Happy that first white age! when we Lived by the Earth's mere charity. No soft luxurious diet then Had effeminated men, No other meat, nor wine had any Than the coarse mast, or simple honey, And by the parents' care laid up Cheap berries did the children sup. No pompous wear was in those days Of gummy silks, or scarlet baize, Their beds were on some flow'ry brink, And clear spring-water was their drink. The shady pine in the sun's heat Was their cool and known retreat, For then 'twas not cut down, but stood The youth and glory of the wood. The daring sailor with his slaves Then had not cut the swelling waves, Nor for desire of foreign store Seen any but his native shore. No stirring drum had scarr'd that age, Nor the shrill trumpet's active rage, No wounds by bitter hatred made With warm blood soil'd the shining blade; For how could hostile madness arm An age of love, to public harm? When common justice none withstood, Nor sought rewards for spilling blood. O that at length our age would raise Into the temper of those days! But--worse than Aetna's fires!--debate And avarice inflame our State. Alas! who was it that first found Gold, hid of purpose under ground, That sought our pearls, and div'd to find Such precious perils for mankind! METRUM VII. He that thirsts for glory's prize, Thinking that the top of all, Let him view th' expansed skies, And the earth's contracted ball; 'Twill shame him then: the name he wan Fills not the short walk of one man. 2. O why vainly strive you then To shake off the bands of Fate, Though Fame through the world of men Should in all tongues your names relate, And with proud titles swell that story: The dark grave scorns your brightest glory. 3. There with nobles beggars sway, And kings with commons share one dust. What news of Brutus at this day, Or Fabricius the just? Some rude verse, cut in stone, or lead, Keeps up the names, but they are dead. 4. So shall you one day--past reprieve-- Lie--perhaps--without a name. But if dead you think to live By this air of human fame, Know, when Time stops that posthume breath, You must endure a second death. METRUM VIII.