Supremely happy that firſt age of men,
Content with what the faithful fields produc'd;
Nor by inactive luxury debauch'd,
Were wont to break their long continued faſt
With maſt of oak, eaſy to be obtain'd;
Nor know with liquid honey to allay
The gifts of Bacchus,nor with Tyrian dye
To ſtain the fair and gloſſy ſilken ſtuffs.
The graſſy bed afforded wholeſome ſleep;
The purling ſtream did drink to them ſupply;
The lofty pine did ſhade them from the heat.
No ſailor yet did plow the briny deep,
Or viſit foreign ſhores with merchandiſe
Collected carefully from ev'ry clime.
The awful trumpets them remain'd in peace.
Nor yet had blood by cruel hatred ſhed,
Diſdain'd the horrid inſtruments of war.
For how could fury prompt the human mind
Firſt to attack ev'n foes with hoſtile arms,
When men could nothing ſee but cruel wounds
And no advantage from the blood they ſhed?
O that the ancient manners would return,
To bleſs our ſad diſtracted times with peace!
But now the ardent love of hoarding wealth,
Flames out with fiercer rage than Ætna's fires.
Ah! who was he, who firſt dug up the maſs
Of gold, and gems that wiſh'd to lie conceal'd?
Say, who theſe precious dangers firſt diſclos'd?