updated_at,id,text,theme,metaphor,work_id,reviewed_on,provenance,created_at,comments,context,dictionary
2013-10-15 18:05:20 UTC,16030,"On a shelf,
(Yclept a mantle-piece) a phial stands,
Half fill'd with potent spirits!--spirits strong,
Which sometimes haunt the poet's restless brain,
And fill his mind with fancies whimsical.
Poor poet! happy art thou, thus remov'd
From pride and folly! for in thy domain
Thou can'st command thy subjects; fill thy lines;
Wield th' all-conqu'ring weapon heav'n bestows
On the grey goose's wing! which, tow'ring high,
Bears thy sick fancy to immortal fame!
","","""On a shelf, / (Yclept a mantle-piece) a phial stands, / Half fill'd with potent spirits!--haunt the poet's restless brain, / And fill his mind with fancies whimsical.""",6045,,"Searching ""haunt"" and ""mind"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2004-06-08 00:00:00 UTC,"","",""
2009-09-14 19:45:28 UTC,16031,"On a shelf,
(Yclept a mantle-piece) a phial stands,
Half fill'd with potent spirits!--spirits strong,
Which sometimes haunt the poet's restless brain,
And fill his mind with fancies whimsical.
Poor poet! happy art thou, thus remov'd
From pride and folly! for in thy domain
Thou can'st command thy subjects; fill thy lines;
Wield th' all-conqu'ring weapon heav'n bestows
On the grey goose's wing! which, tow'ring high,
Bears thy sick fancy to immortal fame!
","",The fancy may be sick (and borne on a grey goose wing to immortal fame),6045,,Searching HDIS (Poetry),2004-06-08 00:00:00 UTC,"","",""
2009-09-14 19:45:29 UTC,16036,"As Reason, fairest daughter of the skies,
Explor'd the vale, where mortal mis'ry lies;
Led on by fortitude, with eye serene,
She mark'd each object of the varying scene;
In every maze of busy life she found
Some hidden snare, some agonizing wound;
For each her hand display'd a precious balm,
Whose pow'r divine the tortur'd soul could calm;
Till midway, on a rock of dreadful height,
The Cave of cureless woe assail'd her wond'ring sight!
On the bleak threshold, with'ring and forlorn,
Heart-wounded Melancholy sat reclin'd!
The rude blast scatter'd her dishevell'd hair;
Round her cold brow the deadly nightshade twin'd!
Near, on a craggy point, stood wild despair,
Whose pangs supreme all lesser miseries scorn!
And as the gaunt tormentor, smiling, view'd
The pensive child of Sorrow, soul-subdu'd;
With taunting mien, she beckon'd from below
The fierce, relentless bands of desolating woe!
First, swift as lightning up the flinty steep
Impatience flew, barefooted, out of breath;
Scorning the perils of the dreadful sweep;
Heedless of wounding thorns, and threat'ning Death.
Eager to rush the foremost of the train,
She fear'd not danger, and she felt not pain:
With longing eye she view'd the tow'ring height;
From peak to peak, quick climbing with delight,
She pass'd the fatal cave; then turning short,
Fell headlong from the rock, of ev'ry fiend the sport!
Then horror darted forth, in wild amaze!
Her hair erect, with pois'nous hemlock bound;
Her straining eye-balls flashing fires around,
While nature trembled at her potent gaze!
Swift to the dizzy precipice she flew,
As, aiming with impetuous force to throw
Her giant form amidst the gulph below!
When, from an ivy'd nook obscure, pale fear
Peep'd forth, slow whisp'ring to her startled ear,
""Think not the pow'r of death thy mis'ries will subdue!""
Then Horror bent her blood-shot eyes below,
Where, by a group of demons compass'd round,
Lay suicide accurs'd! from many a wound
On his bare bosom did life's fountain flow!
Now shame, with cheeks by burning blushes fir'd,
And skulking Cowardice, in haste retir'd!
While conscience plac'd beneath his fev'rish head
A pillow dire, with thorns and nettles spread;
And guilt, with all the scorpions of her train,
Oped to his fainting eyes eternity of Pain!
Then luxury approach'd on couch of down!
Drawn by her offspring, folly and disease,
Flush'd Pleasure decking her with roseate crown,
And bow'd obedience, ever prone to please,
Waiting her nod! languid she seemed, and pale,
Restless, and sated with voluptuous fare;
Beside her pillow, hung with trappings rare,
Stood trembling palsy, ready to assail;
And writhing agony, and slow decay,
And hood-winked vice abhorr'd, that shunn'd the eye of day.
Next, with a solemn, slow, and feeble pace,
Came silent poverty, in tatter'd vest!
The frequent tears, that glisten'd on her breast,
Had fretted channels down her meagre face!
A rabble crew of idiots dinn'd her ear:
While mean reproach came smiling in the rear.
With firm, yet modest look, she pass'd along;
Nor sought relief, nor mark'd the taunting throng;
While her wrung heart, still scorning to complain,
Suppress'd the rending groan, and throbb'd with proud disdain.
Close at her heels, insidious envy crept;
The imp, deform'd and horrible in shape,
Mock'd, when the slow-consuming victim wept,
Pointing, and grinning, like a wither'd ape:
About her throat, the asp detraction clung,
Scatt'ring destructive poisons from her tongue!
She wav'd a blasted laurel o'er her head,
Stol'n from the sacred ashes of the dead;
Inly she pin'd; while in her panting breast,
Shrunk ignorance struck its fangs, to banish gentle rest.
In a lone corner, almost hid in shade,
With downcast eye, sat unrequited love!
As from their hollow cell the slow tears stray'd,
A willow garland for his brow he wove!
Low at his feet, bare Madness laid his head,
Rattling his chains, upon his flinty bed!
Rous'd from his stupor by the clanking sound,
The pensive youth gaz'd fearfully around;
And wond'ring to behold such mis'ry near,
Forgot his mournful wreath, and dropp'd a pitying tear.
Now, lab'ring up the flinty winding road,
Laden with treasure, bending to the ground,
Appear'd lean avarice! the pond'rous load
Seem'd his weak shoulders every step to wound:
One thread-bare garb hung on his aged form;
Scant covering from the bleak and wintry storm!
Before him famine went, a thing decay'd;
And dark suspicion, grasping at a shade!
While fraud, low crawling, mock'd the reptile's art,
Pilfer'd the scatter'd gold, and wrung the miser's heart!
Next came deceit, with smooth and fawning tongue,
Glozing with praises every thing debas'd;
To shield her breast, a flattering mirror hung;
A tinsel zone shone dazzling round her waist!
Her hand, conceal'd beneath her flimsy vest,
Clasp'd a keen dagger, ready to destroy;
Content she seem'd, though, in her cunning breast,
Her coward soul shrunk from the touch of joy;
Her humble voice the list'ning ear beguil'd,
While, with infernal art, she murder'd as she smil'd.
Now through the cavern rush'd with iron hand
Oppression insolent! his arm he rais'd,
Waving his spear, with absolute command,
While ev'ry subject fiend retir'd, amaz'd!
At awful distance, trembling, prostrate round,
The sons of pining slav'ry kiss'd the ground;
Till, darting forward, o'er the abject crowd,
With voice exulting, menacing, and loud,
Insatiate vengeance snatch'd the up-rais'd lance,
While bold oppression's arm fell nerveless at his glance.
Next Pride came forward, gorgeously array'd;
His brow a starry wreath of gems compress'd;
In his right hand a sceptre he display'd;
A robe of costly ermine wrapp'd his breast!
Enthron'd, sublime, above the wond'ring race,
Immortal beauties seem'd to deck his face!
His eye assum'd pre-eminence of sway;
He reign'd the gilded idol of the day;
Till death, his dread supremacy to shew,
Struck at the vaunting wretch, and laid his sceptre low.
Now, rattling o'er the teeming plains afar,
Came glitt'ring wealth, in his resplendent car!
His rapid course swift-footed Toil pursu'd
With sinewy limbs, and brown sun-freckled breast;
The lord of luxury his vassal view'd,
And, smiling, lifted high his haughty crest!
But, when neglected toil at length retir'd,
The short-liv'd glories of his brow expir'd;
Around his eager eyes he roll'd in vain;
Ingratitude appear'd, and claim'd her turn to reign!
At her approach, the fatal cavern rung:
Loud shouts of horror rent the vaulted stone!
All lesser Fiends their heads in sorrow hung;
Omnipotent in ill, she grasp'd the infernal throne!
Then reason mark'd her blest associate fly;
And shudd'ring at the scene, re-sought her native sky!","","""As Reason, fairest daughter of the skies, / Explor'd the vale, where mortal mis'ry lies; / Led on by fortitude, with eye serene, / She mark'd each object of the varying scene.""",6047,2009-06-09,HDIS,2004-07-27 00:00:00 UTC,•INTEREST. Poem-length extended allegory. ,I've included the entire poem,""
2013-10-15 18:20:18 UTC,16047,"A thousand torments wait on love;
The sigh, the tear, the anguish'd groan!
But he who never learnt to prove
A jealous pang, has nothing known.
For jealousy, supreme of woe,
Nurs'd by distorted fancy's pow'r,
Can round the heart bid mis'ry grow,
Which darkens with the ling'ring hour;
While shadows, blanks to reason 's orb,
In dread succession haunt the brain;
And pangs, that ev'ry pang absorb,
In wild convulsive tumults reign.
At morn, at eve, the fever burns,
While phantoms tear the aching breast;
Day brings no calm, and night returns,
But marks no soothing hour of rest.
Nor when the bosom's wasted fires
Are all extinct, is anguish o'er;
For jealousy, which ne'er expires,
Can wound--when passion is no more.
(Cf. Vol. I, p. 290 in 1797 printing)","","""While shadows, blanks to reason's orb, / In dread succession haunt the brain""",6054,,Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2005-03-07 00:00:00 UTC,•INTEREST. REVISIT. Untitled in 1797 printing (embedded in novel).,I've included the entire poem,""
2011-11-24 19:57:42 UTC,16049,"When the shadows of twilight steal over the plain,
And the Nightingale pours its lorn plaint in the grove;
Ah! will not the fondness that thrills thro' the strain,
Then recall to my mind his dear accents of Love!
Then spare, thou sweet Urchin, thou soother of pain,
Oh! spare the soft picture engrav'd on my heart;
As a record of Love let it ever remain;
My bosom thy tablet--thy pencil a dart.","","""Then spare, thou sweet Urchin, thou soother of pain, / Oh! spare the soft picture engrav'd on my heart; / As a record of Love let it ever remain; / My bosom thy tablet--thy pencil a dart.""",6055,2011-11-24,Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2005-03-08 00:00:00 UTC,"The ""sweet Urchin"" is Love.
•There are category issues here. Engraving may belong to both Writing and the Visual Arts. Here is seems (at the mention of the picture) that the engraving belongs to the category of Visual Arts.
This was two entries: I combined them (11/24/2011).",Final Stanzas.,""
2012-01-09 18:26:07 UTC,16053,"'Mid the grey horrors of his narrow cell,
The wasted monk is seen. His silv'ry beard
Falls, like Helvetia's snow, half down his breast,
Shading his frozen heart. A torpid spell
Benumbs life's fountain, while the feeble pulse
Marks the slow progress of time's weary course,
With languid circulation. Ev'ry clock
That sounds the passing hour, appears the knell
Which warns him to oblivion. A coarse garb
Hangs round his meagre frame; his hollow cheek,
Shrivell'd with frequent fasting as with age,
Scarce hides his bony jaws. Beneath his cowl,
His dimly-gleaming eyes, sunk in their cells,
And glaz'd with midnight watching, ask of Heav'n
A solitary grave. Poor, breathing ghost!
Tell that still questioner, thy weary mind,
'Twas not for cloister'd, visionary glooms,
For castigation and sequester'd hours,
For cold inanity, life's conscious death,
That nature gave thee strength in busy scenes
To act a nobler part. Misguided monk!
Thou wretched slave of bigotry and fraud!
Was it to gabble o'er a canting tale,
To trim the wasting lamp, to wear away
The flinty pavement with thy wounded knees,
To scourge thy meagre flesh, embrace cold saints,
To starve thy appetites, till ev'ry bone
Shews what a wretched, ghastly thing thou art,
Robb'd of thy outward form? Was it for this
That reason dawn'd upon thy op'ning youth;
And science smil'd, while love, with sportive mein,
Danc'd gaily on, leading expectant joys
Which told thee thou wert man? O! did the spark,
Th' electric spark which kindles fancy's fire,
Ne'er in perspective bright unfold such scenes
As bade thy bosom glow, ambition warm'd,
Or melt in rapt'rous visions? What art thou?
Deluded, sad, forgotten! Like a tree
Plac'd on a blasted desert, where no sun
Visits the sapless trunk, but all around
One gloom perpetual reigns. Where are thy pow'rs?
Where the perception strong, the active mind,
Th' ethereal essence that expands the heart;
The depth of knowledge, and the will to act?
Where is the stamp which marks th' immortal soul,
And places thee above the growling brute?
Shrouded by superstition, chain'd by fear,
Benumb'd by long seclusion from the world;
While naught remains, but a lean, wither'd form,
Inert, enfeebl'd, useless, and debased!
The Indian wild, that roves the pathless steep,
Chasing the famish'd wolf, or savage bear,
Anticipates the hour when to his hut
He drags the bleeding spoil, and shouts, and sings,
In social feasting with his untaught tribes;
The blazing fire encircled, sheds a glow
On the brown cheek, and gilds the gloomy hour
Of wint'ry desolation!--O'er his hut,
Scoop'd in the snowy ridge or flinty rock,
The blast howls horrible, while the gaunt beast,
That roves for prey, fills up the sullen pause
With yell'd defiance.--On the distant shore
The white surge dashes, with a fateful sound,
While the wreck'd mariner the slipp'ry steep
Climbs desperately bold. List'ning he hears
The deaf'ning din of elements combin'd;
Where clouds embattled mingle; while beneath
Waves roll on waves, curling their tyrant heads
In wild fantastic fury. From the cliff
The sea-bird screams, while the half-shrouded moon
Throws its dim light upon the world below,
Frozen and desolate. Yet ev'n there
Man is the friend of man! While the rude grasp,
The deaf'ning war-hoop, or the uncouth garb,
Shews, with fantastic gestures, the caprice
Of ever-varying nature. But, for thee,
O solitary monk! no cheerful hour
Shall mark the summer morn, or deck the wing
Of time with sunny lustre! all, yes all,
To thee shall seem a blank; a dreadful blank,
Veiling the face of nature, while her voice
Whispers reproof; reproof that will be heard
Ev'n in the cloister's melancholy shade;
Till death shall close the tablet of thy fate,
Nor leave one friend, to pity or to praise.
Explore the dungeon's gloom, where, all alone,
The homicide expires; the guilty wretch,
Whose hands are steep'd in gore; whose timid soul,
The mild and pitying angel, hope, forsakes,
While all the demons of despair and hell
Howl in his startled ears! His weary hours
Have many a season pass'd, since to his cheek
The breeze of heav'n gave freshness; since his lip
Imbib'd th' ethereal spirit of the morn,
Or balmy sleep, the opiate of the mind,
Lull'd the sick sense of sorrow. If his brain
Snatches a transitory dream of peace;
If, wearied by perpetual, painful thought,
A short, but broken slumber fills the throne
Of tott'ring intellect: sudden and fierce
Some shriek appalling, or some spectre dire,
Taunts him to waking madness, and again
The mental fever rages! Down his cheek
The scalding tear rolls fast. His bloodshot eyes
Glare motionless and wide, as if their sense
Turn'd inward on his soul. His quiv'ring lip,
Drain'd of the life-stream by the conscious fiend,
Mutters a brief appeal to angry heav'n,
Then freezes into death. No friendly hand
Closes the beamless eye: no kindred breast
Sustains the livid cheek, grief-worn and mark'd
With water-fretted channels. His bow'd head,
Silver'd by sorrow in the prime and pride
Of lusty youth, shews like a goodly tree,
Frost-nipp'd and drooping. Wretched homicide!
Whom did he kill? The minion of his foe;
The sordid Steward, whose infuriate rage
Snatch'd from his helpless babes the well-earn'd store
Of many a toilsome hour; the pamper'd slave,
Whose mind, grown callous by oppression's task,
Repell'd compunctuous pity.--Ask thy heart,
Divine philanthropist! who rais'd his hand
Against the caitiff's life? The caitiff's self!
The petty tyrant, who with barb'rous wrongs
Propell'd him on to sin. For reason's breast,
Arm'd 'gainst oppression, in resistance strong,
Can combat giant fierceness; and tho' oft
By subtle malice vanquish'd or betray'd,
Still owns the plea of nature! In his low cell
The patient child of persecution sits,
Pensively sad. His uncomplaining tongue,
His stedfast eye, his lean and pallid cheek,
Grac'd with the stamp of dignified disdain,
Wait the approach of death. No haggard glance
Ruffles the placid orb, whose lustre, dimm'd
By dungeon vapours, like a dewy star,
Gleams 'midst surrounding darkness. On his lip
Smiles innocence, enthron'd in modest pride,
And eloquently silent! On his breast
His folded arms (shielding his guiltless heart
From the damp poisons of a living grave),
Are firmly interwoven; while his soul,
Calm as the martyr at the kindling pyre,
Holds strong with resignation. Who will now
Breathe the contagious mischiefs of his cell?
Who quit the gorgeous splendours of the sun,
To watch with him the slowly-wasting lamp,
Dim with obtrusive vapours? Who will share
The bread of misery, and with the breath
Of sympathy more palatable make
The cup of human sorrow? Who resign
The midnight revelry of happier scenes,
Turn from the banquet and illumin'd hall,
The throne of flaunting beauty, gaily deck'd,
The costly shews of life, to count with him
The silent hours of anguish? Tell, O truth!
Thou heav'n-descended judge! what has he done?
Has he refus'd to bend the flexile knee
Before the blood-stain'd foot of ruthless pow'r?
To fawn upon the bloated, lordly fool,
Who claim'd his vassalage? Has he refus'd
To load the groaning altars of the church;
Libell'd, by truth, some wanton, courtly dame;
Or, like an arrogant, rebellious knave,
Dar'd talk of freedom? Say, O vengeful man!
Are these thy destin'd victims? Is it thus
Thou deal'st the meed of justice? Dost thou think
Thy petty rage will sever them from him,
Whose attribute is mercy, and whose grace
Mocks all distinctions? O! let nature speak,
And with instinctive force inform thy soul,
That liberty, the choicest boon of heav'n,
Is reason's birth-right, and the gift of God!","","""Where is the stamp which marks th' immortal soul, / And places thee above the growling brute?""",6058,,"Searching ""soul"" and ""stamp"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-04-08 00:00:00 UTC,"","Final Stanzas.
The ""sweet Urchin"" is Love.",""
2009-09-14 19:45:33 UTC,16054,"Oft have I seen yon solitary man
Pacing the upland meadow. On his brow
Sits melancholy, mark'd with decent pride,
As it would fly the busy taunting world,
And feed upon reflection. Sometimes, near
The foot of an old tree, he takes his seat,
And with the page of legendary lore
Cheats the dull hour, while Evening's sober eye
Looks tearful as it closes. In the dell
By the swift brook he loiters, sad and mute,
Save when a struggling sigh, half murmur'd, steals
From his wrung bosom. To the rising Moon,
His eye rais'd wistfully, expression fraught,
He pours the cherish'd anguish of his soul,
Silent, yet eloquent: For not a sound
That might alarm the night's lone centinel,
The dull-ey'd Owl, escapes his trembling lip,
Unapt in supplication. He is young,
And yet the stamp of thought so tempers youth,
That all its fires are faded. What is He?
And why, when morning sails upon the breeze,
Fanning the blue hill's summit, does he stay
Loit'ring and sullen, like a truant boy,
Beside the woodland glen; or stretch'd along
On the green slope, watch his slow wasting form
Reflected, trembling, on the river's breast?","","""He is young, / And yet the stamp of thought so tempers youth, / That all its fires are faded""",6059,,"Searching ""stamp"" and ""thought"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-04-09 00:00:00 UTC,"","",""
2009-09-14 19:45:36 UTC,16070,"But when thy true poetic lays,
Pierce to the Heart's remotest cell;
We feel the conscious innate praise,
Which feeble language fails to tell.
","","""But when thy true poetic lays, / Pierce to the Heart's remotest cell; / We feel the conscious innate praise""",6070,,"Searching ""heart"" and ""cell"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-08-16 00:00:00 UTC,"",Tributary Poems,Rooms
2013-10-15 17:59:06 UTC,16085,"One dreary night, when winter's icy breath
Half petrified the scene, when not a star
Gleam'd o'er the bleak infinity of space,
Sudden the Hermit started from his couch
With painful agitation. On his cheek
The blanch'd interpreter of horror mute
Sat terribly impressive! In his breast
The ruddy fount of life convulsive flow'd,
And his broad eyes, fix'd motionless as death,
Gaz'd vacantly aghast! His feeble lamp
Was wasting rapidly; the biting gale
Pierc'd the thin texture of his narrow cell;
And silence, like a fearful centinel
Marking the peril which awaited near,
Conspir'd with sullen night to wrap the scene
In tenfold horrors. Thrice he rose, and thrice
His feet recoil'd; and still the livid flame
Lengthen'd and quiver'd as the moaning wind
Pass'd thro' the rushy crevice, while his heart
Beat, like the death-watch, in his shudd'ring breast.
(Cf. pp. 91-2 in 1800 Lyrical Tales)","","""Thrice he rose, and thrice / His feet recoil'd; and still the livid flame / Lengthen'd and quiver'd as the moaning wind / Pass'd thro' the rushy crevice, while his heart / Beat, like the death-watch, in his shudd'ring breast.""",6076,,"Searching ""breast"" and ""watch"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2006-11-16 00:00:00 UTC,"","",""
2013-06-13 16:17:35 UTC,20623,"Sonnet LXXXV.
The fairest flowers are gone! for tempests fell,
And with wild wing swept some unblown away,
While on the upland lawn or rocky dell
More faded in the day-star's ardent ray;
And scarce the copse, or hedge-row shade beneath,
Or by the runnel's grassy course appear
Some lingering blossoms of the earlier year,
Mingling bright florets, in the yellow wreath
That Autumn with his poppies and his corn
Binds on his tawny temples--So the schemes
Rais'd by fond Hope in youth's unclouded morn,
While sanguine youth enjoys delusive dreams,
Experience withers; till scarce one remains
Flattering the languid heart, where only Reason reigns!","","""So the schemes / Rais'd by fond Hope in youth's unclouded morn, / While sanguine youth enjoys delusive dreams, / Experience withers; till scarce one remains / Flattering the languid heart, where only Reason reigns!""",7432,,Reading,2013-06-13 16:17:16 UTC,"","",""