Written by an uncertain author, and attributed to Lactantius
There is a happy spot, retired in the first East, where the
great gate of the eternal pole lies open. It is not, however,
situated near to his rising in summer or in winter, but where
the sun pours the day from his vernal chariot. There a plain
spreads its open tracts; nor does any mound rise, nor hollow
valley open itself. But through twice six ells that place rises
above the mountains, whose tops are thought to be lofty among
us. Here is the grove of the sun; a wood stands planted with
many a tree, blooming with the honour of perpetual foliage. When
the pole had blazed with the fires of Phaethon, that place was
uninjured by the flames; and when the deluge had immersed the
world in waves, it rose above the waters of Deucalion. No
enfeebling diseases, no sickly old age, nor cruel death, nor
harsh fear, approaches hither, nor dreadful crime, nor mad
desire of riches, nor Mars, nor fury, burning with the love of
slaughter. Bitter grief is absent, and