He spat upon his hands; and gripped the haft;
Then swung his hefty hammer overhead,
And brought it down upon the iron wedge,
Splitting the stone that, in its iron bed,
Through unknown ages, undisturbed had lain,
Since from the fiery bowels of the earth
It jetted forth, and fell, a smoking stream
Of white-hot lava, long before the birth
Of the first man — that, centuries untold,
Hardening, within the hill's dark heart had lain,
Till Danny Dobs should spit upon his hands,
Swing his big hammer, and cleave it in twain.