Date: 1815

"Is Man to say--I've reach'd the goal, / I'll now dismiss th'imprison'd soul; / With my own hand I'll ope the way / From its base tenement of clay."

— Combe, William (1742 -1823)

Date: 1815

"With my own hand I'll ope the way / From its base tenement of clay; / Tir'd of its suff'rings here below, / I'll loose it from this scene of woe; / I'll prune its wings and let it fly, / To seek again its native sky."

— Combe, William (1742 -1823)

Date: 1815?

There are "thoughts that dwell /Deep in the lonely bosom's inmost cell / Unnoticed, and unknown, too painful wake, / And, like a tempest, the dark spirit shake, / When, starting from our slumberous apathy, / We gaze upon the scenes of days gone by."

— Bowles, William Lisle (1762-1850)

Date: 1815?

"Strait to her chamber, yester-eve, / Had she retreated from the cave, / And, wildering in a maze of thought, / Fear'd every hour with danger fraught"

— Polwhele, Richard (1760-1838)

Date: 1816

"[H]e can tell / Why Thought seeks refuge in lone caves, yet rife / With airy images, and shapes which dwell / Still unimpaired, though old, in the Soul's haunted cell."

— Byron, George Gordon Noel, sixth Baron Byron (1788-1824)

Date: 1816

"One breast laid open were a school / Which would unteach Mankind the lust to shine or rule:"

— Byron, George Gordon Noel, sixth Baron Byron (1788-1824)

Date: 1816

"And there they [i.e., "chiefless castles"] stand, as stands a lofty mind, / Worn, but unstooping to the baser crowd, / All tenantless, save to the crannying Wind, / Or holding dark communion with the Cloud."

— Byron, George Gordon Noel, sixth Baron Byron (1788-1824)

Date: 1816

"[F]or his mind / Had grown Suspicion's sanctuary, and chose, / For its own cruel sacrifice, the kind, / 'Gainst whom he raged with fury strange and blind. / But he was phrensied."

— Byron, George Gordon Noel, sixth Baron Byron (1788-1824)

Date: November 12, 1816

"But what land, that poet ever sung, or enchanter swayed, can equal that, which, when the slave's foot touches, he becomes free--his prisoned soul starts forth, his swelling nerves burst the chain that enthrall'd him, and, in his own strength he stands, as the rock he treads on, majestic and secu...

— Morton, Thomas (1764-1838)

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)