Ah, thanks for that Jim - looking forward to receiving this month's British Archaeology magazine for the full poem; meanwhile a few lines -

"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..."