1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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