They are startled now, those men so brave,
And are taking their treasure to Dungeon Cave.
Away through the woods that once skirted the vale
They had made for themselves an invisible trail;
And, now that the night was so dark and still,
They were moving their spoils from the glen to the hill.
An iron bound box, with its shining gold,
And a limestone fossil, pure and cold,
On its soft, white cotton, was resting there,
Treasured with superstitious care.