We mumbled the bones of the slain.

VIII

I flaked a flint to a cutting edge,

And shaped it with brutish craft;

I broke a shank from the woodland dank,

And fitted it, head and haft.

Then I hid me close to the reedy tarn,

Where the Mammoth came to drink;—

Through brawn and bone I drave the stone,

And slew him upon the brink.