"The Cells, and little Lodgings, Thou canst see / In Mem'ry's Hoards and secret Treasury; / Dost the dark Cave of each Idea spy, / And see'st how rang'd the crouded Lodgers lye; / How some, when beckon'd by the Soul, awake, / While peaceful Rest their uncall'd Neighbours take."
— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)
Work Title
Place of Publication
London
Publisher
Printed by W. Botham, for James Knapton
Date
1723
Metaphor
"The Cells, and little Lodgings, Thou canst see / In Mem'ry's Hoards and secret Treasury; / Dost the dark Cave of each Idea spy, / And see'st how rang'd the crouded Lodgers lye; / How some, when beckon'd by the Soul, awake, / While peaceful Rest their uncall'd Neighbours take."
Metaphor in Context
Thou see'st from whence her Colours Fancy takes,
Of what Materials she her Pencil makes
By which she paints her Scenes with such Applause,
And in the Brain ten thousand Landskips draws.
The Cells, and little Lodgings, Thou canst see
In Mem'ry's Hoards and secret Treasury;
Dost the dark Cave of each Idea spy,
And see'st how rang'd the crouded Lodgers lye;
How some, when beckon'd by the Soul, awake,
While peaceful Rest their uncall'd Neighbours take.
Thou know'st the downy Chains that softly bind
Our slumb'ring Sense, when waiting Objects find
No Avenue left open to the Mind.
Mean Time thou see'st how guideless Spirits play,
And mimick o'er in Dreams the busy Day,
With pleasant Scenes and Figures entertain,
Or with their monstrous Mixtures fright the Brain.
(pp. 99-100)
Of what Materials she her Pencil makes
By which she paints her Scenes with such Applause,
And in the Brain ten thousand Landskips draws.
The Cells, and little Lodgings, Thou canst see
In Mem'ry's Hoards and secret Treasury;
Dost the dark Cave of each Idea spy,
And see'st how rang'd the crouded Lodgers lye;
How some, when beckon'd by the Soul, awake,
While peaceful Rest their uncall'd Neighbours take.
Thou know'st the downy Chains that softly bind
Our slumb'ring Sense, when waiting Objects find
No Avenue left open to the Mind.
Mean Time thou see'st how guideless Spirits play,
And mimick o'er in Dreams the busy Day,
With pleasant Scenes and Figures entertain,
Or with their monstrous Mixtures fright the Brain.
(pp. 99-100)
Categories
Provenance
HDIS (Poetry); found again "brain" and "cell"
Citation
Only 1 entry in ESTC (1723).
Richard Blackmore, Alfred. An Epick Poem. In Twelve Books (London: Printed by W. Botham, for James Knapton, 1723). <Link to ECCO><Link to LION>
Richard Blackmore, Alfred. An Epick Poem. In Twelve Books (London: Printed by W. Botham, for James Knapton, 1723). <Link to ECCO><Link to LION>
Date of Entry
07/28/2004
Date of Review
01/10/2012
