Date: 1773
"How bright the scene to Fancy's eye appears, / Through the long perspective of distant years, / When this, this little group their country calls / From academic shades and learned halls, / To fix her laws, her spirit to sustain, / And light up glory through her wide domain!"
preview | full record— Barbauld, Anna Letitia [née Aikin] (1743-1825)
Date: 1773
Souls may be ripened in "our northern sky"
preview | full record— Barbauld, Anna Letitia [née Aikin] (1743-1825)
Date: 1773
"Not all the storms that shake the pole / Can e'er disturb thy halcyon soul, / And smooth unaltered brow."
preview | full record— Barbauld, Anna Letitia [née Aikin] (1743-1825)
Date: 1773
"O Wisdom! if thy soft controul / Can soothe the sickness of the soul, / Can bid the warring passions cease, / And breathe the calm of tender peace;-- / Wisdom! I bless thy gentle sway, / And ever, ever will obey."
preview | full record— Barbauld, Anna Letitia [née Aikin] (1743-1825)
Date: 1773
"The potent sounds like lightning dart / Resistless through the glowing heart"
preview | full record— Barbauld, Anna Letitia [née Aikin] (1743-1825)
Date: 1773
An awful stillness may be breathed through the soul that, "As by a charm" causes "the waves of grief to subside" and stops the "headlong Tide" of "Impetuous Passion"
preview | full record— Barbauld, Anna Letitia [née Aikin] (1743-1825)
Date: 1773
"Till every worldly thought within me dies, / And earth's gay pageants vanish from my eyes; / Till all my sense is lost in infinite, / And one vast object fills my aching sight."
preview | full record— Barbauld, Anna Letitia [née Aikin] (1743-1825)
Date: 1773
"At this still hour the self-collected soul / Turns inward, and beholds a stranger there / Of high descent, and more than mortal rank."
preview | full record— Barbauld, Anna Letitia [née Aikin] (1743-1825)
Date: 1773
The soul contains "An embryo of God, a spark of fire divine / Which must burn on for ages."
preview | full record— Barbauld, Anna Letitia [née Aikin] (1743-1825)
Date: 1773
"Now here, now there, the roving Fancy flies, / Till some lov'd objects strikes her wand'ring eyes, / Whose silken fetters all the senses bind, / And soft captivity involves the mind."
preview | full record— Wheatley, Phillis (c.1753–1784)