text,updated_at,metaphor,created_at,context,theme,reviewed_on,dictionary,comments,provenance,id,work_id
"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
"""At length my fate more calmly I survey'd.
""If to propitiate the obdurate maid
""Were still by heav'n allow'd, my longer stay
""Would only the transporting bliss delay;
""If still relentless she should prove, my soul
""Might gain remission from her stern controul.
""By hope and fear thus torn, with eager haste
""Th' impression on my buckler I effac'd,
""Resolv'd that, till my fate should milder grow,
""Me as its once-fam'd bearer none should know.
""Arm'd at all points, and vaulting on my steed,
""To the Larissan court I urg'd his speed.
""In phrase the most respectful I essay'd
""To move the justice of the royal maid;
""I told my suff'rings, call'd on heav'n above
""To vouch my tender, my eternal love,
""And her permission humbly sought once more
""To claim her pity and her grace implore.
""The scroll I sent; her answer quickly came--
""By Heav'n! my madd'ning soul is in a flame
""When I reflect--Oh! may'st thou never know
""The tort'ring pangs, th' inexplicable woe,
""Which like a torrent overwhelm'd my soul,
""When I unopen'd saw again my scroll,
""Which from her cruel hand this sentence bore--
""'Never, oh prince, these eyes may see thee more.
""'This further proof of my resolve receive,
""'And, if my wish avail, Larissa leave.'--
""Yes too obdurate maid! Thou know'st too well
""The potency of that o'erpow'ring spell,
""Which spite of all that reason can suggest,
""Maintains despotic empire o'er my breast.
""Yes, yes! In all thy cruelty exult,
""Mock at my pangs, my constancy insult,
""To enhance my woes exert thine ev'ry art,
""Probe to its inmost core my tortur'd heart!
""That heart may break--But, while its pulses beat,
""There my immortal love shall hold its seat;
""And when, releas'd from sublunary ties,
""My soul to regions yet unknown shall rise,
""E'en in the trance and agony of death,
""Thy still dear name shall linger on my breath,
""With ev'ry pray'r for sacred mercy blend,
""And with my spirit to high heav'n ascend.--
""Forgive, forgive me, friend! My weakness needs
""The sympathy from friendship which proceeds.
""Methinks, already thy consoling sigh,
""The pitying tear which trembles in thine eye,
""Calm to repose my agitated soul:
""As if some opiate o'er my senses stole,
""The tempest of my heart subsides, again
""Reason asserts her interrupted reign.
""Let me then cherish her reviving beam,
""And quit, while yet I can, my painful theme:
""A few brief words, and those succinctly told,
""The sequel of my fortunes will unfold.
""With burning brain and agonizing breast,
""I paid obedience to the stern behest:
""My soul with wonder, as with passion, fraught,
""The town I quitted, and the forest sought.
""To thee I need not what ensued repeat,
""The story of my suff'rings is complete.""
",2009-09-14 19:46:36 UTC,"""[T]ort'ring pangs"" and inexplicable woe may ""like a torrent"" overwhelm the soul",2004-08-16 00:00:00 UTC,"","",,"","",HDIS,16351,6177
"In the first place it is to be observed, that Aristotle's positions on this subject are unmixed with fiction. The wise Stagyrite speaks of no successive particles propagating motion like billiard balls (as Hobbs;) nor of nervous or animal spirits, where inanimate and irrational solids are thawed down, and distilled, or filtrated by ascension, into living and intelligent fluids, that etch and re-etch engravings on the brain (as the followers of Des Cartes, and the humoral pathologists in general;) nor of an oscillating ether which was to effect the same service for the nerves of the brain considered as solid fibres, as the animal spirits perform for them under the notion of hollow tubes (as Hartley teaches)--nor finally, (with yet more recent dreamers) of chemical compositions by elective affinity, or of an electric light at once the immediate object and the ultimate organ of inward vision, which rises to the brain like an Aurora Borealis, and there, disporting in various shapes (as the balance of plus and minus, or negative and positive, is destroyed or re-established) images out both past and present. Aristotle delivers a just theory without pretending to an hypothesis; or in other words a comprehensive survey of the different facts, and of their relations to each other without supposition, that is, a fact placed under a number of facts, as their common support and explanation; tho' in the majority of instances these hypotheses or suppositions better deserve the name of upopoiaeseis, or suffictions. He uses indeed the word kinaeseis, to express what we call representations or ideas, but he carefully distinguishes them from material motion, designating the latter always by annexing the words en topo, or kata topon. On the contrary, in his treatise ""De Anima,"" he excludes place and motion from all the operations of thought, whether representations or volitions, as attributes utterly and absurdly heterogeneous.
(p. 100-2)",2011-09-13 15:12:10 UTC,"""The wise Stagyrite speaks of no successive particles propagating motion like billiard balls (as Hobbs;) nor of nervous or animal spirits, where inanimate and irrational solids are thawed down, and distilled, or filtrated by ascension, into living and intelligent fluids, that etch and re-etch engravings on the brain (as the followers of Des Cartes, and the humoral pathologists in general;) nor of an oscillating ether which was to effect the same service for the nerves of the brain considered as solid fibres, as the animal spirits perform for them under the notion of hollow tubes (as Hartley teaches)--nor finally, (with yet more recent dreamers) of chemical compositions by elective affinity, or of an electric light at once the immediate object and the ultimate organ of inward vision, which rises to the brain like an Aurora Borealis, and there, disporting in various shapes (as the balance of plus and minus, or negative and positive, is destroyed or re-established) images out both past and present.""",2005-09-22 00:00:00 UTC,Chapter 5,"",2011-07-21,"","•I cut and pasted this from Project Gutenberg and then cleaned it up. Only later checked against Princeton UP edition (9/13/2011). Note, I transliterated the Greek.
•I've included twice: Billiard Balls and Etching
•INTEREST. STC on other philosophers metaphors of mind. Meta-metaphorical.
•Chapter 5 is titled ""on the Law of Association""",Reading,16413,6202
"My mind became the book through which I grew
Wise in all human wisdom, and its cave,
Which like a mine I rifled through and through,
To me the keeping of its secrets gave --
One mind, the type of all, the moveless wave
Whose calm reflects all moving things that are,
Necessity, and love, and life, the grave,
And sympathy, fountains of hope and fear;
Justice, and truth, and time, and the world's natural sphere.
(VII, ll. 3100-8)",2009-09-14 19:46:50 UTC,"There is ""One mind, the type of all, the moveless wave / Whose calm reflects all moving things that are""",2006-10-03 00:00:00 UTC,"Canto VII, Stanza XXXI","",,"","","Reading Reisner, Thomas A. ""Tablua Rasa: Shelley's Metaphor of Mind."" Ariel IV.2 (197): 90-102. p. 92.",16423,6203
"And is this death?--The pyre has disappeared,
The Pestilence, the Tyrant, and the throng;
The flames grow silent--slowly there is heard
The music of a breath-suspending song,
Which, like the kiss of love when life is young,
Steeps the faint eyes in darkness sweet and deep;
With ever-changing notes it floats along,
Till on my passive soul there seemed to creep
A melody, like waves on wrinkled sands that leap.
(XII, 4594-602)",2009-09-14 19:46:50 UTC,"""With ever-changing notes it floats along, / Till on my passive soul there seemed to creep / A melody, like waves on wrinkled sands that leap""",2006-10-03 00:00:00 UTC,"Canto XII, Stanza 17","",,"","•I've included thrice: Melody, Wave, Sand.","Reading Reisner, Thomas A. ""Tablua Rasa: Shelley's Metaphor of Mind."" Ariel IV.2 (197): 90-102. p. 95.",16424,6203
"O magic sleep! O comfortable bird,
That broodest o'er the troubled sea of the mind
Till it is hush'd and smooth! O unconfin'd
Restraint! imprisoned liberty! great key
To golden palaces, strange minstrelsy,
Fountains grotesque, new trees, bespangled caves,
Echoing grottos, full of tumbling waves
And moonlight; aye, to all the mazy world
Of silvery enchantment!--who, upfurl'd
Beneath thy drowsy wing a triple hour,
But renovates and lives?--Thus, in the bower,
Endymion was calm'd to life again.
",2009-09-14 19:46:51 UTC,"""O magic sleep! O comfortable bird, / That broodest o'er the troubled sea of the mind """,2003-09-17 00:00:00 UTC,"","",,"","",HDIS,16432,6207
"Yet must I think less wildly:--I have thought
Too long and darkly, till my brain became,
In its own eddy boiling and o'erwrought,
A whirling gulf of phantasy and flame:
And thus, untaught in youth my heart to tame,
My springs of life were poisoned. 'Tis too late:
Yet am I changed; though still enough the same
In strength to bear what Time can not abate,
And feed on bitter fruits without accusing Fate.
(pp. 864-5, ll. 55-63)",2009-09-14 19:49:14 UTC,"""Yet must I think less wildly:--I have thought / Too long and darkly, till my brain became, / In its own eddy boiling and o'erwrought, / A whirling gulf of phantasy and flame.""",2008-05-27 00:00:00 UTC,Stanza 7,"",,"",I've included twice: Boiling and Flame,Reading in Perkins. Text from HDIS.,17153,6456
"To fly from, need not be to hate, mankind:
All are not fit with them to stir and toil,
Nor is it discontent to keep the mind
Deep in its fountain, lest it overboil
In the hot throng, where we become the spoil
Of our infection, till too late and long
We may deplore and struggle with the coil,
In wretched interchange of wrong for wrong
Midst a contentious world, striving where none are strong.
(p. 870, ll. 552-661)",2009-09-14 19:49:15 UTC,"""Nor is it discontent to keep the mind / Deep in its fountain, lest it overboil / In the hot throng, where we become the spoil / Of our infection""",2008-05-27 00:00:00 UTC,Stanza 69,"",,"","",Reading in Perkins. Text from HDIS.,17163,6456
"Mr. Coleridge bewilders himself sadly in endeavouring to determine in what the essence of poetry consists;--Milton, we think, has told it in a single line--
--'Thoughts that voluntary movePoetry is the music of language, expressing the music of the mind. Whenever any object takes such a hold on the mind as to make us dwell upon it, and brood over it, melting the heart in love, or kindling it to a sentiment of admiration;--whenever a movement of imagination or passion is impressed on the mind, by which it seeks to prolong and repeat the emotion, to bring all other objects into accord with it, and to give the same movement of harmony, sustained and continuous, to the sounds that express it,--this is poetry. The musical in sound is the sustained and continuous; the musical in thought and feeling is the sustained and continuous also. Whenever articulation passes naturally into intonation, this is the beginning of poetry. There is no natural harmony in the ordinary combinations of significant sounds: the language of prose is not the language of music, or of passion: and it is to supply this inherent defect in the mechanism of language--to make the sound an echo to the sense, when the sense becomes a sort of echo to itself--to mingle the tide of verse, 'the golden cadences of poesy,' with the tide of feeling, flowing, and murmuring as it flows--or to take the imagination off its feet, and spread its wings where it may indulge its own impulses, without being stopped or perplexed by the ordinary abruptnesses, or discordant flats and sharps of prose--that poetry was invented.
Harmonious numbers.'
--'Thoughts that voluntary movePoetry is the music of language, expressing the music of the mind. Whenever any object takes such a hold on the mind as to make us dwell upon it, and brood over it, melting the heart in love, or kindling it to a sentiment of admiration;--whenever a movement of imagination or passion is impressed on the mind, by which it seeks to prolong and repeat the emotion, to bring all other objects into accord with it, and to give the same movement of harmony, sustained and continuous, to the sounds that express it,--this is poetry. The musical in sound is the sustained and continuous; the musical in thought and feeling is the sustained and continuous also. Whenever articulation passes naturally into intonation, this is the beginning of poetry. There is no natural harmony in the ordinary combinations of significant sounds: the language of prose is not the language of music, or of passion: and it is to supply this inherent defect in the mechanism of language--to make the sound an echo to the sense, when the sense becomes a sort of echo to itself--to mingle the tide of verse, 'the golden cadences of poesy,' with the tide of feeling, flowing, and murmuring as it flows--or to take the imagination off its feet, and spread its wings where it may indulge its own impulses, without being stopped or perplexed by the ordinary abruptnesses, or discordant flats and sharps of prose--that poetry was invented.
Harmonious numbers.'