work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
3648,"","Searching ""soul"" and ""mint"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-04-14 00:00:00 UTC,"Let the dull brutish World that know not Love
Continue Hereticks, and disapprove
That noble Flame; but the refined know
'Tis all the Heaven we have here below.
Nature subsists by Love, and they do tie
Things to their Causes but by Sympathy.
Love chains the different Elements in one
Great Harmony, link'd to the Heav'nly Throne.
And as on Earth, so the blest Quire above
Of Saints and Angels are maintain'd by Love;
That is their Business and Felicity,
And will be so to all Eternity.
That is the Ocean, our Affections here
Are but streams borrow'd from the Fountain there.
And 'tis the noblest Argument to prove
A Beauteous mind, that it knows how to Love:
Those kind Impressions which Fate can't controul,
Are Heaven's mintage on a worthy Soul.
For Love is all the Arts Epitome,
And is the Sum of all Divinity.
He's worse than Beast that cannot Love, and yet
It is not bought for Money, Pains or Wit;
For no chance or design can Spirits move,
But the Eternal destiny of Love:
And when two Souls are chang'd and mixed so,
It is what they and none but they can do.
This, this is Friendship, that abstracted flame
Which groveling Mortals know not how to name.
All Love is sacred, and the Marriage-tie
Hath much of Honour and Divinity.
But Lust, Design, or some unworthy ends
May mingle there, which are despis'd by Friends.
Passion hath violent extreams, and thus
All oppositions are contiguous.
So when the end is serv'd their Love will bate,
If Friendship make it not more fortunate:
Friendship, that Love's Elixir, that pure fire
Which burns the clearer' cause it burns the higher.
For Love, like earthly fires (which will decay
If the material fuel be away)
Is with offensive smoke accompanied,
And by resistance only is supplied:
But Friendship, like the fiery Element,
With its own Heat and Nourishment content,
Where neither hurt, nor smoke, nor noise is made,
Scorns the assistance of a foreign aid.
Friendship (like Heraldry) is hereby known,
Richest when plainest, bravest when alone;
Calm as a Virgin, and more Innocent
Than sleeping Doves are, and as much content
As Saints in Visions; quiet as the Night,
But clear and open as the Summer's light;
United more than Spirits Faculties,
Higher in thoughts than are the Eagle's eyes;
What shall I say? when we true friends are grown,
W'are like--Alas, w'are like our selves alone.",2007-04-26,9471,•I've included twice: Impression and Mintage. INTEREST. Here the impressions are specified as mintage.,"""Those kind Impressions which Fate can't controul, / Are Heaven's mintage on a worthy Soul.""",Coinage,2009-09-14 19:34:14 UTC,I've included entire poem
3650,"","Searching ""impression"" and ""heart"" HDIS (Poetry); found again ""head""",2005-05-16 00:00:00 UTC,"If I could ever write a lasting Verse,
It should be laid, dear Saint, upon thy Herse.
But Sorrow is no Muse, and does confess
That it least can what it would most express.
Yet that I may some bounds to grief allow,
I'le try if I can weep in Numbers now.
Ah beauteous Blossom too untimely dead!
Whither? ah whither is thy sweetness fled?
Where are the charms that alwaies did arise
From the prevailing language of thy Eyes?
Where is thy beauteous and lovely meen,
And all the wonders that in thee were seen?
Alas! in vain, in vain on thee I rave;
There is no pity in the stupid Grave.
But so the Bankrupt sitting on the brim
Of those fierce billows which had ruin'd him,
Begs for his lost Estate, and does complain
To the inexorable Flouds in vain.
As well we may enquire when Roses die,
To what retirement their sweet Odours flie;
Whither their Virtues and their Blushes haste,
When the short triumph of their life is past;
Or call their perishing Beauties back with tears,
As adde one moment to thy finish'd years.
No, thou art gone, and thy presaging Mind
So thriftily thy early hours design'd,
That hasty Death was baffled in his Pride,
Since nothing of thee but thy Body dy'd.
Thy Soul was up betimes, and so concern'd
To grasp all Excellence that could be learn'd,
That finding nothing fill her thirsting here,
To the Spring-head she went to quench it there;
And so prepar'd, that being freed from sin
She quickly might become a Cherubin.
Thou wert all Soul, and through thy Eyes it shin'd:
Asham'd and angry to be so confin'd,
It long'd to be uncag'd, and thither flown
Where it might know as clearly as 'twas known.
In these vast hopes we might thy change have found,
But that Heav'n blinds whom it decrees to wound.
For Parts so soon at so sublime a pitch,
A Judgment so mature, Fancy so rich,
Never appear unto unthankful Men,
But as a Vision to be hid again.
So glorious Seenes in Masques, Spectators view
With the short pleasure of an hour or two;
But that once past, the Ornaments are gone,
The Lights extinguish'd, and the Curtains drawn.
Yet all these Gifts were thy less noble part,
Nor was thy Head so worthy as thy Heart;
Where the Divine Impression shin'd so clear,
As snatch'd thee hence, and yet endear'd thee here:
For what in thee did most command our love
Was both the cause and sign of thy remove.
Such fools are we, so fatally we choose:
That what we most would keep we soonest loose.
The humble greatness of thy Pious thought,
Sweetness unforc'd, and Bashfulness untaught,
The native Candour of thine open breast,
And all the Beams wherein thy Worth was drest,
Thy Wit so bright, so piercing and immense,
Adorn'd with wise and lovely Innocence,
Might have foretold thou wert not so compleat,
But that our joy might be as short as great,
So the poor Swain beholds his ripened Corn
By some rough Wind without a Sickle torn.
Never, ah! never let sad Parents guess
At one remove of future happiness:
But reckon Children 'mong those passing joys
Which one hour gives, and the next hour destroys.
Alas! we were secure of our content;
But find too late that it was onely lent,
To be a Mirrour wherein we may see
How frail we are, how spotless we should be.
But if to thy blest Soul my grief appears,
Forgive and pity these injurious tears:
Impute them to Affections sad excess,
Which will not yield to Nature's tenderness,
Since 'twas through dearest ties and highest trust
Continued from thy Cradle to thy Dust;
And so rewarded and confirm'd by thine,
That (wo is me!) I thought thee too much mine.
But I'le resign, and follow thee as fast
As my unhappy Minutes will make hast.
Till when the fresh remembrances of thee
Shall be my Emblems of Mortality.
For such a loss as this (bright Soul!) is not
Ever to be repaired or forgot.",,9474,"","""Nor was thy Head so worthy as thy Heart; / Where the Divine Impression shin'd so clear""",Impression,2009-09-14 19:34:14 UTC,I've included entire poem
3661,Innate Ideas,Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2005-05-31 00:00:00 UTC,"Eternal Reason, Glorious Majesty,
Compar'd to whom what can be said to be?
Whose Attributes are Thee, who art alone
Cause of all various things, and yet but One;
Whose Essence can no more be search'd by Man,
Then Heav'n thy Throne be grasped with a Span.
Yet if this great Creation was design'd
To several ends fitted for every kind;
Sure Man (the World's Epitome must be
Form'd to the best, that is, to study thee.
And as our Dignity, 'tis Duty too,
Which is summ'd up in this, to know and do.
These comely rows of Creatures spell thy Name,
Whereby we grope to find from whence they came,
By thy own Chain of Causes brought to think
There must be one, then find that highest Link.
Thus all created Excellence we see
Is a resemblance faint and dark of thee.
Such shadows are produc'd by the Moon-beams
Of Trees or Houses in the running streams.
Yet by Impressions born with us we find
How good, great, just thou art, how unconfin'd.
Here we are swallowed up and gladly dwell,
Safely adoring what we cannot tell.
All we know is, thou art supremely good,
And dost delight to be so understood.
A spicy Mountain on the Universe,
On which thy richest Odours do disperse.
But as the Sea to fill a Vessel heaves
More greedily than any Cask receives,
Besieging round to find some gap in it,
Which will a new Infusion admit:
So dost thou covet that thou mayst dispence
Upon the empty World thy Influence;
Lov'st to disburse thy self in kindness: Thus
The King of Kings waits to be gracious.
On this account, O God, enlarge my heart
To entertain what thou wouldst fain impart.
Nor let that Soul, by several titles thine,
And most capacious form'd for things Divine,
(So nobly meant, that when it most doth miss,
'Tis in mistaken pantings after Bliss)
Degrade it self in sordid things delight,
Or by prophaner mixtures lose its right.
Oh! that with fixt unbroken thoughts it may
Admire the light which does obscure the day.
And since 'tis Angels work it hath to do,
May its composure be like Angels too.
When shall these clogs of Sense and Fancy break,
That I may hear the God within me speak?
When with a silent and retired art
Shall I with all this empty hurry part?
To the Still Voice above, my Soul, advance;
My light and joy plac'd in his Countenance.
By whose dispence my Soul to such frame brought,
My tame each trech'rous, fix each scat'ring thought;
With such distinctions all things here behold,
And so to separate each dross from gold,
That nothing my free Soul may satisfie,
But t'imitate, enjoy, and study thee.",,9489,"","""Yet by Impressions born with us we find/ How good, great, just thou art, how unconfin'd.""",Impression,2009-09-14 19:34:15 UTC,I've included entire poem
3791,"","Searching ""impression"" and ""heart"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-05-16 00:00:00 UTC,"When from so many ways Loves Arrows storm,
Who can the heedless Heart defend from harm?
Beauty and Musick must the Soul disarme;
Since Harmony, like Fire to VVax, does fit
The softned Heart Impressions to admit:
As the brisk sounds of Warr the Courage move,
Musick prepares and warms the Soul to Love.
But when the kindling Sparks such Fuel meet,
No wonder if the Flame inspir'd be great.",,9756,"•Mixes Music, Wax, and Impression. I've included thrice.","""Since Harmony, like Fire to VVax, does fit / The softned Heart Impressions to admit.""",Impression,2011-05-25 20:59:11 UTC,""
3820,"","Searching ""impression"" and ""fancy"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-05-20 00:00:00 UTC,"When unto such a Maid has given her Heart,
And said, Alone my Happiness thou art,
In thee and in thy Truth I place my Rest.
Her sad Surprize how can it be exprest,
When all on which she built her Joy she finds,
Vanish, like Clouds, disperst before the Winds;
Her self, who th' adored Idol wont to be,
A poor despis'd Idolater to see?
Regardless Tears she may profusely spend,
Unpitty'd sighs her tender Breast may rend:
But the false Image she will ne're erace,
Though far unworthy still to hold its place:
So hard it is, even Wiser grown, to take
Th' Impression out, which Fancy once did make.
Believe me Nymphs, believe my hoary hairs,
Truth and Experience waits on many years.
",,9840,"","""But the false Image she will ne're erace, / Though far unworthy still to hold its place: / So hard it is, even Wiser grown, to take / Th' Impression out, which Fancy once did make.""",Impression,2011-11-24 18:55:37 UTC,""
3853,"",Reading,2014-08-28 03:09:54 UTC,"There are a thousand things to be said of the Advantages this generous Passion brings to those, whose Hearts are capable of receiving its soft Impressions: for 'tis not every one that can be sensible of its tender Touches. How many Examples, from History and Observation, cou'd I give of its wondrous power; nay, even to a degree of Transmigration? How many Ideots has it made wise? How many Fools, eloquent? How many home-bread Squires, accomplish'd? How many Cowards, brave? And there is no sort or Species of Mankind, on whom it cannot work some Change and Miracle, if it be a noble, wellgrounded Passion, except on the Fop in fashion; the harden'd, incorrigible Fop; so often wounded, but never reclaim'd: For still, by a dire Mistake, conducted by vast Opinionatreism, and a greater portion of Self-Love, than the rest of the Race of Man, he believes that Affectation in his Mein and Dress, that Mathematical Movement, that Formality in every Action, that Face managed with Care, and softned into Ridicule, the languishing Turn, the Toss, and the Back shake of the Periwigg, is the direct Way to the Heart of the fine Person he adores; and instead of curing Love in his Soul, serves only to advance his Folly; and the more he is enamour'd, the more industriously he assumes (every Hour) the Coxcomb. These are Love's Play-things, a sort of Animals with whom he sports; and whom he never wounds, but when he is in good humour, and always shoots laughing. 'Tis the Diversion of the little God, to see what a fluttering and bustle one of these Sparks, new-wounded, makes; to what fantastick Fooleries he has recourse: The Glass is every moment call'd to Counsel, the Vallet consulted and plagu'd for new Invention of Dress, the Foot-man and Scrutore perpetually employ'd; Billetdoux and Madrigals take up all his Mornings, till Play-time in Dressing, till Night in Gazing; still, like a Sun-flower, turn'd towards the Beams of the fair Eyes of his Celia, adjusting himself in the most Amorous Posture he can assume, his Hat under his Arm, while the other Hand is put carelesly into his Bosom, as if laid upon his panting Heart; his Head a little bent to one side, supported with a world of Crevat-string, which he takes mighty care not to put into Disorder; as one may guess by a never-sailing, and horrid Stiffness in his Neck; and if he have an occasion to look aside, his whole Body turns at the same time, for fear the motion of the Head alone shou'd incommode the Crevat or Periwigg: And sometimes the Glove is well manag'd, and the white Hand displayed. Thus, with a thousand other little Motions and Formalities, all in the common Place or Rode of Foppery, he takes infinite pains to shew himself to the Pit and Boxes, a most accomplish'd Ass. This is he, of all Humane Kind, on whom Love can do no Miracles; and who can no where, and upon no Occasion, quit one Grain of his refin'd Foppery, unless in a Duel, or a Battle, if ever his Stars shou'd be so severe and ill-manner'd, to reduce him to the necessity of either: Fear then wou'd ruffle that fine Form he had so long preserved in nicest Order, with grief considering, that an unlucky, Chance-Wound in his Face, if such a dire Misfortune shou'd befal him, wou'd spoil the Sale of it for ever.
(pp. 2-5)",,24406,"","""There are a thousand things to be said of the Advantages this generous Passion brings to those, whose Hearts are capable of receiving its soft Impressions.""",Impressions,2014-08-28 03:09:54 UTC,""