work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context
3387,"","Searching ""mind"" and ""guest"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2006-03-13 00:00:00 UTC,"Sweet bard, whose tones great Milton might approve,
And Shakspeare, from high Fancy's sphere,
Turning to the sound his ear,
Bend down a look of sympathy and love;
Oh, swell the lyre again,
As if in full accord it poured an angel's strain!
But oh! what means that look aghast,
Ev'n whilst it seemed in holy trance,
On scenes of bliss above to glance!
Was it a fiend of darkness passed!
Oh, speak--
Paleness is upon his cheek--
On his brow the big drops stand,
To airy vacancy
Points the dread silence of his eye,
And the loved lyre it falls, falls from his nerveless hand!
Come, peace of mind, delightful guest!
Oh, come, and make thy downy nest
Once more on his sad heart!
Meek Faith, a drop of comfort shed;
Sweet Hope, support his aged head;
And Charity, avert the burning dart!
Fruitless the prayer--the night of deeper woes
Seems o'er the head even now to close;
In vain the path of purity he trod,
In vain, in vain,
He poured from Fancy's shell his sweetest hermit strain--
He has no hope on earth: forsake him not, O God!",,8668,•I've included twice: Guest and Nest,"""Come, peace of mind, delightful guest! / Oh, come, and make thy downy nest / Once more on his sad heart!""",Inhabitants,2009-09-14 19:33:42 UTC,"From Sonnets, Etc. I've included the entire poem"
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"
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,""
5991,"",HDIS,2003-12-30 00:00:00 UTC,"Ye sister powers, who o'er the sacred groves
Preside, and thou, fair mother of them all,
Mnemosyne! and thou, who in thy grot
Immense, reclined at leisure, hast in charge
The archives, and the ordinances of Jove,
And dost record the festivals of heaven,
Eternity!--inform us who is He,
That great original by nature chosen
To be the archetype of human kind,
Unchangeable, immortal, with the poles
Themselves coeval, one, yet every where,
An image of the god who gave him being?
Twin-brother of the goddess born from Jove,
He dwells not in his father's mind, but, though
Of common nature with ourselves, exists
Apart, and occupies a local home.
Whether, companion of the stars, he spend
Eternal ages, roaming at his will
From sphere to sphere the tenfold heavens; or dwell
On the moon's side that nearest neighbours earth;
Or torpid on the banks of Lethe sit
Among the multitude of souls ordain'd
To flesh and blood, or whether (as may chance)
That vast and giant model of our kind
In some far distant region of this globe
Sequester'd stalk, with lifted head on high
O'ertowering Atlas, on whose shoulders rest
The stars, terrific even to the gods.
Never the Theban seer, whose shoulders rest
The stars, terrific even to the gods.
Never the Theban seer, whose blindness proved
His best illumination, him beheld
In secret vision; never him the son
Of Pleione, amid the noiseless night
Descending, to the prophet-choir reveal'd;
Him never knew the Assyrian priest, who yet
The ancestry of Ninus chronicles,
And Belus, and Osiris, far-renown'd;
Nor even thrice great Hermes, although skill'd
So deep in mystery, to the worshippers
Of Isis show'd a prodigy like him.
(ll. 1-39, pp. 141-2)",2007-04-20,15926,"•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.
•Too much allusion for me to puzzle out this afternoon. REVISIT.","""Twin-brother of the goddess born from Jove, / He dwells not in his father's mind, but, though / Of common nature with ourselves, exists / Apart, and occupies a local home.""",Inhabitants,2009-09-14 19:45:06 UTC,""
6005,"","Searching ""mind"" and ""crowd"" in HDIS (Drama)",2006-03-13 00:00:00 UTC,"STELLA
Oh, Lindorf! various emotions crowd in upon my soul! Do not imagine me insensible of the blessing I have so ardently desir'd-- But this is a solemn moment--and I am to receive your vows in the presence perhaps of one, who lov'd you equally, but to whom the Great Disposer of affections denied a life devoted to your happiness.",,15960,"","""Oh, Lindorf! various emotions crowd in upon my soul!""",Inhabitants,2009-09-14 19:45:15 UTC,"Act III, scene iii"
6019,"","Searching ""bosom"" and ""crowd"" in HDIS (Drama)",2006-03-13 00:00:00 UTC,"ROS.
Be speedy, fellow--Yes, my wife and children will be saved--Once more I feel the gladdening touch of hope, and a crowd of delicious images, long banished from my bosom, return, and soothe its sorrows into rest.",,15991,"","""Once more I feel the gladdening touch of hope, and a crowd of delicious images, long banished from my bosom, return, and soothe its sorrows into rest.""",Inhabitants,2009-09-14 19:45:21 UTC,"Act II, scene ii"
6007,"","Searching ""heart"" and ""guest"" in HDIS (Poetry)",2006-03-13 00:00:00 UTC,"Tho' now my life has lost the light of day,
However grief may desolate my mind,
Still on thy virtues let my spirit rest,
Tho' hope's gay towers are sunk in drear decay!
Still I perceive thee, in my heart enshrin'd,
Its guardian idol, and its favourite guest.",,15992,•I've included twice: Guest and Idol.,"""Still I perceive thee, in my heart enshrin'd, / Its guardian idol, and its favourite guest.""",Inhabitants,2009-09-14 19:45:21 UTC,""
6023,"","Searching ""throne"" and ""reason"" in HDIS (Poetry); found again ""fancy""",2004-07-27 00:00:00 UTC," And ah! a Lot more dire behind
Awaits debility of Mind.
Alas! when ev'ry Muse is fled,
How wretched He who writes for bread!
Who, when the joyous years are flown,
And Reason totters on her throne,
And Fancy fails, and Nature tires,
And Fame herself no more inspires,
And ev'n the sweet return of Spring
No more can make the Poet sing,
Tho' each Musician of the Fields,
Soft to the tuneful Season yields
The glossy plume, the warbling throat,
To Passion's and to Rapture's note,
And ev'ry shrub and ev'ry tree
Resounds with Nature's minstrelsy!
How wretched He who strives to shun
The clamour of the frowning Dun,
Or to keep Famine from the door--
That fiercest Wolf that haunts the poor!
How dire, that He, who many a year
Had rais'd the smile or caus'd the tear
Of wholesome Mirth and tender Grief,
Should want himself the Poor's relief!--
Condemn'd to eat the beggar's meal
In pangs that beggars ne'er can feel;
Or, when deserted by the Nine,
Forc'd to elaborate the line,
To labour more, yet less to please,
In the Mind's anguish or disease--
Of these the Warning Voice I hear,
And know it comes from lips sincere.
",2011-07-19,15997,"","""Alas! when ev'ry Muse is fled, / How wretched He who writes for bread! / Who, when the joyous years are flown, / And Reason totters on her throne, / And Fancy fails, and Nature tires, / And Fame herself no more inspires, / And ev'n the sweet return of Spring / No more can make the Poet sing, / Tho' each Musician of the Fields, / Soft to the tuneful Season yields / The glossy plume, the warbling throat, / To Passion's and to Rapture's note, / And ev'ry shrub and ev'ry tree / Resounds with Nature's minstrelsy!""",Inhabitants and Throne,2011-07-19 18:27:31 UTC,""
6047,"",HDIS,2004-07-27 00:00:00 UTC,"As Reason, fairest daughter of the skies,
Explor'd the vale, where mortal mis'ry lies;
Led on by fortitude, with eye serene,
She mark'd each object of the varying scene;
In every maze of busy life she found
Some hidden snare, some agonizing wound;
For each her hand display'd a precious balm,
Whose pow'r divine the tortur'd soul could calm;
Till midway, on a rock of dreadful height,
The Cave of cureless woe assail'd her wond'ring sight!
On the bleak threshold, with'ring and forlorn,
Heart-wounded Melancholy sat reclin'd!
The rude blast scatter'd her dishevell'd hair;
Round her cold brow the deadly nightshade twin'd!
Near, on a craggy point, stood wild despair,
Whose pangs supreme all lesser miseries scorn!
And as the gaunt tormentor, smiling, view'd
The pensive child of Sorrow, soul-subdu'd;
With taunting mien, she beckon'd from below
The fierce, relentless bands of desolating woe!
First, swift as lightning up the flinty steep
Impatience flew, barefooted, out of breath;
Scorning the perils of the dreadful sweep;
Heedless of wounding thorns, and threat'ning Death.
Eager to rush the foremost of the train,
She fear'd not danger, and she felt not pain:
With longing eye she view'd the tow'ring height;
From peak to peak, quick climbing with delight,
She pass'd the fatal cave; then turning short,
Fell headlong from the rock, of ev'ry fiend the sport!
Then horror darted forth, in wild amaze!
Her hair erect, with pois'nous hemlock bound;
Her straining eye-balls flashing fires around,
While nature trembled at her potent gaze!
Swift to the dizzy precipice she flew,
As, aiming with impetuous force to throw
Her giant form amidst the gulph below!
When, from an ivy'd nook obscure, pale fear
Peep'd forth, slow whisp'ring to her startled ear,
""Think not the pow'r of death thy mis'ries will subdue!""
Then Horror bent her blood-shot eyes below,
Where, by a group of demons compass'd round,
Lay suicide accurs'd! from many a wound
On his bare bosom did life's fountain flow!
Now shame, with cheeks by burning blushes fir'd,
And skulking Cowardice, in haste retir'd!
While conscience plac'd beneath his fev'rish head
A pillow dire, with thorns and nettles spread;
And guilt, with all the scorpions of her train,
Oped to his fainting eyes eternity of Pain!
Then luxury approach'd on couch of down!
Drawn by her offspring, folly and disease,
Flush'd Pleasure decking her with roseate crown,
And bow'd obedience, ever prone to please,
Waiting her nod! languid she seemed, and pale,
Restless, and sated with voluptuous fare;
Beside her pillow, hung with trappings rare,
Stood trembling palsy, ready to assail;
And writhing agony, and slow decay,
And hood-winked vice abhorr'd, that shunn'd the eye of day.
Next, with a solemn, slow, and feeble pace,
Came silent poverty, in tatter'd vest!
The frequent tears, that glisten'd on her breast,
Had fretted channels down her meagre face!
A rabble crew of idiots dinn'd her ear:
While mean reproach came smiling in the rear.
With firm, yet modest look, she pass'd along;
Nor sought relief, nor mark'd the taunting throng;
While her wrung heart, still scorning to complain,
Suppress'd the rending groan, and throbb'd with proud disdain.
Close at her heels, insidious envy crept;
The imp, deform'd and horrible in shape,
Mock'd, when the slow-consuming victim wept,
Pointing, and grinning, like a wither'd ape:
About her throat, the asp detraction clung,
Scatt'ring destructive poisons from her tongue!
She wav'd a blasted laurel o'er her head,
Stol'n from the sacred ashes of the dead;
Inly she pin'd; while in her panting breast,
Shrunk ignorance struck its fangs, to banish gentle rest.
In a lone corner, almost hid in shade,
With downcast eye, sat unrequited love!
As from their hollow cell the slow tears stray'd,
A willow garland for his brow he wove!
Low at his feet, bare Madness laid his head,
Rattling his chains, upon his flinty bed!
Rous'd from his stupor by the clanking sound,
The pensive youth gaz'd fearfully around;
And wond'ring to behold such mis'ry near,
Forgot his mournful wreath, and dropp'd a pitying tear.
Now, lab'ring up the flinty winding road,
Laden with treasure, bending to the ground,
Appear'd lean avarice! the pond'rous load
Seem'd his weak shoulders every step to wound:
One thread-bare garb hung on his aged form;
Scant covering from the bleak and wintry storm!
Before him famine went, a thing decay'd;
And dark suspicion, grasping at a shade!
While fraud, low crawling, mock'd the reptile's art,
Pilfer'd the scatter'd gold, and wrung the miser's heart!
Next came deceit, with smooth and fawning tongue,
Glozing with praises every thing debas'd;
To shield her breast, a flattering mirror hung;
A tinsel zone shone dazzling round her waist!
Her hand, conceal'd beneath her flimsy vest,
Clasp'd a keen dagger, ready to destroy;
Content she seem'd, though, in her cunning breast,
Her coward soul shrunk from the touch of joy;
Her humble voice the list'ning ear beguil'd,
While, with infernal art, she murder'd as she smil'd.
Now through the cavern rush'd with iron hand
Oppression insolent! his arm he rais'd,
Waving his spear, with absolute command,
While ev'ry subject fiend retir'd, amaz'd!
At awful distance, trembling, prostrate round,
The sons of pining slav'ry kiss'd the ground;
Till, darting forward, o'er the abject crowd,
With voice exulting, menacing, and loud,
Insatiate vengeance snatch'd the up-rais'd lance,
While bold oppression's arm fell nerveless at his glance.
Next Pride came forward, gorgeously array'd;
His brow a starry wreath of gems compress'd;
In his right hand a sceptre he display'd;
A robe of costly ermine wrapp'd his breast!
Enthron'd, sublime, above the wond'ring race,
Immortal beauties seem'd to deck his face!
His eye assum'd pre-eminence of sway;
He reign'd the gilded idol of the day;
Till death, his dread supremacy to shew,
Struck at the vaunting wretch, and laid his sceptre low.
Now, rattling o'er the teeming plains afar,
Came glitt'ring wealth, in his resplendent car!
His rapid course swift-footed Toil pursu'd
With sinewy limbs, and brown sun-freckled breast;
The lord of luxury his vassal view'd,
And, smiling, lifted high his haughty crest!
But, when neglected toil at length retir'd,
The short-liv'd glories of his brow expir'd;
Around his eager eyes he roll'd in vain;
Ingratitude appear'd, and claim'd her turn to reign!
At her approach, the fatal cavern rung:
Loud shouts of horror rent the vaulted stone!
All lesser Fiends their heads in sorrow hung;
Omnipotent in ill, she grasp'd the infernal throne!
Then reason mark'd her blest associate fly;
And shudd'ring at the scene, re-sought her native sky!",2009-06-09,16036,•INTEREST. Poem-length extended allegory. ,"""As Reason, fairest daughter of the skies, / Explor'd the vale, where mortal mis'ry lies; / Led on by fortitude, with eye serene, / She mark'd each object of the varying scene.""","",2009-09-14 19:45:29 UTC,I've included the entire poem
8174,"","Natalie Phillips, Distraction (Baltimore: JHUP, 2016), 7.",2016-10-03 20:58:39 UTC,"Qu'il fasse beau, qu'il fasse laid, c'est mon habitude d'aller sur les cinq heures du soir me promener au Palais-Royal. C'est moi qu'on voit, toujours seul, rêvant sur le banc d'Argenson. Je m'entretiens avec moi-même de politique, d'amour, de goût ou de philosophie. J'abandonne mon esprit à tout son libertinage. Je le laisse maître de suivre la première idée sage ou folle qui se présente, comme on voit dans l'allée de Foy nos jeunes dissolus marcher sur les pas d'une courtisane à l'air éventé, au visage riant, à l'oeil vif, au nez retroussé, quitter celle-ci pour une autre, les attaquant toutes et ne s'attachant à aucune. Mes pensées, ce sont mes catins.
(pp. 41-2)
[Rain or shine, it is my regular habit every day about five to go and take a walk around Palais Royal. I can be seen, all by myself, dreaming on D'Argenson's bench. I discuss with myself questions of politics, love, taste, or philosophy. I let my mind rove wantonly, give it free rein to follow any idea, wise or mad, that may come uppermost; I chase it as do our young libertines along Foy's Walk, when they are on the track of a courtesan whose mien is giddy and face smiling, whose nose turns up. The youth drops one and picks up another, pursuing all and clinging to none: my ideas are my trollops.
(p. 9 in Barzun and Bowen)]
",,24965,"","""J'abandonne mon esprit à tout son libertinage. Je le laisse maître de suivre la première idée sage ou folle qui se présente, comme on voit dans l'allée de Foy nos jeunes dissolus marcher sur les pas d'une courtisane à l'air éventé, au visage riant, à l'oeil vif, au nez retroussé, quitter celle-ci pour une autre, les attaquant toutes et ne s'attachant à aucune. Mes pensées, ce sont mes catins [I let my mind rove wantonly, give it free rein to follow any idea, wise or mad, that may come uppermost; I chase it as do our young libertines along Foy's Walk, when they are on the track of a courtesan whose mien is giddy and face smiling, whose nose turns up. The youth drops one and picks up another, pursuing all and clinging to none: my ideas are my trollops].""","",2016-10-03 20:59:57 UTC,""