Trophies of departed nations, jars of new invented gases,
Lenses, crucibles, and gauges, all the hurried cortège passes;
Claudet, on the concourse gazing, as they come beneath the blazing
Sun, much dust around them raising, dips his brush in solar flame;
And so skilfully his art he plies, that 'ere the busy party
From before his eye can start, he manages the whole to frame
In one picture, as a fitting tribute to the House of Fame.
Now the glens and gorges clearing, and on steep bare slopes appearing
Blither grows our band at hearing, from the gazing crowd below,
Shouts of praise and gratulation: but our joy to consternation