Date: 1755, 1771

"Strong and more strong the light celestial shines, / Each thought ennobles, and each sense refines, / Till all the soul, full opening to the flame, / Exalts to virtue what she felt for fame."

— Cawthorn, James (1719-1761)

Date: 1755, 1771

"The' etherial soul that Heaven itself inspires / With all its virtues, and with all its fires, / Led by these sirens to some wild extreme, / Sets in a vapour when it ought to beam; / Like a Dutch sun that in the' autumnal sky / Looks through a fog, and rises but to die."

— Cawthorn, James (1719-1761)

Date: 1772, 1810

"His vital spark her earthly cell forsook, / And into air her fleeting progress took."

— Jones, Sir William (1746-1794)

Date: 1773

"Sighs are incense from a heart sincere"

— Barbauld, Anna Letitia [née Aikin] (1743-1825)

Date: 1773

"While others,--consecrate to higher aims, / Whose hallowed bosoms glow with purer flames, / Love in their heart, persuasion in their tongue,-- / With words of peace shall charm the listening throng, / Draw the dread veil that wraps the' eternal throne, / And launch our souls into the bright unkn...

— Barbauld, Anna Letitia [née Aikin] (1743-1825)

Date: 1773

The soul contains "An embryo of God, a spark of fire divine / Which must burn on for ages."

— Barbauld, Anna Letitia [née Aikin] (1743-1825)

Date: 1773

"Yet of etherial temper are their souls, / And in their veins the tide of honour rolls; / And valour kindles there the hero's flame, / Contempt of death, and thirst of martial flame. / And pity melts the sympathizing breast, / Ah! fatal virtue!—for the brave distrest."

— Day, Thomas (1748-1789)

Date: 1773

"Now deep retired in Frome's enchanting vale, / She pours her tuneful sorrows on the gale; / Without one fond reserve the world disclaims, / And gives up all her soul to heavenly flames."

— Barbauld, Anna Letitia [née Aikin] (1743-1825)

Date: 1773

The mind may be "a never dying flame"

— Barbauld, Anna Letitia [née Aikin] (1743-1825)

Date: 1775

"BLEST Bard! to whom the Muses, grateful, gave / That pipe which erft their deareft Spenser won, / As once they found thee, pensive and alone, / Strewing sweet flow'rs upon his hallow'd grave; / Then bad thy fancy glow with sacred fire, / And softest airs thy rural verse inspire."

— Mulso [later Chapone], Hester (1727-1801)