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I How pleasant were the songs of Toobonai, When Summer's Sun went down the coral bay! Come, let us to the islet's softest shade, And hear the warbling birds! the damsels said: The wood-dove from the forest depth shall coo, Like voices of the Gods from Bolotoo; We'll cull the flowers that grow above the dead, For these most bloom where rests the warrior's head; And we will sit in Twilight's face, and see The sweet Moon glancing through the Tooa tree, The lofty accents of whose sighing bough Shall sadly please us as we lean below; Or climb the steep, and view the surf in vain Wrestle with rocky giants o'er the main, Which spurn in columns back the baffled spray.
How beautiful are these! how happy they, Who, from the toil and tumult of their lives, Steal to look down where nought but Ocean strives! Even He too loves at times the blue lagoon, And smooths his ruffled mane beneath the Moon.