The golden age was first, when man, yet new, No rule but uncorrupted reason knew, And, with a native bent did good pursue. Unforced by punishment, unawed by fear, His words were simple, and his soul sincere; Needless was written law where none oppress’d; The law of man was written in his breast: No suppliant crowds before the judge appear’d, No court erected yet, nor cause was heard, But all was safe; for conscience was their guard. The mountain trees in distant prospect please, Ere yet the pine descended to the seas; Ere sails were spread new oceans to explore, And happy mortals, unconcern’d for more, Confined their wishes to their native shore. No walls were yet, nor fence, nor moat, nor mound, Nor drum was heard, nor trumpet’s angry sound, Nor swords were forged; but, void of care and crime, The soft creation slept away their time. The teeming earth, yet guiltless of the plough, And unprovoked, did fruitful stores allow: Content with food which Nature freely bred, On wildings and on strawberries they fed; Cornels and brambleberries gave the rest,