Date: 1743

"Bound, every heart! and every bosom, burn!"

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1743

"He, the great Father, kindled at one flame / The world of rationals; one spirit pour'd / From Spirit's awful fountain; pour'd Himself / Through all their souls; but not in equal stream."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1743

"'Reason bids, / All-sacred Reason.'---Hold her sacred still; / Nor shalt thou want a rival in thy flame."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1743

"Think'st thou, Lorenzo , to find pastimes here? / No guilty passion blown into a flame, / No foible flatter'd, dignity disgraced, / No fairy field of fiction, all on flower, / No rainbow colours here, or silken tale."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1744

"When souls take fire / At high presumptions of their own desert, / One age is poor applause; the mighty shout, / The thunder by the living few begun, / Late time must echo; worlds unborn, resound."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1744

"I see, / I feel a grandeur in the Passions too, / Which speaks their high descent, and glorious end; / Which speaks them rays of an eternal fire."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1744

"What wealth in senses such as these! What wealth / In Fancy fired to form a fairer scene / Than Sense surveys! in Memory's firm record!"

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1744

"Roused at the sound, the exulting soul ascends, / And breathes her native air; an air that feeds / Ambitions high, and fans ethereal fires; / Quick kindles all that is Divine within us, / Nor leaves one loitering thought beneath the stars."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1744

"The aspiring Soul, / Ardent and tremulous, like flame, ascends; / Zeal and Humility her wings to heaven."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1744, 1772, 1795

"Yet not by all / Those lying forms which fancy in the brain / Engenders, are the kindling passions driven, / To guilty deeds; nor reason bound in chains, / That vice alone may lord it: oft adorn'd / With solemn pageants, folly mounts the throne, / And plays her idiot-anticks, like a queen. / A t...

— Akenside, Mark (1720-1771)