text,updated_at,metaphor,created_at,context,theme,reviewed_on,dictionary,comments,provenance,id,work_id
"In language warm as could be breathed or penn'd
Thy picture speaks the original my friend,
Not by those looks that indicate thy mind,
They only speak thee friend of all mankind;
Expression here more soothing still I see,
That friend of all a partial friend to me .
(ll. 1-6, p. 191)",2009-09-14 19:46:32 UTC,The mind may be indicated by looks,2003-12-30 00:00:00 UTC,"",Face and Mind,,"","•More minds and faces. See previous entry.
•First printed in Poems, by William Cowper, of the Inner Temple, Esq. in Three Volumes. Vol III. Containing his posthumous poetry, and a sketch of his life. By his kinsman, John Johnson, LL.D., 1815.",HDIS,16330,6164
"Thus Italy was moved;--nor did the chief
Æneas in his mind less tumult feel.
On every side his anxious thought he turns,
Restless, unfix'd, not knowing what to choose.
And as a cistern that in brim of brass
Confines the crystal flood, if chance the sun
Smite on it, or the moon's resplendent orb,
The quivering light now flashes on the walls,
Now leaps uncertain to the vaulted roof:
Such were the wavering motions of his mind.
'Twas night--and weary nature sunk to rest;
The birds, the bleating flocks, were heard no more.
At length, on the cold ground, beneath the damp
And dewy vault, fast by the river's brink,
The father of his country sought repose.
When lo! among the spreading poplar boughs,
Forth from his pleasant stream, propitious rose
The god of Tiber: clear transparent gauze
Infolds his loins, his brows with reeds are crown'd;
And these his gracious words to sooth his care:
(ll. 1-20, pp. 83-4)",2009-09-14 19:46:32 UTC,"The wavering motions of the mind are like ""quivering light"" reflected off a confined ""crystal flood"" in a brass cistern",2003-12-30 00:00:00 UTC,"","",,"","•I've included entries in both 'Liquid' and 'Optics'.
•First printed in Poems, by William Cowper, of the Inner Temple, Esq. in Three Volumes. Vol III. Containing his posthumous poetry, and a sketch of his life. By his kinsman, John Johnson, LL.D., 1815.
",HDIS,16331,6165
"You bid me write to amuse the tedious hours,
And save from withering my poetic powers;
Hard is the task, my friend, for verse should flow
From the free mind, not fetter'd down by woe.
Restless amidst unceasing tempests toss'd,
Whoe'er has cause for sorrow, I have most.
Would you bid Priam laugh, his sons all slain;
Or childless Niobe from tears refrain,
Join the gay dance, and lead the festive train?
Does grief or study most befit the mind
To this remote, this barbarous nook confined?
Could you impart to my unshaken breast
The fortitude by Socrates possess'd,
Soon would it sink beneath such woes as mine,
For what is human strength to wrath divine?
Wise as he was, and Heaven pronounced him so,
My sufferings would have laid that wisdom low.
Could I forget my country, thee and all,
And e'en the offence to which I owe my fall,
Yet fear alone would freeze the poet's vein,
While hostile troops swarm o'er the dreary plain.
Add that the fatal rust of long disuse
Unfits me for the service of the Muse.
Thistles and weeds are all we can expect
From the best soil impoverish'd by neglect;
Unexercised, and to his stall confined,
The fleetest racer would be left behind;
The best built bark that cleaves the watery way,
Laid useless by, would moulder and decay,--
No hope remains that time shall me restore,
Mean as I was, to what I was before.
Think how a series of desponding cares
Benumbs the genius and its force impairs.
How oft, as now, on this devoted sheet,
My verse constrain'd to move with measured feet,
Reluctant and laborious limps along,
And proves itself a wretched exile's song.
What is it tunes the most melodious lays?
'Tis emulation and the thirst of praise,
A noble thirst, and not unknown to me,
While smoothly wafted on a calmer sea.
But can a wretch like Ovid pant for fame?
No, rather let the world forget my name.
Is it because that world approved my strain,
You prompt me to the same pursuit again?
No, let the Nine the ungrateful truth excuse,
I charge my hopeless ruin on the Muse,
And, like Perillus, meet my just desert,
The victim of my own pernicious art;
Fool that I was to be so warn'd in vain,
And shipwreck'd once, to tempt the deep again!
Ill fares the bard in this unletter'd land,
None to consult, and none to understand.
The purest verse has no admirers here,
Their own rude language only suits their ear.
Rude as it is, at length familiar grown,
I learn it, and almost unlearn my own;--
Yet to say truth, even here the Muse disdains
Confinement, and attempts her former strains,
But finds the strong desire is not the power,
And what her taste condemns, the flames devour.
A part, perhaps, like this, escapes the doom,
And though unworthy, finds a friend at Rome;
But oh the cruel art, that could undo
Its votary thus! would that could perish too!
(ll. 1-65, pp. 5-6)",2011-05-27 14:26:25 UTC,"""You bid me write to amuse the tedious hours, / And save from withering my poetic powers; / Hard is the task, my friend, for verse should flow / From the free mind, not fetter'd down by woe.""",2003-12-30 00:00:00 UTC,I've included the entire poem,"",2011-06-27,Fetters,"",HDIS (Poetry),16333,6166
"AMONG those vices which the Law
Does not controul or keep in awe,
Which look not to the grave intent
Of any Act of Parliament;
Are subject to no other rule
Than what is taught in Reason's school,
But, straying from her general plan,
Degrade the character of Man;
Among them all, who can descry
A vice more mean than Gluttony?
Of any groveling slave of sense,
Not one can claim so small pretence
To that indulgence which the wise
Allow to human frailties,
As the inglorious, beastly sinner,
Whose only object is--a dinner.
The Miser, who heaps up his store,
May prove a Treasurer for the poor;
And, by his avarice, prepare
The funds by which his gen'rous heir
Can, with unbounded grace, impart
The kindness of a feeling heart.
--The thoughtless, but the jovial souls,
Who pleasure find in flowing bowls,
Enjoy the day, or pass the nights
In Bacchanalian delights:--
Though their excesses do not give
The happiness for which we live:
Yet, round their table mirth prevails,
And Humour laughs, though Reason fails.",2009-09-14 19:46:33 UTC,"One may be a ""groveling slave of sense"" (e.g., a miser or a epicure)",2004-06-15 00:00:00 UTC,"","",,"","",Searching HDIS (Poetry),16334,6167
"Philosophy, in all its Pride,
Cannot defend the Suicide,
By any Law, by any rule
In Reason's or Religion's school:
Life's the peculiar gift of Heav'n,
And He alone by whom 'tis given,
Can have alone the power to give
The stroke by which we cease to live.
Is Man to say--I've reach'd the goal,
I'll now dismiss th'imprison'd soul;
With my own hand I'll ope the way
From its base tenement of clay
Tir'd of its suff'rings here below,
I'll loose it from this scene of woe;
I'll prune its wings and let it fly,
To seek again its native sky:
Yes, I will quench my mortal breath,
I'll be the judge of Life and Death.--
But should, in its immortal sphere,
Say, should th'unsummon'd soul appear
What, what may be the sentence there!
Stay then thy hand, e'er 'tis too late,
Nor madly rush upon thy Fate!
Thou shudd'rest at the horrid mood,
When Murder drinks a brother's blood;
And dare you hope for Virtue's crown,
When your arm'd hand draws forth your own!",2010-03-24 03:03:52 UTC,"""Is Man to say--I've reach'd the goal, / I'll now dismiss th'imprison'd soul; / With my own hand I'll ope the way / From its base tenement of clay.""",2004-06-15 00:00:00 UTC,"","",2010-03-23,"",•I've included twice in Architecture: in prison and tenement of clay
•I still am not quite sure what to do with this personification: the soul is a prisoner.,Searching HDIS (Poetry),16335,6168
"Philosophy, in all its Pride,
Cannot defend the Suicide,
By any Law, by any rule
In Reason's or Religion's school:
Life's the peculiar gift of Heav'n,
And He alone by whom 'tis given,
Can have alone the power to give
The stroke by which we cease to live.
Is Man to say--I've reach'd the goal,
I'll now dismiss th'imprison'd soul;
With my own hand I'll ope the way
From its base tenement of clay;
Tir'd of its suff'rings here below,
I'll loose it from this scene of woe;
I'll prune its wings and let it fly,
To seek again its native sky:
Yes, I will quench my mortal breath,
I'll be the judge of Life and Death.--
But should, in its immortal sphere,
Say, should th'unsummon'd soul appear
What, what may be the sentence there!
Stay then thy hand, e'er 'tis too late,
Nor madly rush upon thy Fate!
Thou shudd'rest at the horrid mood,
When Murder drinks a brother's blood;
And dare you hope for Virtue's crown,
When your arm'd hand draws forth your own!",2009-12-02 19:39:19 UTC,"""With my own hand I'll ope the way / From its base tenement of clay; / Tir'd of its suff'rings here below, / I'll loose it from this scene of woe; / I'll prune its wings and let it fly, / To seek again its native sky.""",2004-06-15 00:00:00 UTC,"","",2009-12-02,"","",Searching HDIS (Poetry),16337,6168
"Fancy will sometimes take the lead
And play its part in Reason's stead.
--The Virtuoso is profound
In all the wonders that abound
Through Nature's realms, with all the store
She yields to him who dare explore
The mountain's top, the secret cave,
Or shores lash'd by the briny wave,
For what is beautiful or rare
That she has lodg'd or planted there.
He reasons on the wond'rous power
That, from Creation's awful hour,
Has teem'd in never-ceasing birth,
As if to renovate the Earth
With fresh materials, to maintain,
From Time's wide waste, old Nature's reign.
Then in bold, pompous language wields
The Doctrines which each System yields
That sage Philosophers have shewn;--
And closes boldly with his own.
Nature's first works, he says, are met
Within his costly Cabinet;--
Then opes a Drawer, and slowly shows
His Shells, arrang'd in various rows;
And disappoints th'expecting eyes
With Insects, and with Butterflies.",2009-09-14 19:46:34 UTC,"""Fancy will sometimes take the lead / And play its part in Reason's stead.""",2005-06-01 00:00:00 UTC,"","",,Inhabitants,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),16339,6170
"""Thou jovial, noisy, pleasant wight,""
Replied th'exhilarated Knight,
""You never will your fancy balk,
Whenever you've the itch to talk;
Nor ever were you known to pass
In silence, your too frequent glass:
But well I know thy friendly heart,
How gen'rous, how devoid of art!
And though you rather stun my ears,
Your humour still my spirits cheers.
While you the plenteous goblets quaff,
And at my whims and fancies laugh,
I know full well you cannot steel
Your breast, against the pains I feel:
And much I wish your Life my Friend,
May not to draughts and doses tend:
For many a one may laugh to see
Tom melted down as thin as me.
E'er a few fleeting years are past,
He may to slip-slops come at last.
That you have laugh'd at me is true;
'Tis what you've long been us'd to do;
But younger folks may laugh at you.""",2009-09-14 19:46:34 UTC,"""I know full well you cannot steel / Your breast, against the pains I feel""",2005-06-13 00:00:00 UTC,"","",,Metal,"","Searching ""breast"" and ""steel"" in HDIS (Poetry)",16340,6171
"IT has been said, that Man, by Nature,
Is but a superstitious Creature.
If I err not, 'twas Burke's opinion,
And he may seem to claim dominion,
As a Philosopher and Sage,
In this illuminated age,
Which his superior mind adorn'd,
And through whose years he will be mourn'd;
Nor in what doth to Man belong,
Am I dispos'd to think him wrong,
--If we look through th'historic page,
And travel on from Age to Age,
It will to our research appear,
As the Meridian Phoebus clear
What notions strange, Men have conceiv'd
What contraries they have believ'd:
In ev'ry time, 'neath ev'ry sky,
We see the same Credulity.
The Pagan Augurs swore they knew
Why Birds or this or that way flew;
And Oracles proclaim'd the Law
To keep the vulgar Folk in awe,
While the keen Conj'rors of the State
Assum'd to know the will of Fate.
The monkish Ages then succeed,
Govern'd by superstition's creed,
When mystic men in holy robe,
O'er-run one quarter of the globe:--
Nay, in this most enlighten'd Age,
So philosophic and so sage,
When Knowledge is so much the rage,
E'en now we see the human mind,
On many strange occasions blind:
Not when she chuses to dispense
Her pleasures to each diff'rent sense,
But, as she in her fancy varies,
Her idle whimsies and vagaries.",2009-09-14 19:46:34 UTC,"""E'en now we see the human mind, / On many strange occasions blind""",2006-02-22 00:00:00 UTC,"","",,Metal,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),16342,6173
"Come,--for the sun yet hangs above the bay,--
And whilst our time may brook a brief delay
With other thoughts, and, haply with a tear,
An old man's tale of sorrow thou shalt hear.
I wished not to reveal it;--thoughts that dwell
Deep in the lonely bosom's inmost cell
Unnoticed, and unknown, too painful wake,
And, like a tempest, the dark spirit shake,
When, starting from our slumberous apathy,
We gaze upon the scenes of days gone by.
Yet, if a moment's irritating flush,
Darkens thy cheek, as thoughts conflicting rush,
When I disclose my hidden griefs, the tale
May more than wisdom or reproof prevail.
Oh, may it teach thee, till all trials cease,
To hold thy course, though sorrowing, yet in peace;
Still looking up to Him, the soul's best stay,
Who Faith and Hope shall crown, when worlds are swept away!
",2009-09-14 19:46:35 UTC,"There are ""thoughts that dwell /Deep in the lonely bosom's inmost cell / Unnoticed, and unknown, too painful wake, / And, like a tempest, the dark spirit shake, / When, starting from our slumberous apathy, / We gaze upon the scenes of days gone by.""",2005-08-16 00:00:00 UTC,"","",,Rooms,"•I've included thrice: Cell, Dwelling, Tempest",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),16345,6175