all older journeys

where lions wait to eat the lost who rove
over these plains in search of food and gold
there are high trees and caverns deep and cold
but you will have no luck in sacred grove
the shingle beach at the end of the cove
is not for those who are not swift and bold
that is a story that was once much told
around the fire or by the cooking stove
the beings whose names then easily were said
once froze the hearts of those who went to see
the shape of things upon the mountain flank
they got no wages but they still are dead
and old man's beard still hangs from every tree
while no one's left to honour nor to thank