In her right hand an ample roll appears,
Fraught with long annals of preceding years,
With every wise and noble art of man
Since first the circling hours their course began;
Her left a silver wand on high displayed
Whose magic touch dispels oblivion’s shade:
Pensive her look; on radiant wings that glow
Like Juno’s birds, or Iris’ flaming bow,
She sails; and swifter than the course of light
Directs her rapid intellectual flight: