Date: 1742

"O treacherous Conscience! while she seems to sleep / On rose and myrtle, lull'd with siren song; / While she seems, nodding o'er her charge, to drop / On headlong appetite the slacken'd rein, / And give us up to licence, unrecall'd, / Unmark'd,---see, from behind her secret stand, / The sly info...

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1742

"Our freedom chain'd; quite wingless our desire; / In sense dark-prison'd all that ought to soar / Prone to the centre; crawling in the dust; / Dismounted every great and glorious aim; / Embruted every faculty divine; / Heart-buried in the rubbish of the world."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1742

"Souls [are] elevate, angelic, wing'd with fire / To reach the distant skies, and triumph there / On thrones, which shall not mourn their masters changed; / Though we from earth, ethereal they that fell."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1742

"Rude thought runs wild in contemplation's field; / Converse, the menage, breaks it to the bit / Of due restraint; and emulation's spur / Gives graceful energy, by rivals awed."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1742

"Wisdom, though richer than Peruvian mines, / And sweeter than the sweet ambrosial hive,-- / What is she but the means of happiness?"

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1742

"On minds of dove-like innocence possess'd, / On lighten'd minds, that bask in Virtue's beams, / Nothing hangs tedious; nothing old revolves / In that for which they long, for which they live."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1742

"Life makes the soul dependent on the dust; / Death gives her wings to mount above the spheres."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1742

"How, like a worm, was I wrapt round and round / In silken thought, which reptile Fancy spun, / Till darken'd Reason lay quite clouded o'er / With soft conceit of endless comfort here, / Nor yet put forth her wings to reach the skies!"

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1742

"So bounded are its haughty lord's delights / To Woe's wide empire; where deep troubles toss, / Loud sorrows howl, envenom'd passions bite, / Ravenous calamities our vitals seize, / And threatening fate wide opens to devour."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1742

"But their hearts wounded, like the wounded air, / Soon close; where pass'd the shaft, no trace is found. / As from the wing no scar the sky retains, / The parted wave no furrow from the keel, / So dies in human hearts the thought of death."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)