Heaped all their violence on its patient side,
And wasted it unhindered;—such salt herbs,
Such dwarf and barren trees as the keen air
Gave sufferance to, but rendered still more grim
The stony desolation of the place.
Yet was that soil not barren, or the men
Had never sought its distant boundaries;
For they were of the eager Saxon race,
And e’en their rude and weather-wasted garb
Bore mark of civilised life: “No foot of man,”