winds
Just ready to expire. Scarce importun'd
The generous Soil with a luxuriant Hand
Offer'd the various Produce of the Year,
And every Thing most perfect in its Kind.
Blessed! thrice blessed Days! But Ah, how short!
Bless'd as the pleasing Dreams of Holy Men;
But fugitive like those, and quickly gone.
Oh! slipp'ry State of Things! What sudden Turns?
What strange Vicissitudes, in the first Leaf
Of Man's sad History? To-day most Happy,
And 'ere To morrow's Sun has set, most Abject!
How scant the Space between these vast Extremes!
Thus far'd it with our Sire: Not long he' enjoy'd
His Paradise! Scarce had the happy Tenant
Of the fair Spot due Time to prove its Sweets,
Or sum them up; when strait he must be gone
Ne'er to return again. And must he go?
Can nought compound for the first dire Offence
Of erring Man? Like one that is condemn'd
Fain would he trifle Time with idle Talk,
And parley with his Fate. But 'tis in vain.
Not all the lavish Odours of the Place
Offer'd in Incense can procure his Pardon,
Or mitigate his Doom. A mighty Angel
With flaming Sword forbids his longer Stay,
And drives the Loit'rer forth; nor must he take
One last and farewel Round. At once he lost
His Glory and his God. If mortal now,
And sorely maim'd, No Wonder! Man has sinn'd.
Sick of his Bliss, and bent on new Adventures,
Evil he wou'd needs try: Nor try'd in vain.
(Dreadful Experiment! Destructive Measure!
Where the worst Thing could happen, is Success.)
(pp. 33-4, ll. 541-585)",2013-10-03 02:29:28 UTC,"""Sound was the Body, and the Soul serene; / Like two sweet Instruments ne'er out of Tune, / That play their several Parts.""",2013-10-03 02:29:28 UTC,"","",,"","",Reading,22916,7698
"Poor Man! how happy once in thy first State!
When yet but warm from thy great Maker's Hand,
He stamp'd thee with his Image, and well pleas'd
Smil'd on his last fair Work. Then all was well.
Sound was the Body, and the Soul serene;
Like two sweet Instruments ne'er out of Tune,
That play their several Parts. Nor Head, nor Heart,
Offer'd to ache: Nor was there Cause they should;
For all was pure within: No fell Remorse,
Nor anxious Castings up of what might be,
Alarm'd his peaceful Bosom: Summer Seas
Shew not more smooth, when kiss'd by Southern Winds
Just ready to expire. Scarce importun'd
The generous Soil with a luxuriant Hand
Offer'd the various Produce of the Year,
And every Thing most perfect in its Kind.
Blessed! thrice blessed Days! But Ah, how short!
Bless'd as the pleasing Dreams of Holy Men;
But fugitive like those, and quickly gone.
Oh! slipp'ry State of Things! What sudden Turns?
What strange Vicissitudes, in the first Leaf
Of Man's sad History? To-day most Happy,
And 'ere To morrow's Sun has set, most Abject!
How scant the Space between these vast Extremes!
Thus far'd it with our Sire: Not long he' enjoy'd
His Paradise! Scarce had the happy Tenant
Of the fair Spot due Time to prove its Sweets,
Or sum them up; when strait he must be gone
Ne'er to return again. And must he go?
Can nought compound for the first dire Offence
Of erring Man? Like one that is condemn'd
Fain would he trifle Time with idle Talk,
And parley with his Fate. But 'tis in vain.
Not all the lavish Odours of the Place
Offer'd in Incense can procure his Pardon,
Or mitigate his Doom. A mighty Angel
With flaming Sword forbids his longer Stay,
And drives the Loit'rer forth; nor must he take
One last and farewel Round. At once he lost
His Glory and his God. If mortal now,
And sorely maim'd, No Wonder! Man has sinn'd.
Sick of his Bliss, and bent on new Adventures,
Evil he wou'd needs try: Nor try'd in vain.
(Dreadful Experiment! Destructive Measure!
Where the worst Thing could happen, is Success.)
(pp. 33-4, ll. 541-585)",2013-10-03 02:30:51 UTC,"""For all was pure within: No fell Remorse, / Nor anxious Castings up of what might be, / Alarm'd his peaceful Bosom: Summer Seas / Shew not more smooth, when kiss'd by Southern Winds / Just ready to expire.""",2013-10-03 02:30:51 UTC,"","",,"","",Reading,22917,7698