Date: 1745
"But now not all my partial Heart can plead, / Shall ever shake th' unalterable Dictates / That tyrannize my Breast."
preview | full record— Thomson, James (1700-1748)
Date: 1745
"Yes, yes Inhuman! / Since thy Barbarian Heart is steel'd by Pride, / Shut up to Love and Pity, here behold me / Cast on the Ground, a vile and abject Wretch!"
preview | full record— Thomson, James (1700-1748)
Date: 1745
"Off! Traitors! off! or my distracted Soul / Will burst indignant from this Jail of Nature! / To where she beckons yonder."
preview | full record— Thomson, James (1700-1748)
Date: 1745
"Ha! my Brain / Is all on fire! a wild Abyss of Thought!"
preview | full record— Thomson, James (1700-1748)
Date: 1745
"Behold the fatal Work of my dark Hand, / That by rude Force the Passions would command, / That ruthless sought to root them from the Breast; / They may be rul'd, but will not be opprest."
preview | full record— Thomson, James (1700-1748)
Date: 1746
"There let the classic Page thy fancy lead / Thro rural Scenes; such as the Mantuan Swain / Paints in the matchless Harmony of Song. / Or catch thyself the Landskip, gliding swift / Athwart Imagination's vivid Eye."
preview | full record— Thomson, James (1700-1748)
Date: 1746
"Or by the vocal Woods and Waters lull'd, / And lost in lonely Musing, in the Dream, / Confus'd, of careless Solitude, where mix / Ten thousand wandering Images of Things; / Soothe every Gust of Passion into Peace; / All but the Swellings of the soften'd Heart, / That waken, not disturb, the tran...
preview | full record— Thomson, James (1700-1748)
Date: 1746
"Come with those downcast Eyes, sedate and sweet, / Those Looks demure, that deeply pierce the Soul; / Where, with the Light of thoughtful Reason mix'd, / Shines lively Fancy and the feeling Heart."
preview | full record— Thomson, James (1700-1748)
Date: 1746
"These are the sacred feelings of thy heart, / Thy heart inform'd by reason's purer ray, / O Lyttelton, the friend!"
preview | full record— Thomson, James (1700-1748)
Date: 1746
"Deep to the root / Of vegetation parch'd, the cleaving fields / And slippery lawn an arid hue disclose, / Blast Fancy's bloom, and wither e'en the soul."
preview | full record— Thomson, James (1700-1748)