Their shields and the favours they wore?
And the monks with their magical lore?
They have passed to Oblivion and Nox,
They have fled to the shadowy shore,—
They are all in the Fourpenny Box!
And where the poetical fancies
Our fathers rejoiced in, of yore?
The lyric’s melodious expanses,
The epics in cantos a score,
They have been and are not: no more