Besides they always smell of bread and butter. Manfred.  LORD BYRON.

  You’d scarce expect one of my age
  To speak in public on the stage;
  And if I chance to fall below
  Demosthenes or Cicero,
  Don’t view me with a critic’s eye,
  But pass my imperfections by. 
  Large streams from little fountains flow,
  Tall oaks from little acorns grow.
Lines written for a School Declamation.  D. EVERETT.

Ah! happy years! once more who would not be a boy! Childe Harold, Canto II.  LORD BYRON.

SCIENCE.

While bright-eyed Science watches round. Ode for Music:  Chorus.  T. GRAY.

    There live, alas! of heaven-directed mien,
    Of cultured soul, and sapient eye serene,
    Who hail thee, Man! the pilgrim of a day,
    Spouse of the worm, and brother of the clay,

* * * * *

  O Star-eyed Science! hast thou wandered there,
  To waft us home the message of despair?
Pleasures of Hope.  T. CAMPBELL.

  One science only will one genius fit,
  So vast is art, so narrow human wit.
Essay on Criticism, Pt.  I.  A. POPE.

        By the glare of false science betrayed,
  That leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind.
The Hermit.  J. BEATTIE.

I value science—­none can prize it more,
It gives ten thousand motives to adore: 
Be it religious, as it ought to be,
The heart it humbles, and it bows the knee.
The Microcosm:  Christian Science.  A. COLES.

SCOLD.

            Unpack my heart with words,
  And fall a cursing, like a very drab,
  A scullion! 
  Fie upon ’t!  Foh!
Hamlet, Act ii.  Sc. 2.  SHAKESPEARE.

Find all his having and his holding
Reduced to eternal noise and scolding,—­
The conjugal petard that tears
Down all portcullises of ears.
Hudibras.  S. BUTLER.

  Abroad too kind, at home ’t is steadfast hate,
  And one eternal tempest of debate.
Love of Fame.  DR. E. YOUNG.

SCULPTURE.

  As when, O lady mine,
  With chiselled touch
  The stone unhewn and cold
  Becomes a living mould,
  The more the marble wastes
  The more the statue grows.
Sonnet.  M. ANGELO. Trans. of MRS. H. ROSCOE.

  Sculpture is more than painting.  It is greater
  To raise the dead to life than to create
  Phantoms that seem to live.
Michael Angelo.  H.W.  LONGFELLOW.

  So stands the statue that enchants the world,
  So bending tries to veil the matchless boast,
  The mingled beauties of exulting Greece.
The Seasons:  Summer.  J. THOMSON.

And the cold marble leapt to life a god. The Belvedere Apollo.  H.H.  MILMAN.