Date: 1817

"But he, the bard of every age and clime, / Of genius fruitful, ardent and sublime, / Who, from the glowing mint of fancy, pours / No spurious metal, fused from common ores, / But gold, to matchless purity refined, / And stamp'd with all the godhead in his mind."

— Gifford, William (1756-1826)

Date: 1817

"Doctrines, by the Nurses taught, / Are fix'd for ever in the thought: / The fair Impression then pursue, / Of what is just, and what is true"

— Combe, William (1742 -1823)

Date: 1817

"The seeds, in earliest Childhood sown / As buds, will in the Boy be known: / In Youth, as blossoms will appear, / And in full Manhood, fruitage bear."

— Combe, William (1742 -1823)

Date: 1817

"[H]e must be possest, / Of more, Vagellius, than thy iron breast, / Who braves their anger, and with ten poor toes, / Defies such countless hosts of hobnail'd shoes."

— Gifford, William (1756-1826)

Date: 1817

"The friends thou hast, and their adoption try'd, / Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel;"

— Combe, William (1742 -1823)

Date: 1817

"[B]ring a mind, / Where legal and where moral sense are join'd, / With the pure essence; holy thoughts, that dwell / In the soul's most retired, and sacred cell"

— Gifford, William (1756-1826)

Date: 1817

"bring a mind, / Where legal and where moral sense are join'd, / With the pure essence; holy thoughts, that dwell / In the soul's most retired, and sacred cell"

— Gifford, William (1756-1826)

Date: 1817

"Nor should we pass the secret cell, / Where lonely Science loves to dwell, / Pleas'd, from its lamp, to cast the ray / That lights the mind's beclouded day."

— Combe, William (1742 -1823)

Date: 1817

"The thought thereof is awful, sweet, and holy, / Chacing away all worldliness and folly; / Coming sometimes like fearful claps of thunder, Or the low rumblings earth's regions under; / And sometimes like a gentle whispering / Of all the secrets of some wond'rous thing / That breathes about u...

— Keats, John (1795-1821)

Date: 1817, 1818

"Yet in my hollow looks and withered mien / The likeness of a shape for which was braided / The brightest woof of genius, still was seen."

— Shelley, Percy Bysshe (1792-1822)