Brief and simple exercises at which President Lowell presided, dedicated the new Fogg Museum yesterday morning.

Following a rendition of "Bach's "Suite in B Minor", played from the balcony which surrounds the court and by an eighteenth century ensemble, President Lowell spoke a few words in praise of the architect, Charles A. Coolidge '81. Bishop William Lawrence '71 delivered the prayer, and Professor Charles H. Grandgent '83 gave his poem. Then Mr. Coolidge presented the keys of the building to President Lowell who in turn passed them on to Mr. E. W. Forbes '95, the director. Then the Glee Club sang three selections before the audience was invited to inspect the building.

Professor Grandgent gave his poem, entitled "A Dream", at the conclusion of President Lowell's remark that the lieving that the three great arts should make part of a common program this building will be dedicated with poetry and music." It was delivered as follow:

A DREAM

The story of a dream, a real dream

Dreamt by a little lad of twelve or so

Full a half a century and more age;

A fantasy, but one of those which seem,

No only at the time, but afterward alway,

As truly lived as aught we live by day.

Late had he sat, this lad of twelve or so,

Devouring, by the lamp's declining gleam,

The haunting lines of Edgar Allan Poe.

"Oh! nothing earthly" save the ray

(Thrown back from flowers) or Beauty's eye,

As in those gardens where the day

Springs from the gems of Circassy:

Oh! nothing earthly save the thrill

Of melody in woodland rill. . . . . . .

Oh! nothing of this dross of ours,

Yet all the beauty, all the flowers

That list our love, and deck our bowers,

Adorn yon world afar, afar

The wandering star.

Such was the poet's theme:

A sun new-born, as time rolled to and fro--

A distant stellar gleam,

A glow,

A blinding light,

Mysterious, swift, illuminating - our night--

A sweet sidereal stranger, passing by,

Shining a while, incomparably bright,

The wonder of the sky,

Then fading from terrestrial sight.

"Oh! nothing earthly save the thrill

Of melody in woodland rill. . . . . .

Oh! nothing of this dross of ours,

Yet al the beauty, all the flowers.

Adorn you world afar, afar

The wandering star."

The little reader, when his lamp was dead,

With pain relinquishing the magic book,

Upon the pillow laid his throbbing head.

But still, but still

The song went ever babbling like a brook:

"Oh! nothing earthly save the thrill

Of melody in woodland rill."

E'en as he drifts o'er drowsiness' bar,

There lingers in his look

"Yon world afar, afar

The wandering star."

Sleep comes at last by stealthy stages sleep!

And wafts him into dreamland's pearly deep.

And then, O marvel! round about him lies

A subtle aqueous world, mid distant skies.

Mermen and mermaids are the dwellers all,

Whose home is coral cave and azure grot.

An even light illumines every spot;

No shadows fall.

Each bit is gently clear, with naught to mar

Its tenuous, never-changing loveliness.

What is this wonder-country? Can you guess?

It is, it is the poet's "world afar

The wandering star."

And there the dreamer dwells,

Transported yon by slumber's magic spells.

O Beauty, must hou always dwell afar,

Seen only by the gazers on a distant star

Invisible to those

Whoe'er in time and place thy neighbor's are?

Must the heavenly rose

Drop all its petals when we come anear?

Be with us now and here?

We see thee often in the skies remote;

And even on our sphere

At intervals there float

Before us ghostly images of thee,

But always far away in foreign climes.

Thou art revealed in dim futurity;

Thou backonest anon from ancient times.

Pary tell us why

Thou dost elude the present. Shy

As Fortune on her wheel, thou speedest by.

Herk to our supplication: O be thou

Among us here and now!

This is thy temple, dedicate to thee.

Do then its goddess be!

Preside o'er all that art attempts or craft contrives,

Show us the why and how;

Dwell in our works, our thoughts, our lives;

Be with us here and now!

And thou lone prophet of the wilderness,

Dear Norton, bide with us today!

It thou canst hear us, bleast

The fruit of thine endeavor, the success

Which doth thy brave apostieship repay.

Careless of other worids, thy mind was beat

On the poor world of ours

Ever intent,

With all thy wit and all thy powers,

To cover o'er its hideous clay

With powers.

Be with us, then, today!