Date: June, 1756
"I sent back memory, in heedful guise, / To search the records of preceding years; / Home, like the raven to the ark, she flies, / Croaking bad tidings to my trembling ears."
preview | full record— Smart, Christopher (1722-1771)
Date: June, 1756
"But soul-rejoicing health again returns, / The blood meanders gentle in each vein, / The lamp of life renew'd with vigour burns, / And exil'd reason takes her seat again-- / Brisk leaps the heart, the mind's at large once more, / To love, to praise, to bless, to wonder and adore."
preview | full record— Smart, Christopher (1722-1771)
Date: June, 1756
"Glow, glow, my soul, with pure seraphic fire."
preview | full record— Smart, Christopher (1722-1771)
Date: w. 1757, 1758
"Oh how this earth's best blessings sink in worth, / When on that scene is open'd the mind's eyes!"
preview | full record— Dodd, William (1729-1777)
Date: w. 1757, 1758
"What Briton wears a heart, steel'd to the touch / Of gentle Pity? "
preview | full record— Dodd, William (1729-1777)
Date: 1758, 1781
"'Tis with our Minds, as with our Bodies, none / In Essence differ, yet each knows his own."
preview | full record— Hawkins, William (1721-1801)
Date: 1758, 1781
"This Truth once stated, and the Soul, 'tis plain, Much on the filmy Texture of the Brain, / Much on Formations that escape our Eyes, / On nice Connections, and Coherencies, / And on corporeal Organs must depend, / For her own Function's Exercise, and End"
preview | full record— Hawkins, William (1721-1801)
Date: 1758, 1781
"Hence then the Cause of all Defects is seen, / one wrong Movement spoils the whole Machine."
preview | full record— Hawkins, William (1721-1801)
Date: 1758, 1781
"'Tis hence the sev'ral Passions take their Rise, / The Seeds of Virtue, and the Roots of Vice; / Hence Notes peculiar or to Young, or Old, / Phlegmatic, sanguine, amorous, or cold!"
preview | full record— Hawkins, William (1721-1801)
Date: 1758, 1781
"Alas! All Souls are subject to like Fate, / All sympathizing with the Body's State; / Let the fierce Fever burn thro' ev'ry Vein, / And drive the madding Fury to the Brain, / Nought can the Fervour of his Frenzy cool, / But Aristotle's self's a Parish Fool!"
preview | full record— Hawkins, William (1721-1801)