work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
6196,"","Searching ""soul"" and ""steel"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-06-12 00:00:00 UTC,"------ ""My blessing's with You,
And these few precepts in thy memory
Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue,
Nor any unproportioned thought his act.
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.
The friends thou hast, and their adoption try'd,
Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel;
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new-hatch'd unfledg'd comrade. Beware
Of entrance to a quarrel; but, being in,
Bear it that the opposer may beware of thee.
Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice:
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgement.
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gawdy:
For the apparel oft proclaims the man.
Neither a lender nor a borrower be,
For loan oft loses both itself and friend,
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
This above all,--to thine ownself be true;
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Farewel, my blessing season this in thee.""
Hamlet, Act i. Sc. 3.",,16396,"•Combe repeats the commonplace (is it originally Lockean?) of the babbling nurse, the goblin tale, and the early association of ideas.
•I've included four times: Seed, Bud, Blossom, Fruitage","""The friends thou hast, and their adoption try'd, / Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel;""",Metal,2009-09-14 19:46:45 UTC,""
6203,"","Reading Reisner, Thomas A. ""Tablua Rasa: Shelley's Metaphor of Mind."" Ariel IV.2 (197): 90-102. p. 92.",2006-10-03 00:00:00 UTC,"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)",,16421,•I've included twice: Mine and Cave
•Cross-reference: Reisner connects to Leibniz's unhewn marble (93).,"""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""","",2009-09-14 19:46:49 UTC,"Canto VII, Stanza XXXI"
6203,"","Reading Reisner, Thomas A. ""Tablua Rasa: Shelley's Metaphor of Mind."" Ariel IV.2 (197): 90-102. p. 95.",2006-10-03 00:00:00 UTC,"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)",,16424,"•I've included thrice: Melody, Wave, Sand.","""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""","",2009-09-14 19:46:50 UTC,"Canto XII, Stanza 17"
6206,"","Reading Reisner, Thomas A. ""Tablua Rasa: Shelley's Metaphor of Mind."" Ariel IV.2 (197): 90-102. p. 95.",2006-10-03 00:00:00 UTC,"Not until my dream became
Like a child's legend on the tideless sand.
Which the first foam erases half, and half
Leaves legible. At length I rose, and went,
Visiting my flowers from pot to pot, and thought 155
To set new cuttings in the empty urns,
And when I came to that beside the lattice,
I saw two little dark-green leaves
Lifting the light mould at their birth, and then
I half-remembered my forgotten dream.",,16427,•I've included twice: Legend and Sand,"""Not until my dream became / Like a child's legend on the tideless sand. / Which the first foam erases half, and half / Leaves legible""","",2009-09-14 19:46:51 UTC,""
6213,Dreams,"Searching ""passion"" and ""sterling"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-06-03 00:00:00 UTC,"""But how if this fair creature should incline
""To think too highly of this love of mine,
""And, taking all my counterfeit address
""For sterling passion, should the like profess?
""Nay, this is folly; or if I perceive
""Aught of the kind, I can but take my leave;
""And if the heart should feel a little sore,
""Contempt and anger will its ease restore.",,16469,From Poetical Works (1838). Work out citation. REVISIT,"One may take ""all my counterfeit address / 'For sterling passion, should the like profess?""",Coinage,2009-09-14 19:46:57 UTC,""
6214,"","Searching ""heart"" and ""steel"" in HDIS (Poetry); found again ""bosom""",2005-06-09 00:00:00 UTC,"Return, fond Muse, frae haunts sae fair;
To Lothian's shore return ance mair;
An' let thy lyre be sweetly strung,
For peerless Esk remains unsung.
Romantic stream! what sweets combine
To deck ilk bank an' bower o' thine!
For now the sun, wi' cheerfu' rays,
Glows saft o'er a' thy woody braes,
Whare mony a native wild-flower's seen,
'Mang birks, an' briers, an' ivy green,
An' a' the woodland chorists sing,
Or gleesome flit on wanton wing,
Save whare the lintie mournfully
Sabs sair aneath the rowan tree,
To see her nest an' young anes a'
By thoughtless reaver borne awa.
Return, return the mourner's care,
An' ease the bosom o' despair,
Nor cleed your little heart in steel,
For Nature bade the lintie feel.
Go mark the maid whase gentle breast
Spreads for the tunefu' thrang a feast,
Weel pleased to tak her sweet reward
Frae ilka little sylvan bard.",,16470,"","""Nor cleed your little heart in steel, / For Nature bade the lintie feel""",Metal,2009-09-14 19:46:57 UTC,""
6213,Dreams,"Searching ""soul"" and ""steel"" in HDIS (Poetry); found again ""breast""",2005-06-12 00:00:00 UTC,"""Grieving?--No!
""Or as a conqueror mourns a dying foe,
""That makes his triumph sure.--Couldst thou deplore
""The evil done, the pain would be no more;
""But an accursed dream has steel'd thy breast,
""And all the woman in thy soul suppress'd.""--
",,16471,From Poetical Works (1838). Work out citation. REVISIT,"""""But an accursed dream has steel'd thy breast, / 'And all the woman in thy soul suppress'd.""--""",Metal,2009-09-14 19:46:58 UTC,""
6227,"","Reading Reisner, Thomas A. ""Tablua Rasa: Shelley's Metaphor of Mind."" Ariel IV.2 (197): 90-102. p. 95.",2006-10-03 00:00:00 UTC,"And the beasts, and the birds, and the insects were drowned
In an ocean of dreams without a sound;
Whose waves never mark, though they ever impress
The light sand which paves it, consciousness;
(Only overhead the sweet nightingale
Ever sang more sweet as the day might fail,
And snatches of its Elysian chant
Were mixed with the dreams of the Sensitive Plant);--
The Sensitive Plant was the earliest
Upgathered into the bosom of rest;
A sweet child weary of its delight,
The feeblest and yet the favourite,
Cradled within the embrace of Night.
(ll. 98-114)",,16504,"•I've included Thrice: Ocean, Sand, and Wave.
•Cross-reference: Reisner connects with ocean image in Shelley's Defence. ","""And the beasts, and the birds, and the insects were drowned / In an ocean of dreams without a sound; / Whose waves never mark, though they ever impress / The light sand which paves it, consciousness""","",2009-09-14 19:47:05 UTC,Part I
6346,"","Searching ""heart"" and ""steel"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-06-09 00:00:00 UTC,"The morning smil'd, the beaming ray Of Phoebus made all nature gay.Blue was the Lake's expansive flood, And many a gentle zephyr woo'd The wave that rippled o'er the deep, Nor would allow the wave to sleep. The mountains rising rude and bold Shew'd their rude summits tipt with gold, While branching oaks, the forest's pride, Hung down and cloath'd their shaggy side:The cattle wander o'er their mead, The flocks all by the wood-side feed.The brook flows murmuring along, The grove is vocal by the song With which kind nature doth inspire, In summer morn, the feather'd choir.At intervals is heard the roar Of water-fall, which tumbling o'erThe craggy brow, delights the eye And ear, with rude variety.Nor these alone: what labour shows, And does by rural toil disclose,To aid the picture nature gives, By which in some new form she lives,While art, by active life refin'd, Improves that picture in the mind;-- And thus, with blended objects fraught, Unites the sense to solid thought. The husbandman's attentive toil Turns with his plough th'expecting soil,--And now with no unsparing hand The grain he scatters o'er the land;The yellow harvest next appears, With lofty stem and loaded ears,-- The barn capacious then receives Th'abundant loads which labour gives; And thus each scene of nature's shown, With varying beauties not her own.How does the fisher's boat awake, The dulness of the dormant lake! While, aided by the gentle gale, Trade guides her barge with swelling sail:Or should the bark of pleasure skim The water o'er with gallant trim,While oars in dashing measure sweep The yielding bosom of the deep,What interest, as they intervene, Each gives to every charming scene. The waggon with its pond'rous load That grinds to dust the beaten road:The trav'lers, who throughout the day In various guise pursue their way, The herdsman's wealth, the goatherd's store, The hill and dale and height explore;The shatter'd castle's lofty tower The former seat of lordly power;The ivied arch by river's side, The sad remains of cloister'd pride;The smoke that rises o'er the trees And curls obedient to the breeze; The bridge that many an age has stood And stretch'd its arch across the flood;--The village spire, but dimly seen, The straw-roof'd cot upon the green, With spreading vine bemantled o'er,-- The children gazing from the door,And homely peasants as they ply The various calls of industry;--These, and how many more combine, To aid fair nature's rude design;-- But they defy so weak a muse as mine. Such are the forms which Fancy gives, By which e'en Fancy smiles and lives. Such were the thoughts which nature's charm With ever-varying beauty warm, Did, as he gaz'd around, suggest, To the good Doctor's pensive breast;-- For though he thought the plan pursued, Was haply form'd to do him good,Yet still he felt that much remain'd Before his cure would be obtain'd.But though he fail'd not to obey The power that gives and takes away, Whose perfect wisdom's seen to measure Man's hours and fortunes at its pleasure,Yet he ne'er vainly strove to steel His heart, and bid him not to feel, But yielded to what Heav'n thought fit,-- To sigh, to sorrow, and submit.For comfort he would ne'er apply To what is call'd Philosophy;He did not rest his hopes on earth, Or any strength of mortal birth;No, all his hopes he strove to raise Where angels wonder as they gaze. --Thus he rode on, but now and then He turn'd to look toward Sommerden.At length the spire, with sun-beams bright, Began to lessen in his sight;But when it vanish'd from his view, He heav'd a sigh, and pensive grew,Nor till successive beauties rose, Which splendid nature did discloseTo charm his eye, to warm his heart, And make him think upon his art,Had he his gloomy care resign'd, Or call'd a smile into his mind.But nature on his fancy wrought, And chang'd the tenour of his thought,While he with contemplative eye Trac'd and retrac'd the scenery,--And picture after picture, true To all he saw, his fancy drew.Thus, as the Sage pursued his way, He bade his mind the scenes survey,And as the Muse may now conjecture, Read to himself a kind of lectureOn nature's charms, and how by art, He could the picturesque impart,As he had often done before, When journeying on his former Tour, Which this same Muse, a tell-tale drab, On a past page has dar'd to blab;--And as he felt 'twould ease his pain, He now would try to do again, And heighten nature's varying feature By adding many a living creature;Thus calling to immediate use What time destroys and men produce. --These thoughts, impress'd upon his mind, To serious musings much inclin'd,Directed all his views of nature In praise of their sublime Creator;And, from his contemplative mood, Which all his love of talk withstood,He suddenly the silence broke, And thus with solemn air he spoke:--Father of good, Almighty power! Who at Creation's wond'rous hour, Didst call from Chaos into birth This goodly scene of things, the Earth;--Man's state of trial, his sure way, And passage to eternal day:But 'tis not now I shall assign The goodness of thy power divine,In forming the benignant plan To suit the character of man,--Nor shall I bid my thoughts explore The depth of metaphysic lore,To prove, in erring reason's spite, That whatsoever is, is right:I leave that to reflection's pow'r, In piety's more sacred hour,When 'tis my duty to impart Truth's doctrine to the doubting heart. Here, I must own, whate'er I see, The scenes around me preach to me: Each brook and rock, as Shakspeare says,(The Bard sublime of former days,) Excites the tongue to grateful praise.Can I view nature's grand display, Now brightening in the sunny ray,That my enquiring eye regales With interchange of hills and dales;The silver lake and rushing flood, The verdant lawn and pendent wood,Which, softly touch'd or boldly wrought, Delight or elevate the thought,Without receiving through the eye The moral sensibility? Or without list'ning, through the sense, To nature's speechless eloquence?These call me as my view's pursued, To praise the Author of all good! For good the wondering mind may trace In the vast fields of endless space;E'en good reflection's eye may see In every leaf, on ev'ry tree, In ev'ry blade of grass that's seen To clothe the earth with vesture green; In oaks that form the civic wreath, Or the wild rose that blooms beneath, In the steep rock's stupendous brow, Or the grey moss that clings below. These are thy works, Parent of good! Thus felt, thus seen, thus understood, They wake the enliv'ning gratitude,That, thus directed, is combin'd With the first virtues of the mind! How much I thank a parent's care Which, while he did his child prepare With pregnant seeds of classic lore, And op'd fair learning's various store, With all of science and of knowledge, That could be taught in school and college;Yet suffer'd art to guide my hand And the free pencil's power command.Thus I possess the skill to trace And call to view the hidden grace,The secret beauty, that no eye, Untaught by art, can e'er descry;That bids th'enquiring mind explore Things dimly seen or gilded o'er, And which it scarce had known before.Delightful art! ere plenty stor'd With friendly hand, my daily board,While ill-paid labour did instil Knowledge to boys against their will: Though I could just rub on by teaching, And pay for Grizzle's keep by preaching;When, to do good I was most willing, And not an independent shillingDid in my scanty purse appear To purchase sorrow's falling tear: Yes, thou didst nature's scenes pourtray, And my heart grew like nature gay. Delightful art! that through the eye Didst oft my drooping mind supply With images, whose beauty's power Gave pleasure to the passing hour!Thou bad'st me hope that time would bring A better fortune on its wing: Hope was fulfill'd, and Fortune came, Nor without some small share of fame.Thus, by transcendent Nature fir'd, By love of Picturesque inspir'd, Through these blest scenes I sought to roam, Where Fortune gave my present home;And where, though unrelenting fate Has robb'd me of my darling mate,Yet, while lamenting what I've lost, I still have much of good to boast, And for that good my grateful heart Must bless Thee, thou delightful art! --He paus'd, and ere he spoke again, Patrick exclaim'd ""Amen, Amen!""The Doctor quickly turn'd around, Scar'd at the unexpected sound, ""And please your Rev'rence,"" Pat then said, ""O the fine prayer that you have pray'd! For sure, on horseback, ne'er was heard Such pious words to Heaven preferr'd,And many would be hard put to't To say such fine things e'en on foot:So faith, and please you, Sir, I thought It did not finish as it ought:For though we are not in a church, I would not leave it in the lurch, Thus when your pray'r was done, I then Like a good Christian said, Amen!""The Doctor turn'd his head aside To hide a smile and thus replied: Ne'er mind, my friend, whate'er is meant With honest zeal and good intentRequires not, in calm reason's eye, Or pardon or apology. But still you need not silence break, Unless the occasion bids you speak,Unless my words as they transpire A needful answer may require:Sometimes my bosom's senate sits In silent thought, nor then admitsA single word its force to try, And ruffle my tranquillity. --How strange this custom may appear To others, I nor know nor care;But oft I feel a pleasing joy When thus I do an hour employ, When thus with bold ideas fraught, I clothe with words my secret thought:Nor shall I e'er the whim disown To give them utt'rance when alone, So that my words fair virtue please, And yield th'impatient bosom ease.""",,16805,"","Yet he ne'er vainly strove to steel [...] His heart, and bid him not to feel, / But yielded to what Heav'n thought fit""",Metal,2009-09-14 19:48:02 UTC,""
6475,Magnetism,Reading,2009-01-21 00:00:00 UTC,"Monticello, March 14, 1820. Dear Sir, A continuation of poor health makes me an irregular correspondent. I am, therefore, your debtor for the two letters of January 20th and February 21st. It was after you left Europe that Dugald Stewart, concerning whom you inquire, and Lord Dare, second son of the Marquis of Lansdowne, came to Paris. They brought me a letter from Lord Wycombe, whom you knew. I became immediately intimate with Stewart, calling mutually on each other and almost daily, during their stay at Paris, which was of some months. Lord Dare was a young man of imagination, with occasional flashes indicating deep penetration, but of much caprice, and little judgment. He has been long dead, and the family title is now, I believe, in the third son, who has shown in Parliament talents of a superior order. Stewart is a great man, and among the most honest living. I have heard nothing of his dying at top, as you suppose. Mr. Ticknor, however, can give you the best information on that subject, as he must have heard particularly of him when in Edinburgh, although I believe he did not see him. I have understood he was then in London superintending the publication of a new work. I consider him and Tracy as the ablest metaphysicians living; by which I mean investigators of the thinking faculty of man. Stewart seems to have given its natural history from facts and observations; Tracy its modes of action and deduction, which he calls Logic and Ideology; and Cabanis, in his Physique et Morale de l'Homme, has investigated anatomically, and most ingeniously, the particular organs in the human structure which may most probably exercise that faculty. And they ask why may not the mode of action called thought, have been given to a material organ of peculiar structure, as that of magnetism is to the needle, or of elasticity to the spring by a particular manipulation of the steel. They observe that on ignition of the needle or spring, their magnetism and elasticity cease. So on dissolution of the material organ by death, its action of thought may cease also, and that nobody supposes that the magnetism or elasticity retire to hold a substantive and distinct existence. These were qualities only of particular conformations of matter; change the conformation, and its qualities change also. Mr. Locke, you know, and other materialists, have charged with blasphemy the spiritualists who have denied the Creator the power of endowing certain forms of matter with the faculty of thought. These, however, are speculations and subtleties in which, for my own part, I have little indulged myself. When I meet with a proposition beyond finite comprehension, I abandon it as I do a weight which human strength cannot lift, and I think ignorance, in these cases, is truly the softest pillow on which I can lay my head. Were it necessary, however, to form an opinion, I confess I should, with Mr. Locke, prefer swallowing one incomprehensibility rather than two. It requires one effort only to admit the single incomprehensibility of matter endowed with thought, and two to believe, first that of an existence called spirit, of which we have neither evidence nor idea, and then secondly how that spirit, which has neither extension nor solidity, can put material organs into motion. These are things which you and I may perhaps know ere long. We have so lived as to fear neither horn of the dilemma. We have, willingly, done injury to no man; and have done for our country the good which has fallen in our way, so far as commensurate with the faculties given us. That we have not done more than we could, cannot be imputed to us as a crime before any tribunal. I look, therefore, to the crisis, as I am sure you also do, as one ""qui summum nec metuit diem nec optat."" In the meantime be our last as cordial as were our first affections.",2009-11-30,17211,"","""And they [Stewart, Tracy, Cabanis] ask why may not the mode of action called thought, have been given to a material organ of peculiar structure, as that of magnetism is to the needle, or of elasticity to the spring by a particular manipulation of the steel.""","",2009-11-30 16:01:07 UTC,""