text,updated_at,metaphor,created_at,context,theme,reviewed_on,dictionary,comments,provenance,id,work_id
" Such are the tinman's tuneful sighs,
That from his gloomy mansion rise,
Something like song from dying swans of old:
Then Addington, thy rigour quit,
Nor boast the iron heart of P---;
But show that thine was form'd in Mercy's mould.
Yes, let the culprit be forgiv'n--
No actual rape took place, thank Heav'n!
He wish'd to buy thine Honour's pure embraces.
I own with awkwardness he strove--
A country bumpkin in his love--
A simple Cymon, 'midst the polish'd Graces.
Then smile, and put the bumpkin out of pain,
And send him whistling[1] to his shop agen.",2009-09-14 19:33:40 UTC,"""Then Addington, thy rigour quit, / Nor boast the iron heart of P---;""",2005-06-07 00:00:00 UTC,"","",,Metal,"","Searching ""heart"" and ""iron"" in HDIS (Poetry)",8622,3349
" I've seen that dæmon's cloven foot;
In spite of mobbing, damning hoot,
The daring imp has learn'd to stand his ground;
Well steel'd his heart, and bronz'd his face,
He cocks his nose upon disgrace,
And hunts his game--a persevering hound.",2009-09-14 19:33:41 UTC,"""The daring imp has learn'd to stand his ground; / Well steel'd his heart, and bronz'd his face""",2005-06-12 00:00:00 UTC,"","",,Metal,"","Searching ""heart"" and ""steel"" in HDIS (Poetry)",8640,3366
"""Then first I felt the odious Task
""My roving Prey to chace,
""The Terrors of my Mind to mask,
""And mend a fading Face;
""Then first with the seducing Cup
""I tried to steel my Breast,
""To keep expiring Courage up,
""And lull Dispair to rest.",2009-09-14 19:33:41 UTC,"""'Then first with the seducing Cup / 'I tried to steel my Breast, / 'To keep expiring Courage up""",2005-06-13 00:00:00 UTC,"","",,Metal,"","Searching ""breast"" and ""steel"" in HDIS (Poetry)",8643,3368
"Lo the procession! Let me pause intent,
And first drink pleasure at the peasant's grave.
Humane and christian is the muse, and fond
Of ev'ry object, cheerful or sedate,
Which rural scenes afford. She nor contemns
The nuptial holiday, nor views untouch'd
The sad solemnity of rustic woe,
What time the white-frock'd mourner slowly moves,
And brings with mute reluctance to the grave
The dear remains of some departed friend.
The decent sheet that overspreads the bier!
How well becomes it sorrow neat as their's,
Pure, and unsullied by the shameless tear
Of wrung hypocrisy! Steel were the heart
That could this passing spectacle survey,
Nor feel the touch of sympathy within.
Me it well pleases to the holy sward
To follow pitying, nor disowns my muse
The feminine sensations of a heart
That often vibrates at another's woe.
The tear that trickles down the manly cheek,
The burst of grief that braves control, the sigh
Which baffles interception, and escapes
Soon as the solemn pause bids lift the pall,
And ease the dead into his kindred earth,
Send many a tingling arrow through this breast,
Though the reluctant eye no grief betray,
And tearless silence in her deepest gloom
The decent pleasurable secret hide.
But often as my sated soul surveys
The sable funeral of city pomp,
Methinks life human is a play indeed,
And the poor player man, exhausted, spent,
Has made his exit, and now comes the farce.
'Tis pantomimic shew--the nodding plume,
The proud escutcheon'd hearse, and long parade
Of dry-eyed mourners clad in inky cloaks,
The streaming crape, and dismal aisle behung
With sable manufacture ill-applied.
To see such idle waste, and childish shew,
I smile, and nothing grieve. Not so, when death
Calls for the hind, and undissembled grief
Of father, widow, offspring, to the grave
His decent corpse attends. Then through my soul
Exquisite sympathy's vibration thrills;
It sorrows freely, breathes the grateful sigh,
Nor scorns to utter from a heart subdued
The mourner's luxury, the deep ""alas!""",2009-09-14 19:44:56 UTC,"""Steel were the heart / That could this passing spectacle survey, / Nor feel the touch of sympathy within.""",2005-06-10 00:00:00 UTC,"","",,Metal,•C-H takes from Poems (1808),"Searching ""heart"" and ""steel"" in HDIS (Poetry)",15866,5965
"How pleasant now upon the village stile
To rest well-wearied, while the jovial boy,
From school dismiss'd, upon the sunny green
Pitches his wicket, a stone-steadied hat,
And bowls exulting! Of encumbrance stript,
He for his maiden visage nothing fears,
But to the scorching day-beam, unconcern'd,
His cheek and bosom bares, nor aught regards
The freckled aspect, or the sun-burnt skin.
Piece of the nether millstone is his heart
Who marks ill-pleas'd the frolic of the child,
Or views the rural festival unmov'd.
Me it delights to overhear the dance
Upon the winnow'd floor of the void grange,
To pause at hand, and listen to the sound
Of the brisk viol challenging the foot,
And of the foot respondent, and to see
The village maid and village hind alert
Pacing the giddy labyrinth of joy,
Each in the trim of holiday attir'd.
Nor pleases not, upon the social green,
The game laborious of the manly ball
Aim'd at the wicket, and its taper shanks
Levelling certain, but for hindrance quick
And resolute repulse of the strong blow,
That sends it thunder-struck aloft in air,
Or o'er the plain rebounding. Thou hast charms,
Rural festivity, not soon surpass'd,
Compare thee, as we may, with sport polite,
The neat amusement fashion qualifies,
Till nice refinement sits without disdain
Spectatress of the scene. Never more keen
Their liveliest ecstasy, than when, for health
To George restor'd, illumination's lamp
Was freely kindled, and the rural throng
From ev'ry door conven'd, along the street
Mingled in loyalty's triumphant maze.
Then pipe and viol felt alone fatigue,
While, nothing wearied, they with foot alert
The blazing window's artificial day
Down danc'd, the fretted cupola of heaven
Their spacious ball-room, their assembler God.",2009-09-14 19:44:58 UTC,"""Piece of the nether millstone is his heart / Who marks ill-pleas'd the frolic of the child, / Or views the rural festival unmov'd.""",2006-12-12 00:00:00 UTC,"","",,"",•C-H takes from Poems (1808),"Searching ""mill"" and ""heart"" in HDIS (Poetry)",15877,5965
" Pride, on thy vesture's purple fold
Let the sky-tinctur'd sapphire blaze,
The emerald shed its milder rays,
And rubies blush in circling gold:
Low at thy nod let suppliants bow,
And crested chiefs precedence yield;
Thy hand the rod of empire wield,
And wreaths of triumph grace thy brow:--
A nobler aim let my ambition own,
Be Love my empire, Lesbia's heart my throne!
",2009-09-14 19:45:00 UTC,A lover's heart may be one's throne,2004-08-07 00:00:00 UTC,"","",,"","","Searching ""throne"" and ""heart"" in HDIS (Poetry)",15888,5977
"Come from thy wildly-winding stream,
First-born of Genius, Shakspeare, come!
The listening World attends thy theme,
And bids each elder Bard be dumb:
For thou, within the human Mind
Fix'd, as on thy peculiar throne,
Sitt'st like a Deity inshrined;
And either Muse is all thine own!
(pp. 185-186)",2013-10-02 19:30:04 UTC,"""For thou, within the human Mind / Fix'd, as on thy peculiar throne, / Sitt'st like a Deity inshrined.""",2004-07-09 00:00:00 UTC,"","",,"","","Searching ""throne"" and ""mind"" in HDIS (Poetry)",15965,6008
"D---, in sweet friendship's firmest bands
Link'd to my inmost soul! now pensive Eve
Steals slowly thro' yon misty meads,
What polish'd page of Rome, or wiser Greece,
Say, shall we next enraptur'd turn?
Shall we by murm'ring Mincio rove? or sit
Beneath the darksome pines that Pan
Planted in that Sicilian valley wild,
True region of poetic bliss?
Or in Achilles' loudly-thund'ring car
Be whirl'd o'er Troy's ensanguin'd plain;
Or see him strive Patroclus' shrieking ghost,
Poor unsubstantial shade! to clasp
With eager arms?--But let us never fail
Nightly to visit the soft bard
Best suited to the tender, feeling heart,
Compassion's throne: O joy refin'd!
To watch the big tear from thy meaning eye
Steal secret, while Medea's soul
With jealousy, maternal love, with rage
And haughty indignation fir'd,
Now points the dagger to her smiling babes,
Now, touch'd with nature, hurls away
The deathful steel! Or while Orestes starts
In madness from the opiate couch
Where his fond Pylades for many a day,
And many a bitter night, had watch'd
His limbs convuls'd, and ghastly staring eyes
Fix'd on the Furies! Milder scenes
Invite us next--the grove where Comus built
His magic dome, and Echo heard
The nymph's distress:--or where, in cavern deep
Sweet Melancholy sits, to hear
The bubb'ling brook, or awful bell, or plaint
Of ever-wakeful Philomel.--
Thus with the Muses pass the blissful hours
Till, dearest Youth, snatch'd far away,
In solitude thou leav'st thy weeping Friend.
Who then with cordial looks and smiles
Can lull my cares? To whom can I unfold
My secret breast? Whom else can trust?
Whom else can love? Beneath cold Midnight's gleam
Thy absence will I oft lament,
Stretch'd in thy fav'rite grove, near Itchin's stream,
Close to those ivy'd mould'ring walls,
While the lone Cloysters echo to my woes.",2009-09-14 19:45:17 UTC,"The ""tender, feeling heart"" is ""Compassion's throne""",2004-08-07 00:00:00 UTC,"","",,"","•A footnote explains that ""The attribution of this poem is questionable.""","Searching ""throne"" and ""heart"" in HDIS (Poetry)",15968,6009
By those love-darting Eyes I find
How many hearts their empire own;
I see the sweetness of thy mind
That keeps the hearts those Eyes have won:,2009-09-14 19:45:17 UTC,"""[L]ove-darting Eyes"" may show ""How many hearts their empire own""",2004-08-11 00:00:00 UTC,"","",,"","•Cross-reference: See also Crowe's poem (dated 1827): ""To a Lady, Fortune-Telling with Cards""","Searching ""mind"" and ""empire"" in HDIS (Poetry); found again searching ""heart"" and ""empire"" (8/22/2004)",15970,6011
"O paint our dungeons, where, with putrid breath,
The wretch, desponding, pants, and sighs for death:
Paint the poor felon, doom'd, ah! doom'd to die,
Wan the pale cheek, and horror-struck the eye;
With languid limbs that droop to earth in pain,
Press'd, loaded, lab'ring with a clanking chain;
While, on the stillness of the midnight air,
Sad moans the voice of Mis'ry and Despair:
Paint all the horrors of the midnight shade,
Theft's iron crow, and Murder's reeking blade.
Paint the poor objects that we hourly meet,
The wrecks of beauty crowding every street;
Daughters of Innocence, ere Demon Art
Won on the weakness of too soft a heart;
And doom'd to infamy the tender kiss,
Due to pure love alone and wedded bliss.
Paint courts, whose sorceries, too seducing bind,
In chains, in shameful slavish chains, the mind;
Courts, where unblushing Flatt'ry finds the way,
And casts a cloud o'er Truth's eternal ray.
And quote the sage*, who courts had serv'd and known:--
'O Crassus, let me fly, and live alone:
Though much I love thee, let our commerce end,
Nor from his solitude recall thy friend.
Thanks to the gods, my servile hours are o'er,
And, oh, let Mem'ry mention courts no more!'
*A philosopher named Alexander, the friend of Crassus.",2011-07-20 17:00:58 UTC,"""Paint courts, whose sorceries, too seducing bind, / In chains, in shameful slavish chains, the mind; / Courts, where unblushing Flatt'ry finds the way, / And casts a cloud o'er Truth's eternal ray.""",2011-07-20 16:58:28 UTC,"","",,Fetters,"","Searching ""mind"" and ""chains"" in HDIS (Poetry)",18938,7023