This covert nook reports not of his hand.
He, who with pocket-hammer smites the edge
Of luckless rock or prominent stone, disguised
In weather-stains, or crusted o'er by Nature
With her first growths, detaching by the stroke
A chip or splinter to resolve his doubts;
And, with that ready answer satisfied,
The substance classes by some barbarous name,
And hurries on; or from the fragments picks
His specimen; if but imply interveined