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Even he too loves at times the blue lagoon,

And smooths his ruffled mane beneath the moon.

Yes-from the sepulchre we'll gather flowers,

Then feast like spirits in their promised bowers,

Then plunge and revel in the rolling surf,

Then lay our limbs along the tender turf,

And wet and shining from the sportive toil,

Anoint our bodies with the fragrant oil,

And plait our garlands gathered from the grave,

And wear the wreaths that sprung from out the brave.

But lo! night comes, the Mooa wooes us back,

The sound of mats is heard along our track;

Anon the torchlight-dance shall fling its sheen

In flashings mazes o'er the Marly's green;

And we too will be there; we too recall

The memory bright with many a festival,

Ere Fiji blew the shell of war, when foes

For the first time were wafted in canoes.

Strike up the dance, the cava bowl fill high, Drain every drop!-to-morrow we may die.

In summer garments be our limbs arrayed;

Around our waist the Tappa's white displayed;

Thick wreaths shall form our coro

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And led him into each recess, and showed

And Neuha took her Torquil by the hand, And waved along the vault her kindled brand,

The secret places of their new abode. Nor these alone, for all had been prepared

Before, to soothe the lover's lot she shared;

The mat for rest; for dress the fresh gnatoo,

The sandal-oil to fence against the dew;

For food the cocoa-nut, the yam, the bread

Born of the fruit; for board the plantain spread

With its broad leaf, or turtle-shell which bore

A banquet in the flesh if covered o'er; The gourd with water recent from the rill,

The ripe banana from the mellow hill;

A pine torch pile to keep undying light;

And she herself as beautiful as night, To fling her shadowy spirit o'er the


And make their subterranean world


She had foreseen, since first the stranger's sail

Drew to their isle, that force or flight might fail,

And formed a refuge of the rocky den

For Torquil's safety from his countrymen.

Each dawn had wafted there her light canoe,

Laden with all the golden fruits that grew;


eve had seen her gliding through the hour With all could cheer or deck their sparry bower;

And now she spread her little store with smiles,

The happiest daughter of the loving isles.

'Twas morn; and Neuha, who by dawn of day Swam smoothly forth to catch the rising ray,

And watch if aught approached the amphibious lair Where lay her lover, saw a sail in air:

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