What mighty giant rent the hills asunder,
Or whether Lucifer himself had ne’er
Gone with his crew to play at foot-ball there.
His fossils, flints, and spars, of every hue,
With him, good reader, here lie buried too—
Sweet specimens! which, toiling to obtain,
He split huge cliffs, like so much wood, in twain.
We knew, so great the fuss he made about them,
Alive or dead, he ne’er would rest without them;
So, to secure soft slumber to his bones,