One anxious thought filled every mind— anew how should
they build ?
No block of stone, no beam of wood, their naked soil doth
yield;
All must be brought from other shores, nor would, for
years, suffice
The produce of their little fold to pay the needful price.
One only source of gain, beside, their barren isle can boast ;
When mighty winds, for many days, the angry waves have
tossed,
Till the vast chambers of the deep are shaken to their base,
And then the weary sea retires to his accustomed place.
Along his track, retreating, lo ! the sparkling amber spread,*
Rent and cast upward by the storm from ocean's jewelled
bed !
Here the pure drops long ages gone were known as Freya's
tears.
And still, passed down from sire to son, the shining treasure
bears
* See Appendix VII.
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