The Congressional Library.
            
               THOU
 Parthenon of western wealth and art!
As o'er thee now the level sunlight glows,
Thou also to the spirit canst impart
A sense of grand repose.
            I pass through brazen doors that might have borne
Ghiberti's signature; and as they swing
Welcome and wide, seem fitted to adorn
The gateway of a king.
            As when the dusky-opening doors of sleep
Reveal a gorgeous dream, come lights and shades
Of splendid halls, where cooling breezes sweep
From distant colonnades.
            This rich mosaic—this shaft of classic mould—
This maze of marble where the senses reel—
Belong not to our present age of cold
And unpoetic steel!
            I fancy that I hear, as if the dead
Did pace the aisle of some cathedral shrine,
The clank of rusty armor, and the tread
Of Guelph and Ghibelline.
            The wide rotunda opens to my view.
Shafts of Numidian marble there uphold
A spacious dome, where heavenly fields of blue
Are blossoming with gold.
            So ample and symmetrical its sweep,
Perchance some wingéd melody sublime
Might ever circle 'round that dome, and keep
In perfect tune and time.
            Ye sculptured masters ranged in solemn row—
Immortal heroes of the tongue and pen!
From hence, like demigods of old, bestow
Your blessings unto men.
            Forever sacred to the arts of peace,
Here let the holy lamp of learning shine,
Till Ignorance shall die, and War shall cease,
And Truth shall reign, divine!
—WILLIAM HURD HILLYER.
            Atlanta, Ga.