Of plants of the wood. No wine they drank
Bright from the bowl; none could boast
Skill to mingle drink with his meat,
Water with honey, nor to fashion by sewing
Clothing of silk; nor had they cunning
In costly stuffs; nor stood there halls
Cleverly planned; but it was their custom
In every season to sleep in the open
In the deep tree-shade. They drank burn-water
Cool from the spring. Never did chapman
See over the sea-surge the shore of strange land;
Nor had men heard of the harrying ship-host
No, nor was fighting familiar to mortals.
Not as yet was the earth anywhere stained
With the blood of a man nor the dye of the blade,
Nor even one wounded had any man witnessed
Under the sun. So too none was worthy
Held in the world if his will seemed
Evil unto men; by all was he loathed.
Oh! were it true, or would God but grant
That here on earth in our days now,
Over the wide world, man's wont was such
Under the sun! But now 'tis more sinful,
For covetous greed so clogs the soul
Of every man that he heeds not other things.
And in the mind boiling it burns ever,
This curse of covetise, never contented,
Black and bottomless blazes smouldering,
Even as the mountain that mortals call
By name of Etna; this on an island,
