I turn'd the pages writ by mighty men—
Giants who in the past had toil'd and fought,
And won great trophies in the war of Thought,
And with them immortality. And when
Word burst on word with all the heaven-fed glow
Which is of genius, I stood like one
Who hears a melody he cannot shun—
So sweet its music that perforce must grow
Upon him with its rapture. And I felt
Another soul possess me as I caught
The inspiration of their words; and, fraught
With wonder at their mighty toil, I knelt,
And whisper'd with a sense of holy fear—
'They move still with us; lo! the Great are here.'