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Snares above thy head, and snares beneath ;
Snares in thy sickness; snares in thy death.

Quarles. 3035. SATIETY, Byron's

Thrice-happy bird! I too have seen
Much of the vanities of men ;

And sick of having seen 'em,
Would cheerfully these limbs resign
For such a pair of wings as thine,
And such a head between 'em.

Vincent Bourne, tr. by Cowper.

GREAT man! the nations gazed, and wonder'd

much, And praised : and many call'd his evil good. Wits wrote in favour of his wickedness; And kings to do him honour took delight. Thus full of titles, flattery, honour, fame; Beyond desire, beyond ambition full, He died. He died of what? Of wretchedness. Drank every cup of joy, heard every trump Of fame; drank early, deeply drank; drank

draughts That common millions might have quench’d, then

died Of thirst, because there was no more to drink. His goddess, Nature, woo'd, embraced, enjoy'd, Fell from his arms, abhorr’d; his passions died ; Died all but dreary solitary pride ; And all his sympathies in being died. As some ill-guided bark, well built and tall, Which angry tides cast out on desert shore, And then retiring, left it there to rot And moulder in the winds and rains of heaven : So he, cut from the sympathies of life, And cast ashore from pleasure's boisterous surgeA wandering, weary, worn, and wretched thing; Scorched, and desolate, and blasted soul ; A gloomy wilderness of dying thoughtRepined, and groan'd, and wither'd from the earth.

Pollok. 3036. SATIETY. Emblem of

3037. SATIETY: the penalty of surfeiting.
THEY surfeited with honey; and began
To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof little
More than a little is by much too much.

The best conserve of roses, when one is fully fed,
Is tasteless, tame, and worthless-no better than dry

bread; But after days of fasting, kept up as faith imposes, The dryest bread becomes sweet as conserve of roses.

From the Persian of Saadi. 3038. SATIRE. POETS alone found the delightful way Mysterious morals gently to convey In charming numbers; so that as men grew Pleased with their poems, they grew wiser too. Satire has always shone among the rest, And is the boldest way, if not the best, To tell men freely of their foulest faults, To laugh at their vain deeds and vainer thoughts.

Dryden. Frontless and satire-proof he scours the streets, And runs an Indian muck at all he meets.

Dryden. The labouring bee, when his sharp sting is gone, Forgets his golden work, and turns a drone; Such is a satire when you take away The rage in which his noble vigour lay.-Dryden.

THERE is a bird who, by his coat,
And by the hoarseness of his note,

Might be supposed a crow;
A great frequenter of the church,
Where, bishop-like, he finds a perch,

And dormitory too.
You think, no doubt, he sits and muses
On future broken bones and bruises,

If he should chance to fall.
No : not a single thought like that
Employs his philosophic pate,

Or troubles it at all.
He sees that this great roundabout,
The world, with all its motley rout,

Church, army, physic, law,
Its customs and its businesses,
Is no concern at all of his,

And says-what says he ?-Caw.

When Satire flies abroad on falsehood's wing,
Short is her life, and impotent her sting :
But when to truth allied, the wound she gives
Sinks deep, and to remotest ages lives.

The man whose hardy spirit shall engage
To lash the vices of a guilty age,
At his first setting forward ought to know
That every rogue he meets must be his foe;
That the rude breath of satire will provoke
Many who feel and more who fear the stroke.

Churchill. Though Folly, robed in purple, shines, Though Vice exhausts Peruvian mines, Yet shall they tremble and turn pale When Satire wields her mighty flail. -Churchill.

You must not think that a satiric style

Where haunted ever by the thoughts that grieve es, Allows of scandalous and brutish words ;

Across us floods of bitter memory roll. The better sort abhor scurrility.-Roscommon.

There is a land where every pulse is thrilling If satire charms, strike faults, but spare the man ; With rapture earth's sojourners may not know, 'Tis dull to be as witty as you can.

Where heaven's repose the weary heart is stilling Satire recoils whenever charged too high;

And peacefully life's time-toss'd currents flow. Round your own fame the fatal splinters fly.

| Far out of sight, while yet the flesh enfolds us, As the sost plume gives swiftness to the dart,

Lies the fair country where our hearts abide, Good breeding sends the satire to the heart.

And of its bliss is nought more wondrous told us,

Young: Than these few words : 'I shall be satisfied.' When knaves and fools combined o'er all prevail,

Satisfied! Satisfied! the spirit's yearning
When justice halts, and right begins to fail,
E'en then the boldest start from public sneers,

For sweet companionship with kindred minds, Afraid of shame-unknown to other fears,

The silent love that here meets no returning, More darkly sin, by satire kept in awe,

The inspiration which no language finds — And shrink from ridicule, though not from law. Shall they be satisfied ? The soul's vague longing.


The aching void which nothing earthly fills ? Satire should, like a polish'd razor keen,

Oh what desires upon my soul are thronging Wound with a touch that's scarcely felt or seen. As I look upward to the heavenly hills !

Lady Ilontague.

Thither my weak and weary steps are tending; Unless a love of virtue light the flame,

Saviour and Lord, with Thy frail child abide! Satire is, more than those he brands, to blame ! Guide me towards home, where, all my wanderings He hides behind a magisterial air

ending, His own offences, and strips others bare ;

I then shall see Thee, and 'be satisfied.'
Affects indeed a most humane concern,
That man, if gently tutor'd, will not learn ;

3040. SCANDAL.
That mulish folly, not to be reclaim'd
By softer methods, must be made ashamed ;

And there's a lust in man no charm can tame But (I might instance in St Patrick's dean) Of loudly publishing our neighbour's shame : Too often rails to gratisy his spleen.

On eagles' wings immortal scandals fly, Most sat’rists are indeed a public scourge;

While virtuous actions are but born and die. “Their mildest physic is a farrier's purge;

Juenal. Their acrid temper turns, as soon as stirr'd,

He that shall rail against his absent friends, The milk of their good purpose all to curd. Or hears them scandalized and not defends; Their zeal begotten, as their works rehearse, Sports with their fame, and speaks whate'er he can, By lean despair upon an empty purse,

And only to be thought a witty man ; The wild assassins start into the street,

Tells tales and brings his friends in disestecm; Prepared to poniard whomsoe'er they meet.

That man's a knave; be sure beware of him. No skill in swordmanship, however just,

Creaci. Can be secure against a madman's thrust;

Skill'd by a touch to deepen scandal's tints And even virtue, so unfairly match'd,

With all the high mendacity of hints, Although immortal, may be prick'd or scratcli'd.

While mingling truth with falsehood, sneers with Cowper.

smiles, 3039. SATISFACTION : not to be attained on A thread of candour with a web of wiles.- Dyrm. earth.

Assail'd by scandal and the tongue of strise, Not here! Not here! not where the sparkling His only answer was a blameless life; waters

And he that forged, and he that threw the dart, Fade into mocking sounds as we draw near ; Had each a brother's interest in his heart.--Conger. Where in the wilderness each footstep faltersI shall be satisfied—but oh, not here !

3041. SCORN. Not here, where every dream of bliss deceives us, I MAY not scorn the meanest thing Where the worn spirit never gains its goal :

That on the earth doth crawl;

The slave who dares not burst his chain,

Then be not like the hogge that hath
The tyrant in his hall.

A pearle at his desire,

And takes more pleasure in the trouth,
The vile oppressor, who hath made

And wallowing in the mire ;
The widow'd mother mourn,

Reade not this book in any case
Though, worthless, he before me stand-

But with a single eye;
I cannot, dare not scorn.

Read not but first desire God's grace
The darkest night that shrouds the sky,

To understand thereby;
Of beauty hath a share ;

Pray still in faith with this respect,
The blackest heart hath signs to tell

To fructifie therein,
That God still lingers there.

That knowledge may bring this effect,

To mortify thy sinne.
I pity all that evil are-

Then happie thou in all thy life,
I pity, and I mourn;

What so to thee befalles ;
But the Supreme hath fashion'd all,

Yea, double happie shalt thou be
And, oh! I dare not scorn.-Nicol.

When God by death thee calles.

Barker's Bible, 1594. 3042. SCOTLAND.

3045. SCRIPTURES : inspired. O SCOTIA! my dear, my native soil !

Thus man by his own strength to heaven would soar, For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent, Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil

And would not be obliged to God for more : Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content !

Vain, wretched creature ! how art thou misled, And oh! may Heaven their simple lives prevent

To think thy wit these godlike notions bred !

These truths are not the product of thy mind, From luxury's contagion, weak and vile !

But dropt from heaven, and of a nobler kind: Then howe'er crowns and coronets be rent,

Reveal'd religion first inform'd thy sight, A virtuous populace may rise the while,

And Reason saw not till Faith sprung the light. And stand a wall of fire around their much-loved isle. Burns.


Or whether more abstractedly we look,
O Caledonia ! stern and wild,

Or on the writers, or the written Book,
Meet muse for a poetic child ;

Whence but from Heaven could men unskill'd in arts,
Land of brown heath and shaggy wood,

| In several age; born, in several parts,
Land of the mountain and the flood,

| Weave such agreeing truths ? or how, or why,
Land of my sires ! what mortal hand
Can e'er untie the filial band

Should all conspire to cheat us with a lie ?

Unask'd their pains, ungrateful their advice,
That knits me to thy rugged strand ?-Scott.

Starving their gain, and martyrdom their price!

Dryden. 3043. SCRIPTURE. Quoting

3046. SEASONS. Hymn of the The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose : An evil soul producing holy witness

THESE, as they change, Almighty Father, these Is like a villain with a smiling cheek.

Are but the varied God. The rolling year

Shakespeare. Is full of Thee. Forth in the pleasing spring 3044. SCRIPTURES. Effects of the

Thy beauty walks, Thy tenderness and love.

Wide flush the fields; the softening air is balm ;
Here is the spring where waters flowe Echo the mountains round; the forest smiles;
To quench our heate of sinne ;

And every sense and every heart is joy.
Here is the tree where trueth doth grow, Then comes Thy glory in the summer months,
To lead our lives therein ;

With light and heat refulgent. Then Thy sun
Here is the Judge that stints the strife, Shoots full perfection through the swelling year ;
Where men's devices faille ;

And oft Thy voice in dreadful thunder speaks,
Here is the bread that feeds the life

And oft at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve,
That death cannot assaile;

By brooks and groves in hollow-whispering gales.
The tidings of salvation deare

Thy bounty shines in autumn unconfined,
Come to our eares from hence ;

And spreads a common seast for all that lives.
The fortress of our faith is here,

In winter awful Thou! with clouds and storms
And shielde of our defence.

| Around Thee thrown, tempest o'er tempest roll'd,

Majestic darkness ! On the whirlwind's wing Ye valleys, raise ; for the great Shepherd reigns, Riding sublime, Thou bid'st the world adore, And His unsuffering kingdom yet will come And humblest nature with Thy northern blast. Ye woodlands all, awake: a boundless song

Mysterious round! what skill, what force divine, Burst from the groves; and when the restless day, Deep felt, in these appear! a simple train,

Expiring, lays the warbling world asleep, Yet so delightful mix’d, with such kind art,

Sweetest of birds ! sweet Philomela, charm Such beauty and beneficence combined ;

The listening shades, and teach the night His praise. Shade, unperceived, so softening into shade;

Ye Chief, for whom the whole creation smiles, And all so forming an harmonious whole,

At once the head, the heart, and tongue of all, *That, as they still succeed, they ravish still.

Crown the great hymn! in swarming cities vast, But wandering oft, with brute unconscious gaze, Assembled men to the deep organ join Man marks not Thee, marks not the mighty hand, The long-resounding voice, oft breaking clear, That, ever busy, wheels the silent spheres ;

At solemn pauses, through the swelling bass; Works in the secret deep; shoots, steaming, thence And, as each mingling flame increases each, The fair profusion that o'erspreads the spring; In one united ardour rise to heaven. Flings from the sun direct the flaming day;

Or if you rather choose the rural shade, Feeds every creature; hurls the tempest forth; And find a fane in every sacred grove, And, as on earth this grateful change revolves, There let the shepherd's flute, the virgin's lay, With transport touches all the springs of life. The prompting seraph, and the poet's lyre, Nature, attend ! join, every living soul

Still sing the God of seasons as they roll. Beneath the spacious temple of the sky,

For me, when I forget the darling theme,
In adoration join ; and, ardent, raise

Whether the blossom blows, the summer ray
One general song! To Him, ye vocal gales, Russets the plain, inspiring autumn gleams,
Breathe soft, Whose spirit in your freshness breathes : Or winter rises in the blackening east,
Oh, talk of Him in solitary glooms!

Be my tongue mute-my fancy paint no more, Where, o'er the rock, the scarcely waving pine And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat ! Fills the brown shade with a religious awe.

Should fate command me to the farthest verge And ye, whose bolder note is heard afar,

Of the green earth, to distant barbarous climes, Who shake the astonish'd world, lift high to heaven Rivers unknown to song—where first the sun The impetuous song, and say from whom you rage. Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam His praise, ye brooks, attune, ye trembling rills; Flames on the Atlantic isles—'tis nought to me: And let me catch it as I muse along.

Since God is ever present, ever felt, Ye headlong torrents, rapid and profound ;

In the void waste, as in the city full ; Ye softer floods, that lead the humid maze

And where He vital spreads there must be joy. Along the vale ; and thou, majestic main,

When even at last the solemn hour shall come, A secret world of wonders in thyself,

And wing my mystic flight to future worlds, Sound His stupendous praise-Whose greater voice I cheerful will obey; there, with new powers, Or bids you roar, or bids your roarings fall.

Will rising wonders sing : I cannot go
Soft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowers, Where Universal Love not smiles around,
In mingled clouds to Him-whose sun exalts, Sustaining all yon orbs, and all their suns;
Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints. From seeming evil still educing good,
Ye forests, bend, ye harvests, wave, to Him; And better thence again, and better still,
Breathe your still song into the reaper's heart, In infinite progression. But I lose
As home he goes beneath the joyous moon.

| Myself in Him, in light ineffable ! Ye that keep watch in heaven, as earth asleep Come then, expressive Silence, muse His praise. Unconscious lies, effuse your mildest beams,

Thomsor. Ye constellations, while your angels strike,

3047. SECRESY : our safety. Amid the spangled sky, the silver lyre.

LEARN to dissemble wrongs, to smile at injuries, Great source of day! best image here below Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide,

And suffer crimes thou want'st the power to punish! From world to world, the vital ocean round,

Be easy, affable, familiar, friendly : On Nature write with every beam His praise.

Search, and know all mankind's mysterious ways; The thunder rolls : be hush'd the prostrate world; But trust the secret of thy soul to none ! While cloud to cloud returns the solemn hymn.

This is the way, Bleat out afresh, ye hills; ye mossy rocks,

This only, to be safe in such a world as this is.

Rocct. Retain the sound ; the broad responsive low,

3048. SECRETS.

3051. SEEING JESUS. ALL friendly trust is folly; every man

“We would see Jesus,'—for the shadows lengthen Hath one, to whom he will commit as much

· Across this:little landscape of our life; As is to him committed : our designs,

We would see Jesus, our weak faith to strengthen, When once they creep from our own private breasts, For the last weariness—the final strife. Do in a moment through the city fly; Who tells his secret, sells his liberty.-Freeman,

We would see Jesus,-other lights are paling,

Which for long years we have rejoiced to see ; A secret in his mouth,

The blessings of our pilgrimage are failing, Is like a wild bird put into a cage ;

We would not mourn them, for we go to Thce! Whose door no sooner opens, but 'tis out.

We would see Jesus,—yet the spirit lingers

Round the dear objects we have loved so long, When two know it, how can it be a secret ? And earth from earth can scarce unclose its fingers, And indeed with what justice can you

Our love to Thee makes not this love less strong. Expect secresy in me, that cannot

We would see Jesus, sense is all too blinding, Be private to yourself ?-Marston.

And heaven appears too dim, too far away;
He deserves small trust,

We would see Thee, to gain a sweet reminding Who is not privy counsellor to himself.

Thåt Thou hast promised our great debt to pay.

Forde. We would see Tesus,--this is all we're needing, Do thou thy precious secrets to no other lend: | Strength, joy, and willingness come with the sight; Thy friend another has : beware of thy friend's We would see Jesus,-dying, risen, pleading ; friend.-Oriental,

Then welcome day, and farewell mortal night.

3049. SECTS. Unity of the


CHRIST, whose first appearance lighted

Gloomy Death's obscure domain,
Long in Herod's courts benighted

Sought I Thee, but sought in vain :
All was glitter, pomp and pleasure,

Sensuality and pride ;
But my heart found not its treasure,

And remain'd unsatisfied.

YES; we do differ when we most agree;
For words are not the same to you and me
And it may be our several spiritual needs
Are best supplied by seeming different creeds.

And differing we agree in one

Inseparable communion,
If the true life be in our hearts—the faith

Which not to want is death;
To want is penance; to desire

Is purgatorial fire;
To hope is paradise ; and to believe
Is all of heaven that earth can e'er receive.

. H. Coleridge.
Is there, in human form that bears a heart-

A wretch ! a villain ! lost to love and truth! That can with studied, sly, ensnaring art,

Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth?

Curse on his perjured arts ! dissembling smooth !
Are honour, virtue, conscience, all exiled ?

Is there no pity, no relenting ruth,
Points to the parents fondling o'er their child,
Then paints the ruin'd maid, and their distraction i
wild ?-Burns.

Nought so ill
As the betrayer's sin ! salvationless

Then to learned scribes and sages

Seeking Christ I wander'd on;
But upon their barren pages

Jacob's Star had never shone :
True, indeed, like men in prison

Groping for the light of day,
Spake they of the Light new-risen,

But themselves saw not one ray.
To the temple I was guided

By the altar-fire and lights;
But, though all else was provided,

Christ was absent from the rites.
Then, more precious time I wasted

In thy streets, Jerusalem ;
But I sought in vain, and hasted

On my way to Bethlehem.
In the streets I wander'd slowly,

Looking for some trusty guide ;

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