To one who dwelt beside the Peel,
That murmurs with its tiny wave
To join the Tweed at Ashestiel.
Now thick as motes the shadows wheel,
And find their own, and claim a share
Of books wherein Ribou did deal,
Or Roulland sold to wise Colbert. {5}

What famous folk of old are here!
A royal duke comes down to us,
And greatly wants his Elzevir,
His Pagan tutor, Lucius. {6}
And Beckford claims an amorous
Old heathen in morocco blue; {7}
And who demands Eobanus
But stately Jacques Auguste de Thou! {8}

They come, the wise, the great, the true,
They jostle on the narrow stair,
The frolic Countess de Verrue,
Lamoignon, ay, and Longepierre,
The new and elder dead are there -
The lords of speech, and song, and pen,
Gambetta, {9} Schlegel {10} and the rare
Drummond of haunted Hawthornden. {11}

Ah, and with those, a hundred more,
Whose names, whose deeds, are quite forgot:
Brave "Smiths" and "Thompsons" by the score,
Scrawled upon many a shabby "lot."