Date: 1712
"Which by her secret uncontested Nod / Her Messengers the Spirits sends abroad, / Thro' ev'ry nervous Pass, and ev'ry vital Road. / To fetch from ev'ry distant Part a Train, / Of outward Objects to enrich the Brain."
preview | full record— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)
Date: 1712
"The Heart, as said, from its contracted Cave / On the Left Side, Ejects the bounding Wave."
preview | full record— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)
Date: 1712
"With Scarlet Honours re-adorn'd the Tide / Leaps on, and bright with more than Tyrian Pride, / Advances to the Heart, and fills the Cave / On the Left Side, which the first Motion gave."
preview | full record— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)
Date: 1712
"And tho' these Spirits, which obsequious go, / Know not the Paths, thro' which they ready flow, / Nor can our Mind instruct them in their Way, / Of all their Roads as ignorant, as they; / Yet seldom erring they attain their End, / And reach that single Part, which we intend."
preview | full record— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)
Date: 1712
"How Spirits, which for Sense and Motion serve, / Unguided find the perforated Nerve. / Thro' ev'ry dark Recess pursue their Flight, / Unconscious of the Road and void of Sight, / Yet certain of the End still guide their Motions right."
preview | full record— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)
Date: 1723
"Thou see'st from whence her Colours Fancy takes, / Of what Materials she her Pencil makes / By which she paints her Scenes with such Applause, / And in the Brain ten thousand Landskips draws."
preview | full record— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)
Date: 1723
"Thou know'st the downy Chains that softly bind / Our slumb'ring Sense, when waiting Objects find / No Avenue left open to the Mind."
preview | full record— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)
Date: 1755, 1771
"Were it not so, the soul, all dead and lost, / Like the tall cliff beneath the' impassive frost, / Form'd for no end, and impotent to please, / Would lie inactive on the couch of ease: / And, heedless of proud fame's immortal lay, / Sleep all her dull divinity away."
preview | full record— Cawthorn, James (1719-1761)
Date: 1792
"But souls in common are a dreary waste, / By brambles, thistles, barb'rous docks disgrac'd; / That need the ploughshare, harrow, and the fire--"
preview | full record— Wolcot, John, pseud. Peter Pindar, (1738-1819)