All day they wrought: and children crown'd with flowers

Laid light hands on the ropes; old men would ply

Their feeble force; so through the merry hours

They toil'd, midst laughter and sweet minstrelsy,

And late they drew the great Horse to the high

Crest of the hill, and wide the tall gates swang;

But thrice, for all their force, it stood thereby

Unmoved, and thrice like smitten armour rang.