work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
5650,"","Searching ""engrav"" and ""heart"" in HDIS (Drama)",2005-03-09 00:00:00 UTC,"LADY.
I am a stranger to them, Sir.--But your humanity must ever be engraved on my heart.",,15101,"","""But your humanity must ever be engraved on my heart.""",Writing,2012-07-05 17:01:25 UTC,"Act IV, scene i"
5703,"",Searching in HDIS (Drama),2006-03-06 00:00:00 UTC,"HAS.
In the most fatal symptoms I have undertaken the body's cure. The mind's disease, perhaps, I'm not less a stranger to--Oh! trust the noble patient to my care.
",,15205,"","""The mind's disease, perhaps, I'm not less a stranger to--Oh! trust the noble patient to my care.""","",2009-09-14 19:43:02 UTC,"Act III, scene ii"
5710,"","Searching ""rule"" and ""reason"" in HDIS (Drama)",2004-06-22 00:00:00 UTC,"SIR JOHN.
And can you persist after this, my Lord?--don't --for my sake don't.--
LORD
A passion like mine, makes the heart rebellious--it will love on--it will hope, in spite of the rules cold reason dictates.
SIR JOHN
I know my uncle is impatient for my return, and therefore I cannot remain any longer here--but I am sorry to leave you--very sorry to leave you in this situation, indeed, my Lord--Now promise to get the better of your passion--it will make me much happier if you will.
LORD
I can promise nothing--why don't you go to your uncle?
SIR JOHN
I am going--I must go, or he'll never pardon it.
(II.i)",,15238,"","""A passion like mine, makes the heart rebellious--it will love on--it will hope, in spite of the rules cold reason dictates""","",2013-03-23 20:52:39 UTC,"Act II, Scene i"
5771,"","Searching ""breast"" and ""cave"" in HDIS (Poetry);",2006-01-18 00:00:00 UTC,"To his illumin'd sight was then consign'd
The deep recesses of the Human Mind;
The ever-varying path of tortuous Art,
And the dark passage to the Tyrant's heart;
Th' umbrageous winding of the thorny road,
That leads to quick-ey'd Jealousy's abode;
The gath'ring storms that o'er Resentment roll;
The swelling waves that toss the fearful soul;
The calm that breathes around the Infant's rest,
The rugged cavern of the Murd'rer's breast;
The dread materials by the Furies brought,
With which are forg'd Despair's tempestuous thought;
The shaft, that, mingling pleasure with the pain,
Bathes in the blood that warms the Lover's vein.",,15378,"","To Shakespeare's illumined sight was consigned ""The rugged cavern of the Murd'rer's breast""","",2009-09-14 19:43:29 UTC,""
6053,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2005-02-14 00:00:00 UTC,"Yon midnight bell, that frights the peaceful air!
Commands the Fathers to their wonted pray'r:
Now in long order flows the sable throng,
Like a dark, sullen stream that creeps along:
Why joins not Abelard the sainted train?
Does torpid sloth his ling'ring steps detain?
These walls, that pillow steep'd in tears, attest
That sleep is exil'd from this tortur'd breast:
This lamp proclaims the same, whose trembling beam
Guides while my hand pursues the glowing theme:
While the dread secret from my soul I tear,
And unreserv'd my bosom'd feelings bare.
Ah me! the passion that my soul misled
Was check'd, not conquer'd; buried, but not dead:
Now bursting from the grave, in evil hour,
It hastens to its prey with fiercer pow'r,
And, vulture-like, with appetite increas'd
It riots on the undiminish'd feast.
Daughter of Paraclete dost thou complain
In iron silence that I lock'd my pain?
That not to thee (soft solacer in woe)
I bad the troubled waves of Anguish flow?
Methought the course of three long years' retreat
Would scarce thy length'ning sacrifice complete:
Methought I should profane the hallow'd rite,
Did my laments thy pitying ear affright:
Thus at the altar, wrapt in holy dread,
The youth of Macedon in silence bled,
Nor from his tortur'd and consuming hand
Dismiss'd the living close-adhering brand[1].
But now thy slow inauguration's o'er,
And thou hast reach'd Religion's tranquil shore,
Now that stern habit throws without controul
Her chain of adamant around thy soul,
May not th' unhappy Abelard disclose
(To her who pities most) his train of woes?",,16042,•Rich passage,"Sleep may be ""exil'd from this tortur'd breast""
","",2009-09-14 19:45:30 UTC,""
6053,Negated Metaphor,"Searching ""conque"" and ""soul"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-02-14 00:00:00 UTC,"Yon midnight bell, that frights the peaceful air!
Commands the Fathers to their wonted pray'r:
Now in long order flows the sable throng,
Like a dark, sullen stream that creeps along:
Why joins not Abelard the sainted train?
Does torpid sloth his ling'ring steps detain?
These walls, that pillow steep'd in tears, attest
That sleep is exil'd from this tortur'd breast:
This lamp proclaims the same, whose trembling beam
Guides while my hand pursues the glowing theme:
While the dread secret from my soul I tear,
And unreserv'd my bosom'd feelings bare.
Ah me! the passion that my soul misled
Was check'd, not conquer'd; buried, but not dead:
Now bursting from the grave, in evil hour,
It hastens to its prey with fiercer pow'r,
And, vulture-like, with appetite increas'd
It riots on the undiminish'd feast.
Daughter of Paraclete dost thou complain
In iron silence that I lock'd my pain?
That not to thee (soft solacer in woe)
I bad the troubled waves of Anguish flow?
Methought the course of three long years' retreat
Would scarce thy length'ning sacrifice complete:
Methought I should profane the hallow'd rite,
Did my laments thy pitying ear affright:
Thus at the altar, wrapt in holy dread,
The youth of Macedon in silence bled,
Nor from his tortur'd and consuming hand
Dismiss'd the living close-adhering brand[1].
But now thy slow inauguration's o'er,
And thou hast reach'd Religion's tranquil shore,
Now that stern habit throws without controul
Her chain of adamant around thy soul,
May not th' unhappy Abelard disclose
(To her who pities most) his train of woes?",,16043,•I've included twice: Conquest and Burial
•Rich passage,"""Ah me! the passion that my soul misled / Was check'd, not conquer'd; buried, but not dead.""","",2009-09-14 19:45:30 UTC,""
6053,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2005-02-14 00:00:00 UTC,"Yon midnight bell, that frights the peaceful air!
Commands the Fathers to their wonted pray'r:
Now in long order flows the sable throng,
Like a dark, sullen stream that creeps along:
Why joins not Abelard the sainted train?
Does torpid sloth his ling'ring steps detain?
These walls, that pillow steep'd in tears, attest
That sleep is exil'd from this tortur'd breast:
This lamp proclaims the same, whose trembling beam
Guides while my hand pursues the glowing theme:
While the dread secret from my soul I tear,
And unreserv'd my bosom'd feelings bare.
Ah me! the passion that my soul misled
Was check'd, not conquer'd; buried, but not dead:
Now bursting from the grave, in evil hour,
It hastens to its prey with fiercer pow'r,
And, vulture-like, with appetite increas'd
It riots on the undiminish'd feast.
Daughter of Paraclete dost thou complain
In iron silence that I lock'd my pain?
That not to thee (soft solacer in woe)
I bad the troubled waves of Anguish flow?
Methought the course of three long years' retreat
Would scarce thy length'ning sacrifice complete:
Methought I should profane the hallow'd rite,
Did my laments thy pitying ear affright:
Thus at the altar, wrapt in holy dread,
The youth of Macedon in silence bled,
Nor from his tortur'd and consuming hand
Dismiss'd the living close-adhering brand[1].
But now thy slow inauguration's o'er,
And thou hast reach'd Religion's tranquil shore,
Now that stern habit throws without controul
Her chain of adamant around thy soul,
May not th' unhappy Abelard disclose
(To her who pities most) his train of woes?",,16044,•I've included twice: Resurrected Corpse and Vulture
•Rich passage,"A passion may burst ""from the grave, in evil hour"" and hasten to its prey with fiercer pow'r and ""vulture-like, with appetite increas'd"" riot on the undiminish'd feast","",2009-09-14 19:45:31 UTC,""
6053,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2005-02-14 00:00:00 UTC,"Yon midnight bell, that frights the peaceful air!
Commands the Fathers to their wonted pray'r:
Now in long order flows the sable throng,
Like a dark, sullen stream that creeps along:
Why joins not Abelard the sainted train?
Does torpid sloth his ling'ring steps detain?
These walls, that pillow steep'd in tears, attest
That sleep is exil'd from this tortur'd breast:
This lamp proclaims the same, whose trembling beam
Guides while my hand pursues the glowing theme:
While the dread secret from my soul I tear,
And unreserv'd my bosom'd feelings bare.
Ah me! the passion that my soul misled
Was check'd, not conquer'd; buried, but not dead:
Now bursting from the grave, in evil hour,
It hastens to its prey with fiercer pow'r,
And, vulture-like, with appetite increas'd
It riots on the undiminish'd feast.
Daughter of Paraclete dost thou complain
In iron silence that I lock'd my pain?
That not to thee (soft solacer in woe)
I bad the troubled waves of Anguish flow?
Methought the course of three long years' retreat
Would scarce thy length'ning sacrifice complete:
Methought I should profane the hallow'd rite,
Did my laments thy pitying ear affright:
Thus at the altar, wrapt in holy dread,
The youth of Macedon in silence bled,
Nor from his tortur'd and consuming hand
Dismiss'd the living close-adhering brand[1].
But now thy slow inauguration's o'er,
And thou hast reach'd Religion's tranquil shore,
Now that stern habit throws without controul
Her chain of adamant around thy soul,
May not th' unhappy Abelard disclose
(To her who pities most) his train of woes?",2009-07-31,16045,•I've included twice: Resurrected Corpse and Vulture
•Rich passage,"""Ah me! the passion that my soul misled / Was check'd, not conquer'd; buried, but not dead: / Now bursting from the grave, in evil hour, / It hastens to its prey with fiercer pow'r, / And, vulture-like, with appetite increas'd / It riots on the undiminish'd feast.""","",2009-09-14 19:45:31 UTC,""
6053,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2005-02-14 00:00:00 UTC,"Yon midnight bell, that frights the peaceful air!
Commands the Fathers to their wonted pray'r:
Now in long order flows the sable throng,
Like a dark, sullen stream that creeps along:
Why joins not Abelard the sainted train?
Does torpid sloth his ling'ring steps detain?
These walls, that pillow steep'd in tears, attest
That sleep is exil'd from this tortur'd breast:
This lamp proclaims the same, whose trembling beam
Guides while my hand pursues the glowing theme:
While the dread secret from my soul I tear,
And unreserv'd my bosom'd feelings bare.
Ah me! the passion that my soul misled
Was check'd, not conquer'd; buried, but not dead:
Now bursting from the grave, in evil hour,
It hastens to its prey with fiercer pow'r,
And, vulture-like, with appetite increas'd
It riots on the undiminish'd feast.
Daughter of Paraclete dost thou complain
In iron silence that I lock'd my pain?
That not to thee (soft solacer in woe)
I bad the troubled waves of Anguish flow?
Methought the course of three long years' retreat
Would scarce thy length'ning sacrifice complete:
Methought I should profane the hallow'd rite,
Did my laments thy pitying ear affright:
Thus at the altar, wrapt in holy dread,
The youth of Macedon in silence bled,
Nor from his tortur'd and consuming hand
Dismiss'd the living close-adhering brand.
But now thy slow inauguration's o'er,
And thou hast reach'd Religion's tranquil shore,
Now that stern habit throws without controul
Her chain of adamant around thy soul,
May not th' unhappy Abelard disclose
(To her who pities most) his train of woes?",2011-05-26,16046,•Rich passage,"""Now that stern habit throws without controul / Her chain of adamant around thy soul / May not th' unhappy Abelard disclose / (To her who pities most) his train of woes?""",Fetters,2011-05-26 20:50:48 UTC,""
5650,"",Searching in HDIS (Drama),2012-07-05 17:04:52 UTC,"SIR GEORGE.
Dear Sir--
MR. EUSTON.
Nay, with every other person 'tis the same thing--If we are stuffed into a coach, with a little chattering pert Miss, ""Oh dear, Mr. Anthony Euston, you must not ride backwards, here is room for you on this seat--and Mr. Euston, I know, will like one seat as well as another""--and then am I put with my back to the horses, though my head is whirling all the time like one of the coach wheels. Then if any thing be lost, or wanted, when no servant is by, ""Mr. Anthony Euston must not stir for the world--but Mr. Euston, they know, will be so kind as to go for it.""--And this is all because I am good natured. Egad! if this is my reward, no wonder there are so few in the world of my temper.
SIR GEORGE.
But, dear Sir, no jesting-- Does my Uncle intend to call on me or not?",,19873,"","""Nay, with every other person 'tis the same thing--If we are stuffed into a coach, with a little chattering pert Miss, ""Oh dear, Mr. Anthony Euston, you must not ride backwards, here is room for you on this seat--and Mr. Euston, I know, will like one seat as well as another""--and then am I put with my back to the horses, though my head is whirling all the time like one of the coach wheels.""","",2012-07-05 17:04:52 UTC,"Act I, scene i"