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570

SENSE. SENSIBILITY.

SENSE–SENSES.
If we had nought but sense, each living wight,

Which we call brute, would be more sharp than we. As having sense's apprehensive might

In a more clear and excellent degree.
And yet good sense doth purify the brain,

Awake the fancy, and the wits refine;
Hence old devotion incense did ordain,
To make men's spirits apt for thoughts divine.

Davies.
Something there is more needful than expense,
And something previous e’en to taste-'t is sense:
Good sense which only is the gift of heaven,
And though no science, fairly worth the seven.

Pope. How mind will act with body glorified And spiritualized, and senses fined And pointed brilliantwise, we know not. Here Even it may be wrong in us to deem The senses degradations, otherwise Than as fine steps, whereby the queenly soul Comes down from her bright throne to view the mass She hath dominion over, and the things Of her inheritance; and re-ascends With an indignant fiery purity Not to be touched, her seat.

Bailey.

Cowper.

SENSIBILITY.
Our sensibilities are so acute,
The fear of being silent makes us mute.

Sensibility, how charming,

Thou, my friend, canst truly tell;
But distress, with horrors arming,

Thou hast also known too well!
Dearly bought, the hidden treasure,

Finer feelings can bestow!
Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure,

Thrill the deepest notes of woe.

Burns. SERENITY. SEVERITY.

571

SERENITY.
WOULD you taste the tranquil scene!
Be sure your bosom be serene:
Devoid of hate, devoid of strife,
Devoid of all that poisons life;
And much it 'vails you, in their place
To graft the love of human race. Shenstone,

And the repress'd convulsion of the high
And princely brow of his old father, which
Broke forth in silent shudderings, though rarely,
Or in some clammy drops, soon wiped away
In stern serenity.

Byron.

Serenely my heart took the hue of the hour,

Its passions were sleeping, were mute as the dead; And the spirit becalm'd but remember'd their power, As the billow the force of the gale that was fled!

Moore.
Reflected on the lake, I love

To see the stars of evening glow;
So tranquil in the heavens above,

So restless in the wave below.
Thus heavenly hope is all serene,

But earthly hope, how bright soe'er,
Still fluctuates o'er this changing scene,

As false and fleeting as 't is fair.

Heber.

SEVERITY. THOUGH sprightly, gentle, though polite, sincere. And only of thyself a judge severe. Beattie.

There was a brightening paleness in his face,
Such as Diana rising o'er the rocks
Showered on the lonely Latmian; on his brow
Sorrow there was, yet nought was there severe.

W. S. Lander. 572

SERVANTS. SERVICE. SERVILE.

SERVANTS.

From the king
To the beggar, by gradations, all are servants;
And you must grant, the slavery is less
To study to please one than many.

one than many. Massinger.

Expect not more from servants than is just;
Reward them well if they observe their trust;
Nor with them cruelty nor pride invade,
Since God and Nature them own brothers made.

Denham.

SERVICE.
Had I but served my God with half the zeal
I served my king, he would not, in mine age,
Have left me to mine enemies.

Shakspere.
As in virtuous actions,
The undertaker finds a full reward,
Although conferred upon unthankful men;
So any service done to so much sweetness,
However dangerous, in your favour finds
A wished and glorious end.

Massinger. Small service is true service while it lasts,

Of friends however humble scorn not one; The daisy by the shadow that it casts, · Protects the lingering dew-drop from the sun.

Wordsworth.

SERVILE. YET as winds sing through a hollow tree, And, (since it lets them pass through,) lets it stand; But a tree solid (since it gives no way To their wild rage,) they rend up by the root; So this whole man, (That will not wind with every crooked way, Trod by the servile world,) shall reel and fall Before the frantic puffs of blind-born chance.

Chapman.

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SHADE-SHADOW.
Tis the sunset of life gives us mystical lore,
And coming events cast their shadows before.

Campbell.
With every change his features played,
As aspens show the light and shade. Scott.

Checkered Shade, Checkered Shade!
'Tis of such this life is made;
From the cradle to the tomb
Not all gladness, not all gloom;
Many a bright thread winding through
Tissues of a sombre hue,
Many a dark thread woven in
Where the golden ones begin;
Such the woof wherein we see
Clothed is our mortality;
Such the garments that we wear,
Such the lot that all must share:
Mingled e'er is joy and woe,
Gloom and gladness, here below,
And the path wherein we tread,
Ever hath a Checkered Shade!

Anon.

SHAME.
SHAME sticks ever close to the ribs of honour,
Great men are never found after it:
It leaves some ache or other in their names still,
Which their posterity feels at ev'ry weather.

Middleton.
For often vice, provok'd to shame,
Borrows the colour of a virtuous deed:
Thus libertines are chaste, and misers good,
A coward valiant, and a priest sincere. Sewell.

I can bear scorpions' stings, tread fields of fire;
In frozen gulfs of cold eternal lie;
Be toss'd aloft through tracts of endless void-
But cannot live in shame.

Joanna Baillie. 574

SHARE. SHELLS. SHEPHERD.

SHARE.
Well may he then to you his cares impart,
And share his burden where he shares his heart.

Dryden.
Not love of liberty, nor thirst of honour,
Drew you thus far; but hopes to share the spoil
Of conquered towns and plundered provinces.

Addison.

SHELLS.

ALBION
Was to Neptune recommended;
Peace and plenty spread the sails:
Venus in her shell before him,
From the sands in safety bore him. Dryden.

Of pearly hue
Within, and they that lustre have imbibed
In the sun's palace porch, where, when unyoked,
His chariot wheel stands midway in the wave;
Shake one, and it awakens; then apply
Its polished lips to your attentive ear,
And it remembers its august abodes,
And murmurs as the ocean murmurs there.-Landor.

SHEPHERD. Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade To Shepherds, looking on their silly sheep, Than doth a rich embroidered canopy To kings, that fear their subjects' treachery? () yes, it doth; a thousand fold it doth. And to conclude,—The Shepherd's homely curds, His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle, His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade, All which secure and sweetly he enjoys, Is far beyond a prince's delicates, His viands sparkling in a golden cup; His body couched in a curious bed, When care, mistrust, and treason wait upon him.

Shakspere.

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