And Barbers' daughters soothe with tales of love.
Through the still courts a solemn silence reigns,
Save where, the broken battlements among,
The east wind murmurs through the shattered panes,
And hoarser ravens croak their evening song.
Where groan yon shelves beneath their learned weight,
Heap piled on heap, and row succeeding rows,
In peaceful pomp, and undisturbed retreat,
The labours of our ancestors repose.
No longer, sunk in ceaseless, fruitless toil,