work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
5960,"",Reading,2003-07-21 00:00:00 UTC,"Let me see: they tell me this is Monday night. Only three days yet to come! If thus restless to day; if my heart thus bounds till its mansion scarcely hold it, what must be my state tomorrow! What next day! What as the hour hastens on; as the sun descends; as my hand touches her in sign of wedded unity, of love without interval; of concord without end.
I must quell these tumults. They will disable me else. They will wear out all my strength. They will drain away life itself. But who could have thought! So soon! Not three months since I first set eyes upon her. Not three weeks since our plighted love, and only three days to terminate suspense and give me all.
I must compel myself to be quiet: to sleep. I must find some refuge from anticipations so excruciating. All extremes are agonies. A joy like this is too big for this narrow tenement. I must thrust it forth; I must bar and bolt it out for a time, or these frail walls will burst asunder. The pen is a pacifyer. It checks the mind's career; it circumscribes her wanderings. It traces out, and compels us to adhere to one path. It ever was my friend. Often has it blunted my vexations; hushed my stormy passions; turned my peevishness to soothing; my fierce revenge to heart-dissolving pity.
(Part II, chapter 23, p. 605; cf. pp. 207-8 in 1800 ed.)",,15853,"•:The beginning of the end. Mervyn to marry. Great stuff about the pen and mental control. (See Clarissa.)
•I've included twice: Wandering and Pen
•The ""all"" of the wedding night had me supposing that Brown would have us think that more than Mervyn's joy must thrust forth. Hints of masturbation?
•Note the heart's mansion and the mind's career.
•A writing or a landscape metaphor? — revised as MOTION.","""The pen is a pacifyer. It checks the mind's career; it circumscribes her wanderings.""",Inhabitants and Writing,2014-10-05 16:51:30 UTC,"Part II, Chapter 23"
5987,Stream of Consciousness,Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2003-12-29 00:00:00 UTC,"Dear Anna--between friend and friend,
Prose answers every common end;
Serves, in a plain and homely way,
To express the occurrence of the day;
Our health, the weather, and the news,
What walks we take, what books we choose,
And all the floating thoughts we find
Upon the surface of the mind.
(ll. 109-168, pp. 263-5)",,15922,"•Published in William Hayley's The Life, and Posthumous Writings, William Cowper, Esqr., 3 vols. ,1803-4.","""And all the floating thoughts we find / Upon the surface of the mind.""","",2018-06-18 15:42:56 UTC,""
5990,"",HDIS (Poetry),2003-12-30 00:00:00 UTC,"Ah, how the human mind wearies herself
With her own wanderings, and, involved in gloom
Impenetrable, speculates amiss!
Measuring, in her folly, things divine
By human; laws inscribed on adamant
By laws of man's device, and counsels fixt
For ever, by the hours that pass and die.
(ll. 1-7, p. 139)",,15925,"•From Cowper's Translations of Milton, 1791-2. First printed in Hayley's The Life, and Posthumous Writings, William Cowper, Esqr., 3 vols. ,1803-4.","""Ah, how the human mind wearies herself / With her own wanderings, and, involved in gloom / Impenetrable, speculates amiss!""",Inhabitants,2013-06-04 17:01:33 UTC,""
6093,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2006-01-20 00:00:00 UTC,"Ruddy is now the dawning as in June,
And clear and blue the vault of noon-tide sky:
Nor is the slanting orb of day unfelt.
From sunward rocks, the icicle's faint drop,
By lonely river-side, is heard at times
To break the silence deep; for now the stream
Is mute, or faintly gurgles far below
Its frozen ceiling: silent stands the mill,
The wheel immoveable, and shod with ice.
The babbling rivulet, at each little slope,
Flows scantily beneath a lucid veil,
And seems a pearly current liquified;
While, at the shelvy side, in thousand shapes
Fantastical, the frostwork domes uprear
Their tiny fabrics, gorgeously superb
With ornaments beyond the reach of art:
Here vestibules of state, and colonnades;
There Gothic castles, grottos, heathen fanes,
Rise in review, and quickly disappear;
Or through some fairy palace fancy roves,
And studs, with ruby lamps, the fretted roof;
Or paints with every colour of the bow
Spotless parterres, all freakt with snow-white flowers,
Flowers that no archetype in nature own;
Or spreads the spiky crystals into fields
Of bearded grain, rustling in autumn breeze.",,16119,•Another of these difficult wandering metaphors. Fancy personified.,"""Or through some fairy palace fancy roves, / And studs, with ruby lamps, the fretted roof / Or paints with every colour of the bow / Spotless parterres, all freakt with snow-white flowers, /
Flowers that no archetype in nature own.""","",2013-06-04 17:05:05 UTC,""
6163,Flights of Fancy,"Searching ""imagination"" and ""room"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2005-08-29 00:00:00 UTC,"Compare Thy works with Heav'n's unerring Word,
And note if nought be sinful, frail, absurd--
Whether its precepts, pure, in every part,
Have mov'd Thy Mind--have influenc'd Thy Heart.
From Reason's dawning, to the recent day,
Did ne'er conception, word, or action, stray?
But every pow'r, and faculty, of Soul,
In every waking moment keep the Whole?
Hast Thou, thro' all that long-protracted length,
Lov'd God with all Thy Heart--Mind--Soul--and Strength?
Hast Thou so manag'd Pow'r, dispos'd of Pelf,
As proves Thou lov'st Thy Neighbour as Thyself?
Ah! Thy proud Buildings publicly declare
What Thy Religion, Love, and Motives, are.
Thy Lawns, Thy Gardens, and Thy Groves, confess,
Thy splendid Furniture--Thy pompous Dress--
Thy crowded Table, and Thy Costly Treat--
Thy brilliant Side-board--and Thy lordly Suite--
Thy public Feastings, and proud Equipage--
All prove what graceless hopes Thy heart engage!
What sensual objects all Thy Soul absorb,
And bind Thy Spirit to this earthly Orb!
Each Passion stir, and stimulate each Lust,
To grasp at emptiness and grapple dust!
Urge on Thy Might, and agitate Thy Mind,
To pounce at shadows, and pursue the wind!
Inflame Affections--whip and spur Thy Will,
For things that ne'er can satisfy, or fill!
Which fetter judgment--rivet Reason's pow'rs,
To what Time terminates, or Death devours!
What Understanding's purest light pervert,
To grope in darkness--grovel in the dirt!
Draw down Ambition from substantial views,
To hunt for empty forms, and fading hues!
Solicit Fancy from celestial flights,
To wander o'er the World for frail delights
And crowd Imagination's rooms, immense,
With what relates alone to Time and Sense!
Faith, still deluded with lov'd Nature's Lies,
And Hope, still eying Earth's deceptive Toys;
Where Charity some cheating trifle spends,
While Folly frustrates Ostentation's ends!",2013-06-04,16311,"•I've included thrice: Crowd, Rooms, Birds
• Reviewed 2009-07-31","""Solicit Fancy from celestial flights, / To wander o'er the World for frail delights / And crowd Imagination's rooms, immense, / With what relates alone to Time and Sense!""",Rooms,2013-06-04 15:23:45 UTC,""
6163,Momus Glass,"Searching ""soul"" and ""window"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2006-01-25 00:00:00 UTC,"That none might Momus' wish'd-for window need,
Instinct's heav'n-taught the secret Soul to read--
In tone, and turn, of human voice, to note,
How passions operate, and feelings float--
But, chief, by penetrating vision view
Each devious veering's trace, and motive true--
All changeful features obviously behold,
Enkindling love, or turning kindness cold.
Not needing precepts, or experience, ripe,
To sift hid sense, and spell each printed type;
For untaught Infants, and fond Nature's Fools,
Require no lecturing in learn'd classic Schools,
But, by pure intuition, promptly feel,
What clearly indicates their woe, or weal.
Ev'n dull domestic Animals perceive
What philosophic Dunces disbelieve.
Untutor'd Cats, instinctively, descry
Both love and hatred by the ear and eye;
While Dogs, what learned Doctors ne'er could teach,
Distinguish, aptly, all the powr's of speech--
And tho' debarr'd from Tutors, and from Books,
Still understood clear languages of looks.
Tho' schools no stated principles instil,
They watch each meaning of their Master's will.
And, from a smiling smirk--or vengeful voice,
Perceive just cause to tremble, or rejoice.",,16318,"","""That none might Momus' wish'd-for window need, / Instinct's heav'n-taught the secret Soul to read-- / In tone, and turn, of human voice, to note, / How passions operate, and feelings float.""","",2018-06-18 15:18:44 UTC,""
6936,"","Searching ""mind"" in HDIS (Austen)",2011-06-09 20:38:33 UTC,"Upon such expressions of affection, Fanny could have lived an hour without saying another word; but Edmund, after waiting a moment, obliged her to bring down her mind from its heavenly flight by saying, ""But what is it that you want to consult me about?""
(II.ix, p. 180)",,18636,"","""Upon such expressions of affection, Fanny could have lived an hour without saying another word; but Edmund, after waiting a moment, obliged her to bring down her mind from its heavenly flight by saying, 'But what is it that you want to consult me about?'""","",2011-06-09 20:38:33 UTC,"Volume II, Chapter ix "
6163,"","Searching ""fancy"" and ""beast"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2012-07-03 16:59:00 UTC,"When these resplendent Lights had thus display'd
The shapes and hues of all in Nature made;
The Fish were form'd, depicting Appetites,
And Fowls that soar aloft like Fancy's flights;
Beasts--useful Cattle--Insects--creeping Things--
Which tread the soil, or soar on wavering wings--
That beautify this fair terrestial Ball,
Or, o'er its face, offensive, creep, or crawl;
Resemblances of Man, when form'd at first,
And since his Faculties are fall'n, and curs'd--
When with his pow'rs complete, by God's decree,
Made last, the Sovereign both of Land and Sea.
Made in the image of His blessed Son,
When infant Time, at first, his rounds begun;
Till Hell's dire Murd'rer, and base Liar, beguil'd,
Man's menial Pow'rs, and Body's beauty spoil'd--
His Body doom'd to Pain, and Death at length
While Sin destroy'd his intellectual Strength.
This, deep deprav'd by Vanity and Lust;
That doom'd to perish in its parent Dust--
Yet Man, so ruin'd now, is offer'd, still,
Fresh Pow'rs to execute Heav'n's holy Will--
May be, by humbly asking, still supplied
With heavenly helps, to govern, and to guide;
Not suffering worldly Lust--Pride--Passion--Whim--
Or Sin, or Satan, still to govern him.
Each sinful Habit, daily, to subdue,
By Motives--Pow'rs--and Inclinations, new.
Bless'd benefits! which every Soul may share,
All free, for all, as Water--Light, or Air;
Except perverse with Pride, or dead thro' Doubt,
Men close each avenue to keep them out.
A Spirit, pure! each open'd breast may breathe,
Infus'd, like airy Atmosphere beneath.
A boundless Light! for each Believer free,
Whose intellectual eye's inclin'd to see.
A Fountain, ever full! where, all, that will,
May wash all foulness off, or drink their fill.
Not like the broken Cisterns Man has made,
Where all who seek pure beverage, sigh, betray'd--
Not like the Lamps which Man must feed and trim,
That burn but dull, and soon expire, like Him--
Or filthy fumes of His corrupted breath,
Drench'd with Disease, and fill'd with forms of Death;
But like the breezes breath'd in Eden's bow'rs,
Suffus'd with sweets from spicey fruits, and flow'rs,
With pure Afflatus, offer'd praying Souls,
Which Lust--Pride--Passion--Sickness--Death--controuls.
Like splendour flowing from the new-born Sun,
That o'er those unpolluted regions run;
Which, whether human eye-lids wake, or close,
With heav'nly warmth, and glorious radiance, glows--
Which drew no show'ry cloud from hill, or dell,
Before Earth's rebel Occupiers fell;
But only made a daily mist arise,
To cool the ground, yet not obscure the skies:
Or that fair Fount, with current clear and strong,
That thro' the Garden roll'd its stream along.
And, issuing thence, diffused its fourfold tide,
The Earth to chear and comfort, but divide--
A pure Afflatus ever free for those,
Who ne'er, with wilful crime their nostrils close--
A Light which Heav'n no human Soul denies,
Who shut not, wilfully, their mental eyes--
A Fountain ever flowing o'er its brink,
Where none but Demons are forbid to drink;
None but whose impious obstinacy turns
To drink foul draughts from Nature's earthly Urns.
An heavenly Fount! where each faint Soul, that will,
May surely find, and sweetly drink its fill--
Which feels how feebly Earth's Man's strength maintain,
While striving, still, the Gospel Door to gain,
And dreading death, from Heav'n's impending wrath,
Should he mistake the left for right-hand Path,
Which leads to Salem's pure and peaceful streams,
Man's noblest beverage! Angels' happiest themes!",2013-06-04,19847,Reverse comparison... Fowls are like fancy.,"""When these resplendent Lights had thus display'd / The shapes and hues of all in Nature made; / The Fish were form'd, depicting Appetites, / And Fowls that soar aloft like Fancy's flights; / Beasts--useful Cattle--Insects--creeping Things-- / Which tread the soil, or soar on wavering wings-- / That beautify this fair terrestial Ball, / Or, o'er its face, offensive, creep, or crawl; / Resemblances of Man, when form'd at first, / And since his Faculties are fall'n, and curs'd-- / When with his pow'rs complete, by God's decree, / Made last, the Sovereign both of Land and Sea.""",Beasts,2013-06-04 15:06:31 UTC,""
7404,"",Reading,2013-06-06 19:21:48 UTC,"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.'