Where groan yon shelves beneath their learned weight,
Heap piled on heap, and row succeeding rows,
In peaceful pomp and undisturb’d retreat,
The labours of our ancestors repose.
No longer sunk in ceaseless, fruitless toil,
The half-starved student o’er their leaves shall pore,
For them no longer blaze the midnight oil,
Their sun is set, and sinks to rise no more!
For them no more shall booksellers contend,
Or rubric posts their matchless worth proclaim;