work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
6170,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2005-06-01 00:00:00 UTC,"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.",,16339,"","""Fancy will sometimes take the lead / And play its part in Reason's stead.""",Inhabitants,2009-09-14 19:46:34 UTC,""
6192,"",HDIS,2003-09-19 00:00:00 UTC,"How many bards gild the lapses of time!
A few of them have ever been the food
Of my delighted fancy,--I could brood
Over their beauties, earthly, or sublime:
And often, when I sit me down to rhyme,
These will in throngs before my mind intrude:
But no confusion, no disturbance rude
Do they occasion; 'tis a pleasing chime.
So the unnumber'd sounds that evening store;
The songs of birds--the whisp'ring of the leaves--
The voice of waters--the great bell that heaves
With solemn sound,--and thousand others more,
That distance of recognizance bereaves,
Make pleasing music, and not wild uproar.
(ll. 1-14, p. 33-4)
",,16370,•Ive included the entire poem
•See also fancy' food. The fancy must then eat?
,"""These will in throngs before my mind intrude.""",Inhabitants,2009-09-14 19:46:40 UTC,""
6200,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2005-08-17 00:00:00 UTC,"No; let me bring the Immortals, what the race
Of great Messala, now depraved and base,
On their huge charger, cannot;--bring a mind,
Where legal and where moral sense are join'd,
With the pure essence; holy thoughts, that dwell
In the soul's most retired, and sacred cell;
A bosom dyed in honour's noblest grain,
Deep-dyed:--with these, let me approach the fane,
And Heaven will hear the humble prayer I make,
Though all my offering be a barley cake.",,16398,•I've included twice: Cell and Dwelling,"""bring a mind, / Where legal and where moral sense are join'd, / With the pure essence; holy thoughts, that dwell / In the soul's most retired, and sacred cell""",Inhabitants,2009-09-14 19:46:45 UTC,"The Satires of Aulus Persius Flaccus, Translated into English Verse"
6207,"",HDIS,2003-09-22 00:00:00 UTC,"Well then, I see there is no little bird,
Tender soever, but is Jove's own care.
Long have I sought for rest, and, unaware,
Behold I find it! so exalted too!
So after my own heart! I knew, I knew
There was a place untenanted in it:
In that same void white Chastity shall sit,
And monitor me nightly to lone slumber.
With sanest lips I vow me to the number
Of Dian's sisterhood; and, kind lady,
With thy good help, this very night shall see
My future days to her fane consecrate.""
",,16437,•I've included twice: Container and Tenant,"""I knew, I knew / There was a place untenanted in it: / In that same void white Chastity shall sit, / And monitor me nightly to lone slumber""","",2009-09-14 19:46:52 UTC,""
6213,Soliloquy; ,HDIS. Searching for inner councils.,2004-03-30 00:00:00 UTC,"Charles, with smile, not vain,
Nor quite unmix'd with pity and disdain,
Sat mute in wonder; but he sat not long
Without reflection:--Was Sir Owen wrong?
""So must I think; for can I judge it right
""To treat a lovely lady with despite?
""Because she play'd too roughly with the love
""Of a fond man whom she could not approve,
""And yet to vex him for the love he bore
""Is cause enough for his revenge, and more.
""But, thoughts, to council!--Do I wear a charm
""That will preserve my citadel from harm?
""Like the good knight, I have a heart that feels
""The wounds that beauty makes and kindness heals:
""Beauty she has, it seems, but is not kind--
""So found Sir Owen, and so I may find.
""Yet why, O heart of tinder, why afraid?
""Comes so much danger from so fair a maid?
""Wilt thou be made a voluntary prize
""To the fierce firing of two wicked eyes?
""Think her a foe, and on the danger rush,
""Nor let thy kindred for a coward blush.",,16456,"From Poetical Works (1838). Work out citation. REVISIT
•BIO: Crabbe was a poet and a Church of England Clergyman. Early difficulties getting into print. Asks Burke for patronage in 1781 (invoking Chatterton's suicide, suggests DNB). Burke guided revision of The Library. Publication success. Takes up a career in the church. Village (1783) shown to Johnson, who contributed lines 15-20 (sets up of Virgilian pastoral and poetic imagination). Borough (1810). Tales (1812). Crabbe's popularity waned with demise of heroic couplet and neoclassical tastes and with the prose (novelistic) replacements of the verse tale. ",Thoughts may be called to council,Inhabitants,2009-09-14 19:46:55 UTC,""
6757,"",Reading John Berryman's Dream Songs,2010-09-26 20:27:04 UTC,"... I am glad you take any pleasure in my poor Poem; -- which I would willingly take the trouble to unwrite, if possible, did I care so much as I have done about Reputation. I received a copy of the Cenci, as from yourself from Hunt. There is only one part of it I am judge of; the Poetry, and dramatic effect, which by many spirits now a days is considered the mammon. A modern work it is said must have a purpose, which may be the God--an artist must serve Mammon--he must have ""self concentration"" selfishness perhaps. You I am sure will forgive me for sincerely remarking that you might curb your magnanimity and be more of an artist, and ""load every rift"" of your subject with ore. The thought of such discipline must fall like cold chains upon you, who perhaps never sat with your wings furl'd for six Months together. And is not this extraordina[r]y talk for the writer of Endymion? whose mind was like a pack of scattered cards--I am pick'd up and sorted to a pip. My Imagination is a Monastery and I am its Monk--you must explain my metapcs to yourself. I am in expectation of Prometheus every day. Could I have my own wish for its interest effected you would have it still in manuscript--or be but now putting an end to the second act. I remember you advising me not to publish my first-blights, on Hampstead heath--I am returning advice upon your hands. Most of the Poems in the volume I send you have been written above two years, and would never have been publish'd but from a hope of gain; so you see I am inclined to take your advice now. I must exp[r]ess once more my deep sense of your kindness, adding my sincere thanks and respects for Mrs. Shelley.
(pp. 389-90)
",,17988,"","""My Imagination is a Monastery and I am its Monk--you must explain my metapcs to yourself.""","",2010-09-26 20:27:04 UTC,""
7120,"",Reading,2011-10-25 21:01:26 UTC,"MERCURY
Crouch then in silence. Awful Sufferer!
To thee unwilling, most unwillingly
I come, by the great Father's will driven down,
To execute a doom of new revenge.
Alas! I pity thee, and hate myself
That I can do no more: aye from thy sight
Returning, for a season, Heaven seems Hell,
So thy worn form pursues me night and day,
Smiling reproach. Wise art thou, firm and good,
But vainly wouldst stand forth alone in strife
Against the Omnipotent; as yon clear lamps
That measure and divide the weary years
From which there is no refuge, long have taught
And long must teach. Even now thy Torturer arms
With the strange might of unimagined pains
The powers who scheme slow agonies in Hell,
And my commission is to lead them here,
Or what more subtle, foul, or savage fiends
People the abyss, and leave them to their task.
Be it not so! there is a secret known
To thee, and to none else of living things,
Which may transfer the sceptre of wide Heaven,
The fear of which perplexes the Supreme:
Clothe it in words, and bid it clasp his throne
In intercession; bend thy soul in prayer,
And like a suppliant in some gorgeous fane,
Let the will kneel within thy haughty heart:
For benefits and meek submission tame
The fiercest and the mightiest.
(I, ll. 353-70)",,19289,"","""Clothe it in words, and bid it clasp his throne / In intercession; bend thy soul in prayer, / And like a suppliant in some gorgeous fane, / Let the will kneel within thy haughty heart.""","",2011-10-25 21:02:03 UTC,Act I
7120,"",Reading,2011-10-25 21:10:31 UTC,"PROMETHEUS
Why, ye are thus now;
Yet am I king over myself, and rule
The torturing and conflicting throngs within,
As Jove rules you when Hell grows mutinous.
(I, ll. 491-2)",,19292,"","""Yet am I king over myself, and rule / The torturing and conflicting throngs within, / As Jove rules you when Hell grows mutinous.""","",2011-10-25 21:10:31 UTC,Act I
7120,"",Reading,2011-10-25 21:29:02 UTC,"CHORUS OF SPIRITS
From unremembered ages we
Gentle guides and guardians be
Of heaven-oppressed mortality;
And we breathe, and sicken not,
The atmosphere of human thought:
Be it dim, and dank, and gray,
Like a storm-extinguished day,
Travelled o'er by dying gleams;
Be it bright as all between
Cloudless skies and windless streams,
Silent, liquid, and serene;
As the birds within the wind,
As the fish within the wave,
As the thoughts of man's own mind
Float through all above the grave;
We make there our liquid lair,
Voyaging cloudlike and unpent
Through the boundless element:
Thence we bear the prophecy
Which begins and ends in thee!
(I, ll. 672-91)",,19297,"INTERESTING. Metaphor turned inside out as the similes unroll: the mind is liquid, and the spirits are as liquid as mind... REVISIT.","""And we breathe, and sicken not, / The atmosphere of human thought: / Be it dim, and dank, and gray, / Like a storm-extinguished day, / Travelled o'er by dying gleams; / Be it bright as all between / Cloudless skies and windless streams, / Silent, liquid, and serene; / As the birds within the wind, / As the fish within the wave, / As the thoughts of man's own mind / Float through all above the grave; / We make there our liquid lair, / Voyaging cloudlike and unpent / Through the boundless element.""","",2011-10-25 21:29:02 UTC,Act I
8023,"",Reading,2014-09-02 21:05:42 UTC,"""My dear Eleanor, the riot is only in your own brain. The confusion there is scandalous. Miss Morland has been talking of nothing more dreadful than a new publication which is shortly to come out, in three duodecimo volumes, two hundred and seventy-six pages in each, with a frontispiece to the first, of two tombstones and a lantern--do you understand?-- And you, Miss Morland--my stupid sister has mistaken all your clearest expressions. You talked of expected horrors in London--and instead of instantly conceiving, as any rational creature would have done, that such words could relate only to a circulating library, she immediately pictured to herself a mob of three thousand men assembling in St. George's Fields; the Bank attacked, the Tower threatened, the streets of London flowing with blood, a detachment of the 12th Light Dragoons, (the hopes of the nation,) called up from Northampton to quell the insurgents, and the gallant Capt. Frederick Tilney, in the moment of charging at the head of his troop, knocked off his horse by a brickbat from an upper window. Forgive her stupidity.
(I, pp. 267-268; p. 78 in Norton ed.)",,24439,"","""My dear Eleanor, the riot is only in your own brain.""","",2014-09-02 21:05:42 UTC,""