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Yet, indeed, If gazing on divinity disrobed Thy mortal eyes are frail to judge of fair, Unbiased by self-profit, oh! rest thee sure

That I shall love thee well and cleave

to thee,

So that my vigor, wedded to thy blood,

Shall strike within thy pulses, like a God's,

To push thee forward through a life of shocks,

Dangers, and deeds, until endurance grow

Sinewed with action, and the fullgrown will,

Circled through all experiences, pure law,

Commeasure perfect freedom.'

"Here she ceased, And Paris pondered, and I cried, ‘O Paris,

Give it to Pallas!' but he heard me not,

Or hearing would not hear me, woe is me!

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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 coronal, like spring's,

And round our necks shall glance the Hooni strings;

So shall their brighter hues contrast the glow

Of the dusk bosoms that beat high below.

Thus rose a song,- the harmony of times

Before the winds blew Europe o'er these climes.

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And led him into each recess, and showed

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

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It flapped, it filled, then to the growing gale

Bent its broad arch: her breath began to fail

With fluttering fear, her heart beat thick and high,

While yet a doubt sprung where its course might lie:

But no! it came not; fast and far away,

The shadow lessened as it cleared the bay.

She gazed, and flung the sea-foam from her eyes,

To watch as for a rainbow in the skies.

On the horizon verged the distant deck, Diminished, dwindled to a very speck

Then vanished. All was ocean, all was joy!

BYRON.

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Who shall mourn when red with slaughter,

Finow sits on the funeral stone? Who shall weep for his dying daughter?

Who shall answer the red chief's moan?

He shall cry unheard by the funeral stone,

He shall sink unseen by the split

canoe,

Though the plantain-bird be his alone,

And the thundering gods of Fanfon

noo.

Let us not think 'tis but an hour Ere the wreath shall drop from the warrior's waist;

Let us not think 'tis but an hour We have on our perfumed mats to waste.

Shall we not banquet, though Tonga's king

To-morrow may hurl the battlespear?

Let us whirl our torches, and tread the ring,

He only shall find our foot-prints here.

We will dive, - and the turtle's track shall guide

Our way to the cave where Hoonga dwells,

Where under the tide he hides his bride,

And lives by the light of its starry shells.

Come to Licoö! in yellow skies
The sun shines bright, and the wild
waves play;
To-morrow for us may never rise;—
Come to Licoö, to-day, to-day.

ANONYMOUS.

AMY WENTWORTH.

HER fingers shame the ivory keys
They dance so light along;
The bloom upon her parted lips
Is sweeter than the song.

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