James Thomson, The Seasons (1791)
“ These were somewhat mortified to find their notions disturbed by the appearance of a poet, who seemed to owe nothing but to Nature and his own genius. But, in a short time, the applause became unanimous; every one wondering how so many pictures, and pictures so familiar, should have moved them but faintly to what they felt in his descriptions. His digressions too, the overflowings of a tender benevolent heart, charmed the reader no less: leaving him in doubt, whether he should more admire the Poet, or love the Man. From that time Mr. Thomson's acquaintance was courted by all men of taste ”
