560 SCARS. SCEPTIC. SCHEME. SCARS. HE jests at scars, that never felt a wound. Shakspere. Shakspere. Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains Yet I'll not shed her blood, Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow, The soft delicious air, Shakspere. To heal the scars of these corrosive fires, Milton. SCEPTIC. OH! lives there, heaven! beneath thy dread expanse, One hopeless, dark idolater of chance, Content to feed with pleasures unrefined, The lukewarm passions of a lowly mind; Who mouldering earthward, 'reft of every trust, And call this barren world sufficient bliss? Ah me! the laurelled wreath that murder rears, SCHEME. THE greatest schemes that human wit can forge, Rowe. TELL arts they have no soundness, Tell schools they lack profoundness, Sir W. Raleigh. Goldsmith. In every village mark'd with little spire, For unkempt hair, or task unconn'd, are sorely shent. Yet is the school-house rude, As is the chrysalis to the butterfly, To the rich flower the seed. The dusky walls To this low school-house traces back its life.-Street. 562 SCIENCE. SCORN. SCIENCE. THROUGH error's mazy grove, with fruitless toil, And still we stumble through the gloom, With disproportioned speed we urge the chase A cold unsatisfying scent behind. Elijah Fenton. What cannot art and industry perform, Knowledge is not happiness, and science Beattie. Byron. SCORN. DISDAIN and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes. Imfamous wretch! Shakspere. So much below my scorn, I dare not kill thee! He hears On all sides, from innumerable tongues, A dismal, universal hiss, the sound Of public scorn. Dryden. Milton. Thou may'st from law, but not from scorn escape; The pointed finger, cold, averted eye, Insulted virtue's hiss-thou canst not fly. Charles Sprague. Pardon me sir. The air of folly best Doth nourish in the cynic's keenest thoughts; Dwells he 'midst men of sense, his spirit dies, Having no food for his fierce scorn to live on. Barry Cornwall. SCRIBBLE. SCULPTURE. SCURRILITY. SCRIBBLE. LEAVE flattery to fulsome dedicators, 563 Whom when they praise the world believes no more, Than when they promise to give scribbling o'er. Pope. Laugh when I laugh, I seek no other fame, Hot, noisy, envious, proud, the scribbling fry SCULPTURE. CHISEL in hand, stood a sculptor boy, With Heaven's own light the sculpture shone; Sculptors of life are we, as we stand With our souls uncarved before us; If we carve it then on the yielding stone, Its heavenly beauty shall be our own, SCURRILITY, You must not think that a satyric style The better sort abhor scurrility. The license of the tongue-scurrility! Doane. Roscommon. Bred of malicious thoughts within the heart, Anon. Disturbs the quiet of poor shallow waters; But winds must arm themselves, ere the large sea Is seen to tremble. Thou boundless, shining, glorious sea! And, as I gaze, thy billowy roll Habbington. From the German. The sea! the sea! the open sea! It runneth the earth's wide region round; And thou majestic mighty main Appear'st from changes so free, That bards have styled thee in their strain Type of the Infinite! I look away Over thy billows, and I cannot stay Barton. My thought upon a resting-place, or make Lonely thy work, ere man had drawn his breath. Dana. |