A Library.
By W. M. MacKeracher
As one, who, from an antechamber dim,
Is ushered suddenly to his surprise
Before a gathering of the great and wise,
Feels for the moment all his senses swim,
Then looks around him like a veteran grim
When peerless armies pass before his eyes,
Or Michael when he marshals in the skies
The embattled legions of the cherubim;
So shall the scholar pause within this door
With startled reverence, and proudly stand,
And feel that though the ages' flags are furled
By Time's rude breath, their spoils are here in store,
The riches of the race are at his hand,
And well-nigh all the glory of the world.