Death is an "iron-hearted, and of cruel soul, / Brasen his breast, nor can he brook controul, / To whom, and ne'er return, all mortals go, / And even to immortal gods a foe"

— Cooke, Thomas (1703-1756)

Place of Publication
Printed for N. Blandford
Death is an "iron-hearted, and of cruel soul, / Brasen his breast, nor can he brook controul, / To whom, and ne'er return, all mortals go, / And even to immortal gods a foe"
Metaphor in Context
He ends, the rest assent to what he says;
And the gods thank him with the voice of praise;
He more than ever feels himself inspir'd,
And his mind burns with love of glory fir'd.
All rush to battle with impetuous might,
And gods and goddesses provoke the fight.
The race that Rhea to her lord conceiv'd,
And the Titanic gods by Jove reliev'd
From Erebus, who there in bondage lay,
Ally their arms in this immortal day.
Each brother fearless the dire conflict stands,
Each rears his fifty heads, and hundred hands;
They mighty rocks from their foundations tore,
And fiercely brave against the Titans bore.
Furious and swift the Titan phalanx drove,
And both with mighty force for empire strove:
The ocean roar'd from ev'ry part profound,
And the earth bellow'd from her inmost ground:
Heav'n groans, and to the gods conflicting bends,
And the loud tumult high Olympus rends.
So strong the darts from god to god were hurl'd,
The clamour reach'd the subterranean world;
And where, with haughty strides, each warrior trod
Hell felt the weight, and sunk beneath the god;
All Tartarus could hear the blows from far:
Such was the big, the horrid, voice of war!
And now the murmur of incitement flys,
All rang'd in martial order, thro the skys;
Here Jove above the rest conspicuous shin'd,
In valour equal to his strength his mind;
Erect and dauntless see the thund'rer stand,
The bolts red hissing from his vengeful hand;
He walks majestic round the starry frame;
And now the light'nings from Olympus flame;
The earth wide blazes with the fires of Jove,
Nor the flash spares the verdure of the grove.
Fierce glows the air, the boiling ocean roars,
And the seas wash with burning waves their shores;
The dazling vapours round the Titans glare,
A light too pow'rful for their eyes to bear!
One conflagration seems to seize on all,
And threatens Chaos with the gen'ral fall.
From what their eyes behold, and what they hear,
The universal wreck of worlds is near:
Should the large vault of stars, the heav'ns, descend,
And with the earth in loud confusion blend,
Like this would seem the great tumultuous jar:
The gods engag'd, such the big voice of war!
And now the batt'ling winds their havock make,
Thick whirls the dust, Earth thy foundations shake;
The arms of Jove thick and terrific fly,
And blaze and bellow, thro the trembling sky;
Winds, thunder, light'ning, thro both armys drove,
Their course impetuous, from the hands of Jove;
Loud and stupendous is the raging fight,
And now each warriour god exerts his might.
Cottus, and Briareus, who scorn to yield,
And Gyges panting for the martial field,
Foremost the labours of the day increase,
Nor let the horrors of the battel cease:
From their strong hands three hundred rocks they throw,
And, oft' repeated, overwhelm the foe;
They forc'd the Titans deep beneath the ground,
Cast from their pride, and in sad durance bound;
Far from the surface of the earth they ly,
In chains, as earth is distant from the sky;
From earth the distance to the starry frame;
From earth to gloomy Tartarus, the same.
From the high heav'n a brasen anvil cast,
Nine nights and days in rapid whirls would last,
And reach the earth the tenth, whence strongly hurl'd,
The same the passage to th'infernal world,
To Tart'rus; which a brasen closure bounds,
And whose black entrance threefold night surrounds,
With earth thy vast foundations cover'd o'er;
And there the ocean's endless fountains roar:
By cloud-compelling Jove the Titans fell,
And there in thick, in horrid, darkness dwell:
They ly confin'd, unable thence to pass,
The wall and gates by Neptune made of brass;
Jove's trusty guards, Gyges and Cottus, stand
There, and with Briareus the pass command.
The entrance there, and the last limits, ly
Of earth, the barren main, the starry sky,
And Tart'rus; there of all the fountains rise,
A sight detested by immortal eyes:
A mighty chasm, horror and darkness here;
And from the gates the journey of a year:
Here storms in hoarse, in frightful, murmurs play,
The seat of Night, where mists exclude the day.
Before the gates the son of Japhet stands,
Nor from the skys retracts his head or hands;
Where Night and Day their course alternate lead;
Where both their entrance make, and both recede,
Both wait the season to direct their way,
And spread successive o'er the earth their sway:
This chears the eyes of mortals with her light;
The harbinger of Sleep pernicious Night:
And here the sons of Night their mansion keep,
Sad deitys, Death and his brother Sleep;
Whom, from the dawn to the decline of day,
The sun beholds not with his piercing ray:
One o'er the land extends, and o'er the seas,
And lulls the weary'd mind of man to ease;
That iron-hearted, and of cruel soul,
Brasen his breast, nor can he brook controul,
To whom, and ne'er return, all mortals go,
And even to immortal gods a foe.

Foremost th'infernal palaces are seen
Of Pluto, and Persephone his queen;
A horrid dog, and grim, couch'd on the floor,
Guards, with malicious art, the sounding door;
On each, who in the entrance first appears,
He fawning wags his tail, and cocks his ears;
If any strive to measure back the way,
Their steps he watches, and devours his prey.
Here Styx, a goddess, whom immortals hate,
The first-born fair of Ocean, keeps her state;
From gods remote her silver columns rise,
Roof'd with large rocks her dome that fronts the skys:
Here, cross the main, swift-footed Iris brings
A message seldom from the king of kings;
But when among the gods contention spreads,
And in debate divides immortal heads,
From Jove the goddess wings her rapid flight
To the fam'd river, and the seat of Night,
Thence in a golden vase the water bears,
By whose cool streams each pow'r immortal swears.
Styx from a sacred font her course derives,
And far beneath the earth her passage drives;
From a stupendous rock descend her waves,
And the black realms of Night her current laves:
Could any her capacious channels drain,
They'd prove a tenth of all the spacious main;
Nine parts in mazes clear as silver glide
Along the earth, or join the ocean's tide;
The other from the rock in billows rowls,
Source of misfortune to immortal souls.
Who with false oaths disgrace th'olympian bow'rs,
Incur the punishment of heav'nly pow'rs:
The perjur'd god, as in the arms of death,
Lethargic lys, nor seems to draw his breath;
Nor him the nectar and ambrosia chear,
While the sun goes his journey of a year;
Nor with the lethargy concludes his pain,
But complicated woes behind remain:
Nine tedious years he must an exile rove,
Nor join the council, nor the feasts, of Jove;
The banish'd god back in the tenth they call
To heav'nly banquets and th'olympian hall:
The honours such the gods on Styx bestow,
Whose living streams thro rugged channels flow,
Where the begining, and last limits, ly
Of earth, the barren main, the starry sky,
And Tart'rus; where of all the fountains rise;
A sight detested by immortal eyes.
Th'inhabitants thro brasen portals pass,
Over a threshold of e'erlasting brass,
The growth spontaneous, and foundations deep;
And here th'allys of Jove their captives keep,
The Titans, who to utter darkness fell,
And in the farthest parts of Chaos dwell.
Jove grateful gave to his auxiliar train,
Cottus and Gyges, mansions in the main;
To Briareus, for his superior might
Exerted fiercely in the dreadful fight,
Neptune, who shakes the earth, his daughter gave,
Cymopolia, to reward the brave.
Found again searching "heart" and "iron" in HDIS (Poetry)
3 entries in ESTC (1728, 1740, 1743).

See The Works of Hesiod Translated from the Greek. by Mr. Cooke. (London: Printed for N. Blandford, 1728). <Link to ESTC>

Text from The Works Of Hesiod Translated From The Greek. By Mr. Cooke. 2nd ed. (London: Printed by John Wilson For John Wood and Ch. Woodward, 1740).
Date of Entry

The Mind is a Metaphor is authored by Brad Pasanek, Assistant Professor of English, University of Virginia.