“E’er yet the Pine descended to the Seas:
E’er Sails were spread, new Oceans to explore:
And happy Mortals, unconcern’d for more,
Confin’d their Wishes to their Native Shoar.
No Walls were yet; nor Fence, nor Mote, nor Mound,
Nor Drum was heard, nor Trumpet’s angry sound:
Nor Swords were forg’d; but void of Care and Crime
The soft Creation slept away their time.”