work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
5821,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2004-07-09 00:00:00 UTC,"Oft have I heard the melancholy tale,
Which, all their native gaiety forgot,
These Exiles tell--How Hope impell'd them on,
Reckless of tempest, hunger, or the sword,
Till order'd to retreat, they knew not why,
From all their flattering prospects, they became
The prey of dark suspicion and regret:
Then, in despondence, sunk the unnerv'd arm
Of gallant Loyalty--At every turn
Shame and disgrace appear'd, and seem'd to mock
Their scatter'd squadrons; which the warlike youth,
Unable to endure, often implor'd,
As the last act of friendship, from the hand
Of some brave comrade, to receive the blow
That freed the indignant spirit from its pain.
To a wild mountain, whose bare summit hides
Its broken eminence in clouds; whose steeps
Are dark with woods; where the receding rocks
Are worn by torrents of dissolving snow,
A wretched Woman, pale and breathless, flies!
And, gazing round her, listens to the sound
Of hostile footsteps--No! it dies away:
Nor noise remains, but of the cataract,
Or surly breeze of night, that mutters low
Among the thickets, where she trembling seeks
A temporary shelter--clasping close
To her hard-heaving heart her sleeping child,
All she could rescue of the innocent groupe
That yesterday surrounded her--Escap'd
Almost by miracle! Fear, frantic Fear,
Wing'd her weak feet: yet, half repentant now
Her headlong haste, she wishes she had staid
To die with those affrighted Fancy paints
The lawless soldier's victims--Hark! again
The driving tempest bears the cry of Death,
And, with deep sudden thunder, the dread sound
Of cannon vibrates on the tremulous earth;
While, bursting in the air, the murderous bomb
Glares o'er her mansion. Where the splinters fall,
Like scatter'd comets, its destructive path
Is mark'd by wreaths of flame!--Then, overwhelm'd
Beneath accumulated horror, sinks
The desolate mourner; yet, in Death itself,
True to maternal tenderness, she tries
To save the unconscious infant from the storm
In which she perishes; and to protect
This last dear object of her ruin'd hopes
From prowling monsters, that from other hills,
More inaccessible, and wilder wastes,
Lur'd by the scent of slaughter, follow fierce
Contending hosts, and to polluted fields
Add dire increase of horrors--But alas!
The Mother and the Infant perish both!--
(pp. 54-7)",2011-10-06,15537,Reviewed 2008-09-11,"""[Y]et, half repentant now / Her headlong haste, she wishes she had staid / To die with those affrighted Fancy paints / The lawless soldiers' victims.""","",2011-10-06 22:53:03 UTC,I've include the entire poem
5828,"",Reading,2003-07-28 00:00:00 UTC,"Whilst on the beach I stood, my courage fainted,
And busy thought a thousand horrors painted!
Stranger to each, and each to me was strange,
With none a kind 'Good-morrow' could exchange;
With pensive mind, whilst tears my cheeks bedewed,
Fierce Boreas, and a nymph immerged I viewed;
Langour and pain her timid looks express,
As by the women carried in to dress.
'Ah me!', I cried, 'to plunge into the main
Should I presume, this weak afflicted brain
Will grow deranged, and I shall die with pain!'
But some kind fair, impressed with sympathy,
Consoled my gries, and bade my sorrows flee;
Of whom, to practise what themselves had taught,
One plunged into the sea, with courage fraught;
Near thrice twice-told she dipped quite undismayed,
And then ascends to dress, nor asks for aid.
I chid my fears--my cowardice was nipped,
And next below the wave my head was dipped:
A strange sensation--in a second o'er,
And I quite braced, much happier than before;
When I bathe next, I'll have two dippings more.
(ll. 1-22, p. 377)
",,15549, •Fear and sensations are described. C18 medicine!
,"Busy thought may paint ""a thousand horrors""","",2009-09-14 19:43:57 UTC,"Treatment of headaches by ""dipping"" in the sea"
7108,"",Reading,2011-10-06 21:56:00 UTC,"Sonnet XLVII.
To Fancy
Thee Queen of Shadows!--shall I still invoke,
Still love the scenes thy sportive pencil drew,
When on mine eyes the early radiance broke
Which shew'd the beauteous, rather than the true!
Alas! long since, those glowing tints are dead,
And now 'tis thine in darkest hues to dress
The spot where pale Experience hangs her head
O'er the sad grave of murder'd Happiness!
Thro' thy false medium then, no longer view'd,
May fancied pain and fancied pleasure fly,
And I, as from me all thy dreams depart,
Be to my wayward destiny subdu'd;
Nor seek perfection with a poet's eye,
Nor suffer anguish with a poet's heart!",,19258,"","""Thee Queen of Shadows! [Fancy]--shall I still invoke, / Still love the scenes thy sportive pencil drew, / When on mine eyes the early radiance broke / Which shew'd the beauteous, rather than the true!""","",2013-06-13 15:46:46 UTC,""
7438,Punning on portray and draw?,Reading,2013-06-13 17:18:37 UTC,"Thou spectre of terrific mien,
Lord of the hopeless heart and hollow eye,
In whose fierce train each form is sees
That drives sick Reason to insanity!
I woo thee with unusual prayer,
""Grim visaged, comfortless Despair:""
Approach; in me a willing victim find,
Who seeks thine iron sway--and calls thee kind!
Ah! hide for ever from my sight
The faithless flatterer Hope--whose pencil, gay,
Portrays some vision of delight,
Then bids the fairy tablet fade away;
While in dire contrast, to mine eyes
Thy phantoms, yet more hideous, rise,
And Memory draws, from Pleasure's wither'd flower,
Corrosives for the heart--of fatal power!
I bid the traitor Love, adieu!
Who to this fond, believing bosom came,
A guest insidious and untrue,
With Pity's soothing voice--in Friendship's name;
The wounds he gave, nor Time shall cure
Nor Reason teach me to endure.
And to that breast mild Patience pleads in vain,
Which feels the curse--of meriting it's pain.
(ll. 1-24, pp. 49-50)",,20630,"","""Ah! hide for ever from my sight / The faithless flatterer Hope--whose pencil, gay, / Portrays some vision of delight, / Then bids the fairy tablet fade away; / While in dire contrast, to mine eyes / Thy phantoms, yet more hideous, rise, / And Memory draws, from Pleasure's wither'd flower, / Corrosives for the heart--of fatal power!""",Writing,2013-06-13 17:18:37 UTC,""