Date: 1730

"Close crowds the shining atmosphere; and binds / Our strengthen'd bodies in its cold embrace, / Constringent; feeds, and animates our blood; / Refines our spirits, through the new-strung nerves, / In swifter sallies darting to the brain; / Where sits the soul, intense, collected, cool, / Bright ...

— Thomson, James (1700-1748)

Date: 1730, 1744, 1746

"He, when young Spring protrudes the bursting germs, / Marks the first bud, and sucks the healthful gale / Into his freshen'd soul; her genial hours / He full enjoys; and not a beauty blows, / And not an opening blossom breathes in vain."

— Thomson, James (1700-1748)

Date: 1730, 1744, 1746

"While he, from all the stormy passions free / That restless men involve, hears, and but hears, / At distance safe, the human tempest roar, / Wrapp'd close in conscious peace."

— Thomson, James (1700-1748)

Date: 1732

"Thoughts dash on Thoughts, as Waves on Waves increase, / And Storms, of his own raising, wreck his Peace."

— Mitchell, Joseph (c. 1684-1738)

Date: 1733-4

"Better for Us, perhaps, it might appear, / Were there all harmony, all virtue here; / That never air or ocean felt the wind; /That never passion discompos'd the mind: / But All subsists by elemental strife; / And Passions are the Elements of life. "

— Pope, Alexander (1688-1744)

Date: 1733-4

"On Life's vast ocean diversely we sail, / Reason the card, but Passion is the gale."

— Pope, Alexander (1688-1744)

Date: 1733-4

"A mightier Pow'r the strong direction sends, / And sev'ral Men impels to sev'ral ends. / Like varying winds, by other passions tost, / This drives them constant to a certain coast."

— Pope, Alexander (1688-1744)

Date: 1734

"My frame of nature is a ruffled sea, / And my disease the tempest."

— Watts, Isaac (1674-1748)

Date: 1734

"Is then my heart to all the world beside / Softer than melting wax or summer snow, / But to myself harder than adamant?"

— Watts, Isaac (1674-1748)

Date: 1734

"I'm in a raging storm, / Where seas and skies are blended, while my soul / Like some light worthless chip of floating cork / Is tost from wave to wave."

— Watts, Isaac (1674-1748)