Date: 1772, 1810

"'I saw thee near the murmuring fountain lie; / 'Mark'd the rough storm that gather'd in thy breast, / 'And knew what care thy joyless soul opprest."

— Jones, Sir William (1746-1794)

Date: 1772, 1810

"'So vain his wishes, and so weak his mind, / 'His soul, a bright obscurity at best, / 'And rough with tempests his afflicted breast, / 'His life, a flower ere evening sure to fade, / 'His highest joys, the shadow of a shade."

— Jones, Sir William (1746-1794)

Date: 1773

"Not all the storms that shake the pole / Can e'er disturb thy halcyon soul, / And smooth unaltered brow."

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

Date: 1773

"The potent sounds like lightning dart / Resistless through the glowing heart"

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

Date: 1767, 1778

"Here science, like the sun, see radiant rise, / With intellectual beam, through mental skies, / To gild, to gladden all th' improving space, / With taste, with candor, learning, sense, and grace; / To light up all the mind's remotest cells, / Where fancy fledges, and where genius dwells."

— Jones, Henry (1721-1770)

Date: 1773, 1778

One may "tempest up the Soul, or make it calm and still."

— Jones, Henry (1721-1770)

Date: 1782

Complacency may breath a gentle gail over the thoughts and swell an "easy sail"

— Cowper, William (1731-1800)

Date: 1784

"Thy piercing thought / Unaided saw each movement of the mind, / As skilful artists view the small machine, / The secret springs and nice dependencies, / And to thy mimic scenes, by fancy wrought / To such a wond'rous shape, th'impassion'd breast / In floods of grief, or peals of laughter bow'd, ...

— Jago, Richard (1715-1781)

Date: 1785

"The effort rude to quench the cheering flame / Was mine, and e'en on Stella could I gaze / With sullen envy, and admiring pride, / Till, doubly roused by Montagu, the pair / Conspire to clear my dull, imprisoned sense, / And chase the mists which dimmed my visual beam."

— Yearsley, Ann (bap. 1753, d. 1806)

Date: 1785

"Oft as I trod my native wilds alone, / Strong gusts of thought would rise, but rise to die; / The portals of the swelling soul ne'er oped / By liberal converse, rude ideas strove / Awhile for vent, but found it not, and died."

— Yearsley, Ann (bap. 1753, d. 1806)