A vineyard also on the shield he graved, Beautiful, all of gold, and heavily Laden with grapes. Black were the clusters all; The vines were stayed on rows of silver stakes. He drew a blue trench round it, and a hedge Of tin. One only path there was by which The vintagers could go to gather grapes. Young maids and striplings of a tender age Bore the sweet fruit in baskets. Midst them all, A youth from his shrill harp drew pleasant sounds, And sang with soft voice to the murmuring strings. They danced around him, beating with quick feet The ground, and sang and shouted joyously.