Bones of our wild forefathers, O forgive,
If we now pierce the chambers of your rest,
And open your dark pillows to the eye
Of the irreverent day!
Hark, as we move,
Runs no stern whisper down the narrow vault?
Flickers no shape across our torchlight pale,
With backward beckoning arm? No, all is still...
Emmeline Fisher
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Thanks to Nigel Swift for bringing this one to my attention; he writes "...now that the date stone at the entrance to Dean Merewether's 1849 tunnel is visible, it seems a good moment to cite Emmeline Fisher's poem."
With the furore still raging round the long-term conservation of Silbury Hill, Nigel offers four further lines (in italics) to Fisher's poem of 1849...
Bones of our wild forefathers, O forgive,
If we now pierce the chambers of your rest,
And open your dark pillows to the eye
Of the irreverent day! Hark, as we move,
Runs no stern whisper down the narrow vault?
Flickers no shape across our torchlight pale,
With backward beckoning arm? No, all is still...
But stay. Who now comes here, cloaked by words
And dignity of air? No treasure still is here
Nor learning to be taught, save that history's lesson
Is never to be learned.
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