The coarser Cyclops now combine
To push the Olympians from their places;
And dead as Pan seems the old line
Of greater gods and gentler graces.
Pleasant, amidst the clangour crude
Of smiting hammer, sounding anvil,
As bland Arcadian interlude,
The courtly accents of a GRANVILLE!
A strenuous time's pedestrian muse
Shouts pæans to the earth-born giant,