"UBI SUNT QUI ANTE NOS?"
With the new chiaroscuro of things that each way face,
And the in-and-out perspective of their four-dimensioned space.
O, to hear the famed Cantators upraise the mighty chant,
With their bass transposed to the rumbling depth below our octaves scant,
And a tenor of those Elysian notes "too fine for mortal ear,"
Yet tuned to the diapason of this dear old darkling sphere!
And O, to catch but a glimpse of the company thronged around—
The scholars that know it all at last, the poets finally crowned!
There the blithe divines, that fear no more the midnight chimes, sit each
With his halo tilted a trifle, and his harp at easy reach;
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