The windows richly dight, with stained glass showed, In brilliant colours formed, fair groups design, That marked the skill th’ artist had bestowed, Bright as the sunny landscape seen to shine Where laughed the Graces, sketched with glow divine, Peace, Plenty smiled with her o’erflowing horn, And Bacchus quaff’d the grape’s delicious wine, He, mighty Nimrod, chased the bounding fawn, While Jubel struck the lyre, its chords to heav’n upborne. CXXXVII. The centre of that noble room was fill’d With various models, deftly carved, and true, The rocky base of Gibraltar, piled In frowning strength, sterility to view; Axle and wheel revolving turned, and screw, Were here employ’d with nicely balanced skill, The flying shaft, untiring did pursue Its evolutions, while the grinding mill With mechanism wrought, its unresistless will. CXXXVIII. The spinning-jenny’s rude simplicity, With late improvements of an Arkwright wrought; That greatest of inventions met the eye, Its motions urged like living creature fraught, All-powerful “steam,” a hissing demon taught By Watt, ingenious made, to run with speed, And round the globe distance to set at nought, How would our first of Georges stare indeed, To see our railroads take the start of prancing steed. CXXXIX. That mighty wonder of this teeming age, And great mercurial power, the “printing press,” Did next the troop of gazers deep engage, Its vast machinery in its swift progress, The like they ne’er had seen they did confess, Its cylinders, and huge revolving wheel, That set the whole at work with rapidness; Their inward pleasure they could not conceal, When struck the flying sheet its printing did reveal. CXL. That paragon of presses then was shown, Where human art and skill were wond’rous blent, Whom herald fame its prowess hath made known, That in its stride the globe did circumvent; The journal of the mighty “Times” far sent To every land, o’er seas and mountains high: Who can the power of its instrument, Or record publish of its history, Like Araby’s story, read of so marvellously. CXLI. How would a Caxton, with a look astound, Could he pierce thro’ the gloom that shrouds his head; With what surprise akin to awe profound, To view his great invention so dispread, The blaze would blind his eyes, so strongly shed, So great the glare of knowledge bursting forth, Compared with his own darksome day now fled; Famed Woodfall, too, whose mortal labour wrought, Laborious nights and days, outshone, eclipsed his worth. CXLII.