work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
6042,"","Reading a chapter draft of Matt Garrett's dissertation (Chapt 1, p. 27); now published, see Episodic Poetics (Oxford UP, 2014), p. 38.",2006-03-02 00:00:00 UTC,"These sudden eruptions of the passions of the multitude, spread, like the lava of a volcano, throughout all France, nor could men of correct judgment, who aimed only at the reform of abuses, and a renovation in all the departments, check the fury of the torrent. This confusion and terror within, and an army without, sent on by the combined despots of Europe, with the professed design of subjecting the nation, and re-establishing the monarchy of France, gave an opportunity to ambitious, unprincipled, corrupt, and ignorant men, to come forward, under pretence of supporting the rights and liberties of mankind, without any views but those of disorder and disorganization. Thus in the midst of tumult and confusion, was indulged every vicious propensity, peculation, revenge, and all the black passions of the soul. The guillotine was glutted with the blood of innocent victims, while the rapidity of execution, and their jealousy of each other, involved the most guilty, and cut down many of the blackest miscreants, as well as the most virtuous characters in the nation.
(III.xxxi, p. 407; p. 682-3 in OLL edition)",,16026,"•INTEREST. Should search ""lava"" and ""volcano."" I bet these react to the historical (natural) environment more than many of my other metaphors. ","""These sudden eruptions of the passions of the multitude, spread, like the lava of a volcano, throughout all France, nor could men of correct judgment, who aimed only at reform of abuses, and a renovation in all the departments, check the fury of the torrent.""","",2014-05-20 17:09:24 UTC,"Volume III, chapter xxxi"
6086,"","Searching ""heart"" and ""brass"" in HDIS (Poetry); found again",2005-06-07 00:00:00 UTC,"Secure, his adamantine heart
In learning's musty cell
Repell'd poor Cupid's powerful dart,
And slighted every belle.
Had he like Aldo no repast
But what his bow supplied,
He'd dare well pleas'd the wintry blast
When shells were smoking wide.
But college sophs of modern times,
In Sloth's soft lap reclin'd,
Will praise the fair in well-turn'd rhymes,
Yet leave them to the wind.
He talks of gaining hearts of beaux,
To please the angry fair;
But whether they have hearts to lose,
He does not know nor care.
Ah! sly observer, deeply read
In Nature's ample page;
Too well you know that beaux well-bred
In this self-loving age,
In panoply of lead and brass
Their cautious heart s unfold,
Which beauty cannot pierce, alas!
Unless with darts of gold!",,16109,"","""Secure, his adamantine heart / In learning's musty cell / Repell'd poor Cupid's powerful dart, / And slighted every belle""","",2009-09-14 19:45:46 UTC,""
6086,"","Searching ""heart"" and ""brass"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-06-07 00:00:00 UTC,"Secure, his adamantine heart
In learning's musty cell
Repell'd poor Cupid's powerful dart,
And slighted every belle.
Had he like Aldo no repast
But what his bow supplied,
He'd dare well pleas'd the wintry blast
When shells were smoking wide.
But college sophs of modern times,
In Sloth's soft lap reclin'd,
Will praise the fair in well-turn'd rhymes,
Yet leave them to the wind.
He talks of gaining hearts of beaux,
To please the angry fair;
But whether they have hearts to lose,
He does not know nor care.
Ah! sly observer, deeply read
In Nature's ample page;
Too well you know that beaux well-bred
In this self-loving age,
In panoply of lead and brass
Their cautious heart s unfold,
Which beauty cannot pierce, alas!
Unless with darts of gold!",,16110,•I don't exactly understand. REVISIT.,"""In panoply of lead and brass / Their cautious hearts unfold, / Which beauty cannot pierce, alas! / Unless with darts of gold!""",Metal,2009-09-14 19:45:46 UTC,""
6086,"","Searching ""heart"" and ""iron"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-06-07 00:00:00 UTC,"The soft harp's many-sounding strings,
Wak'd by the blushing maid,
Could melt the iron hearts of kings,
And beauty's influence aid.",,16111,"","""The soft harp's many-sounding strings, / Wak'd by the blushing maid, / Could melt the iron hearts of kings, / And beauty's influence aid""",Metal,2009-09-14 19:45:46 UTC,""
6088,"","Searching ""fancy"" and ""dross"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-07-19 00:00:00 UTC,"Dear Beatrice, with pleasure I read your kind letter;
On the subject, methinks, there could scarce be a better:
How vivid the scenes it recall'd to my view,
And how lively it waken'd remembrance anew!
Yet our souls are so crusted with housewifely moss,
That Fancy's bright furnace yields nothing but dross:
Surrounded with balling, and squalling, and prattle,
With handmaids unhandy, and gossipping tattle,
Cut fingers to bandage, and stockings to darn,
And labyrinths endless of ill-manag'd yarn,
Through whose windings Daedalean bewilder'd we wander,
Like draggle-tail'd nymphs of the mazy Meander,
Till at length, like the Hero of Macedon, tir'd
Of the slow perseverance untwisting required,
We brandish our scissars, resolved on the spot,
Since we cannot unravel, to cut through the knot.",,16113,"","""Yet our souls are so crusted with housewifely moss, / That Fancy's bright furnace yields nothing but dross:""",Metal,2009-09-14 19:45:47 UTC,""
6085,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2006-01-18 00:00:00 UTC,"Now, though their herds excite their anxious care,
Tir'd Labour slumbers with the shining share:
Short while they ply the flail, the scanty corn,
Dealt out with frugal care, employs the morn:
But social glee, around the cheerful hearth,
Lets loose the careless soul of rural mirth:
Bright burns the hearth, th' enlivening torches blaze,
The pipes awake the notes of former days:
Again they feel their ancient spirit rise,
And courage fires, or pity melts their eyes,
As love or war alternate swells the sound,
And hearts dilate, and bosoms glow around:
Yet even while frost comes bitter on the breeze,
Not all their nights are spent in social ease.
Some bolder spirits of the hardy race,
O'er snow-clad mountains wake the dangerous chase;
And some advent'rous youths, with fearless mind,
All thoughts of ease and safety leave behind,
The pathless wilds for wandering steers explore,
Climb the steep rock where nestling Falcons soar,
And heights by human feet untrod before.
There, danger threats in every hideous form,
There groans the Genius of the gathering storm;
And solitude forlorn, and frantic fear,
And howling blasts, and echoing caves are there.
Yet adamantine souls, and iron forms,
Hard brac'd by toil, and nurst among the storms,
Whom pleasure ne'er could melt, or terror freeze,
Can trace undaunted even such scenes as these;
Amidst the rattling hail erect their head,
And view serene the dwelling of the dead.
Where chiefs, who bore of old a mighty name,
In four grey stones concentre all their fame;
Where sleeps the hunter on the hill of heath,
By fancy pictur'd in the misty wreath,
Dim hovering o'er the narrow bed of death.
Yet when the wearied storm has spent its wrath,
Patient he still explores th' adjacent Strath:
By the pale moon he tracks the famish'd hare,
Who seeks among the cots her scanty fare:
At length, a distant light his steps invites,
To share the wonted hospitable rites;
Where plenteous cheer, and welcome's genial smiles,
In simple guise the wanderer's care beguiles;
The timely aid, the long-remember'd feast,
Are deep upon the stranger's mind impress'd,
And hope and gratitude distend his breast.
Deep in a narrow vale, unknown to song,
Where Maeshy leads her lucid stream along,
Then turns, as if unwilling to forsake
The peaceful bosom of her parent lake,
While her pure streams the polish'd pebbles show,
That through the native crystal shine below;
Upon her flow'ry banks there dwelt a Swain,
Who liv'd a stranger to the cultur'd plain:
He mov'd with active ease, and artless grace,
And manly spirit brighten'd in his face.
Fair on his cheek appear'd youth's mantling glow,
While lines of stedfast thought had mark'd his brow:
Alone, superior in the sylvan reign,
'Twas his to lead the life that poets feign,
Amidst luxuriant fruits, and crystal springs,
""Where the free soul looks down to pity kings.""
Yet while through woods and mountains wont to rove,
The pious youth excell'd in filial love;
For his lov'd parents, and their duteous race,
He search'd the flood, or urg'd the vent'rous chase:
And while o'er distant moors he lov'd to roam,
The fruit of all his toils enrich'd their home:
For them the deer resign'd his ample hide,
For them th' enamell'd roes their beauteous pride,
The otter's costly fur, the dappled fawn,
The leveret wounded in the dewy dawn:
No sylvan game their Farquhar's pow'r withstood,
Who reign'd despotic o'er the pathless wood.",,16116,"","""Yet adamantine souls, and iron forms, / Hard brac'd by toil, and nurst among the storms, / Whom pleasure ne'er could melt, or terror freeze, / Can trace undaunted even such scenes as these""","",2009-09-14 19:45:47 UTC,""
6125,"","Searching ""steel"" and ""thought"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-06-12 00:00:00 UTC,"And let thy rage, with fancied wrongs insane,
Steel every thought with Delia's proud disdain,
The instant thou shalt feel thy heart can bear
The doom congenial of my last despair;
Feel that remorse no pang'd regret shall raise,
To blast the quiet of thy future days.
",,16169,"","""And let thy rage, with fancied wrongs insane, / Steel every thought with Delia's proud disdain""",Metal,2014-06-10 17:38:16 UTC,Love Elegies and Epistles.
6127,"","Searching ""breast"" and ""mirror"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-11-30 00:00:00 UTC,"So dost thou wander by the pleasant base
Of a clean village, climbing up the steep
And shrubby knoll; while, bosom'd in thick trees,
The church the hill-top crowns.--The day is young;
Clos'd yonder cottage door; the din and hum
Of clamorous infants and laborious man,
Unheard as yet; tho' from the chimney-tops
The grey smoke, rising to the church-yard trees,
Curls its light vapours round the boughs, and gives
Promise of morning-meal.--Behold the cart,
That late, well loaded, on thy pebbled bank
Had creak'd and crept, at the yet silent mill
Stopt; those kind stores resigning, which shall soon
Employ thy loit'ring waters, and awake
The clattering hubbub of the busy scene.
Adown those rocky stairs, which to thy brink
Lead from the hamlet cots, ere while shall step,
With cleanly pail, light rocking on her head,
The rustic maid, new risen; for she has seen
Thro' lattice, curtain'd by the briar-rose,
Her cow, slow pacing up thy left-hand bank,
Intelligent of hour; the burden rich
Duteous to yield;--and, yet more welcome, sees,
Not far behind, the youth belov'd, from cops'd
And hay-stack'd tenement, down in the vale.
Yes, and thou soon shalt hear the tender vows
Of true love breath'd; and breath'd in sweeter sound
Than song of linnet, or the quiet tune
Of thine own stream, when hush'd are all the woods.
Mark that clos'd door, for it shall ope ere long;
It is the good Dame's school;--and in shall creep,
Like bees in spring-time to their dusky hive,
The little troop, and in resembling hum
Mutter the morning task;--but when yon tower
Shall tell, far heard, the welcome tale of noon,
Some striding, and some tumbling o'er the sill,
The infant-tribe releas'd, with clamour loud,
Shall totter down, and on thy shelving bank
Shout, laugh, and squabble, strenuous while they hurl
The frequent stone, dividing thy smooth waves.
But on the morrow Sabbath-bells shall ring,
And 'twixt the matin and the vesper hour,
And at the rosy setting of the sun,
That little, lawless multitude, which late,
Noisy and wild, had clamour'd on thy brink,
In Sunday vestment, and with sober gait,
Walk by their parent's side, while from each hand
The varied posies, dappled pink and rose,
Woodbine, and fragrant southernwood and thyme,
Scent the wide air. Leisure and quietness,
Apparel clean, and vacant looks, all speak
The sacred day of rest; and thou shalt bear,
From that wood-mantled tower, the holy chimes,
Silver'd and mellow'd on thy liquid course,
To neighbouring farm, or cottage. There we trust
Right welcome is the sound; more welcome still
The Pastor's voice persuasive, when he speaks
Of hopes eternal. Charitable deeds
Shedding a daily beauty on his life
That makes his doctrines saintly; while combin'd
They form a picture, delicate of trait,
Soft as the scene now mirror'd in thy breast;
While the soft scene, and thou, its mirror clear,
Are all the sweet creation of his hand
Whose touch is genius, and whose life is love.[1]",,16174,"•Note the pictured river is here personified. This is a metaphor of mind at some remove! INTEREST. META-METAPHORICAL. It is the river's breast that does the mirroring. Cross-reference: see also Radcliffe's lake's bosom and keate's ""The Alps. A Poem.""","""They form a picture, delicate of trait, / Soft as the scene now mirror'd in thy breast""","",2009-09-14 19:45:57 UTC,Vol. III
6058,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2012-01-09 18:30:15 UTC,"Superstition! more destructive still
Than plague or famine, tyranny or war!
Thou palsying mischief, thou benumbing foe
To all the proudest energies of man!
Whence springs thy subtle desolating charm,
From pompous pageantry and bigot pride,
From mitred canopies, and shrines of gold,
And bones of mould'ring monks? Can freezing nights,
In cells where cold inanity presides,
Cloath'd in religion's meek and sainted guise,
Or long-drawn pageantry of empty show,
Conceal the trembling soul, from that dread pow'r
Which marks th' All-seeing! On Italia's shores,
On every plain, on ev'ry mountain top,
The voice of nature speaks, in mighty sounds,
To bid thee tremble! Then, O! nature, say--
Shall rich Italia's bow'rs, her citron shades,
Her vales prolific, mountains golden clad,
And rivers fring'd with nectar-teeming groves,
Re-echo with the mighty song of praise
To empyrean space, while shackled still
The man of colour dies? Shall torrid suns
Shoot downward their hot beams on mis'ry's race,
And call forth luxuries to pamper pride,
Steep'd in the Ethiop's tears, the Ethiop's blood!
Shall the caprice of nature, the deep tint
Of sultry climes, the feature varying,
Or the uncultur'd mind, endure the scourge
Of sordid tyranny, or heap the stores
Of his fair fellow man, whose ruddy cheek
Knows not the tear of pity; whose white breast
Conceals a heart, than adamant more hard,
More cruel than the tiger's! Bend thy gaze
O! happy offspring of a temper'd clime,
On whom the partial hand of nature set
The stamp of bloomy tints, proportions fine,
Unmixing with the goodly outside shew
The mind appropriate; bend thy pitying gaze
To Zembla's frozen sphere; where in his hut,
Roof'd by the rocky steep, the savage smiles,
In conscious freedom smiles, and mocks the storm
That howls along the sky. Th' unshackled limb,
Cloth'd in the shaggy hide of uncouth bear,
Or the fleet mountain elk, bounds o'er the cliff
The free-born tenant of the desert wild.
The glow of liberty, thro' ev'ry vein
Bids sensate streams revolve; the dusky path
Of midnight solitudes no terror brings,
Because he fears no lord. The prowling wolf,
Whose eye-balls redden 'midst the world of gloom,
Yells fierce defiance, form'd by nature's law
To share the desert's freedom. O'er the sky
The despot darkness reigns, in sullen pride,
Half the devoted year. His ebon wing
O'ershadows the blank space: his chilling breath
Benumbs the breast of nature; on his brow,
Myriads of stars with lucid lustre gem
His boundless diadem! The savage cheek
Smiles at the potent spoiler; braves his frown;
And while the partial gloom is most opake,
Still vaunts the mind unfetter'd! If for these
Indulgent nature breaks the bonds of woe,
Gilding the deepest solitudes of night
With the pure flame of liberty sublime;
If for the untaught sons of gelid climes,
Health cheers the darkest hour with vig'rous age,
Shall the poor African, the passive slave,
Born in the bland effulgence of broad day,
Cherish'd by torrid splendours, while around
The plains prolific teem with honey'd stores
Of Afric's burning soil; shall such a wretch
Sink prematurely to a grave obscure,
No tear to grace his ashes? Or suspire,
To wear submission's long and goading chain,
To drink the tear, that down his swarthy cheek
Flows fast, to moisten his toil-fever'd lip,
Parch'd by the noontide blaze? Shall he endure
The frequent lash, the agonizing scourge,
The day of labour, and the night of pain;
Expose his naked limbs to burning gales;
Faint in the sun, and wither in the storm;
Traverse hot sands, imbibe the morbid breeze,
Wing'd with contagion, while his blister'd feet,
Scorch'd by the vertical and raging beam,
Pour the swift life-stream? Shall his frenzied eyes,
Oh! worst of mortal miseries! behold
The darling of his soul, his sable love,
Selected from the trembling, timid throng
By the wan tyrant, whose licentious touch
Seals the dark fiat of the slave's despair!
Humanity! from thee the suppliant claims
The meed of retribution! Thy pure flame
Would light the sense opake, and warm the spring
Of boundless ecstacy; while nature's laws
So violated, plead, immortal-tongu'd,
For her dark-fated children; lead them forth
From bondage infamous! Bid reason own
The dignities of man, whate'er his clime,
Estate, or colour. And, O! sacred truth!
Tell the proud lords of traffic, that the breast
Thrice ebon-tinted, bears a crimson tide,
As pure, as clear as Europe's sons can boast.
Then, liberty, extend thy thund'ring voice
To Afric's scorching climes, o'er seas that bound
To bear the blissful tidings, while all earth
Shall hail humanity! the child of heav'n!",,19422,"","""Shall the caprice of nature, the deep tint / Of sultry climes, the feature varying, / Or the uncultur'd mind, endure the scourge / Of sordid tyranny, or heap the stores / Of his fair fellow man, whose ruddy cheek / Knows not the tear of pity; whose white breast / Conceals a heart, than adamant more hard, / More cruel than the tiger's!""","",2012-01-09 18:30:15 UTC,""