Here you will find the Poem Boethius, De Consolatione Philosophiae : Liber 2. Metrum 5 of poet Henry Vaughan
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 blaize. 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. Nor stirring drum scarred that age, Nor the shrill trumpet's active rage, No wounds by bitter hatred made, With warm blood soiled 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? Oh that at length our age would raise Into the temper of those days! But - worse than Etna's fires! - debate And avarice inflame our state. Alas! who was it that first found Gold, hid of purpose under ground, That sought out pearls, and dived to find Such precious perils for mankind!