Must yield in novelty to thine.
Thou bring’st before our wond’ring eyes,
Modell’d in truth, each gone-by scene
That Hist’ry’s varied page supplies;—
Here still they flourish, fresh and green,
Defying Time’s oblivious power,
Who long have pass’d Life’s fitful hour.
Modern Prometheus! who can’st give,
Like him of old, to human form
All but the life;—here thou wilt live