Now we stand by old carvéd door
Of solemn Library, and lo!
What serried ranks, from roof to floor,
Stand stately whereso'er we go !
Thousand volumes ranged around,
Therein what million thoughts abound!
Ancient armour graceth well
Yon wall, the west extremity
Of this weird space ; time fails to tell
What spoils of grey Antiquity,
Marble spoils of Grecian art,
And Roman frown in every part
Where vantage shows : Oh ! musing mind !
Muse on ! Th' historic Past defined
In beathing Sculpture's deathless bards,
Warriors and Statesmen, well awards
To thy mute spirit joyful meed
Of awful contemplation ! freed
From Time's tyrannic Present's thrall,
His Past doth wrap thee, all in all!