While Poring Antiquarians Search The Ground Upturned With Curious Pains, The Bard, A Seer, Takes Fire: The Men That Have Been Reappear; Romans For Travel Girt, For Business Gowned; And Some Recline On Couches, Myrtle-Crowned, In Festal Glee: Why Not? For Fresh And Clear, As If Its Hues Were Of The Passing Year, Dawns This Time-Buried Pavement. From That Mound Hoards May Come Forth Of Trajans, Maximins, Shrunk Into Coins With All Their Warlike Toil: Or A Fierce Impress Issues With Its Foil Of Tenderness The Wolf, Whose Suckling Twins The Unlettered Ploughboy Pities When He Wins The Casual Treasure From The Furrowed Soil.