"Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. She ceased, and Paris held the costly fruit

Out at arm's-length, so much the thought of power

Flattered his spirit; but Pallas where she stood

Somewhat apart, her clear and bared limbs

O'erthwarted with the brazenheaded spear

Upon her pearly shoulder leaning cold,

The while, above, her full and earnest eye

Over her snow-cold breast and angry cheek

Kept watch, waiting decision, made reply.

"Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control,

These three alone lead life to sovereign power.

Yet not for power (power of herself Would come uncalled for), but to live by law,

Acting the law we live by without fear;

And, because right is right, to follow right

Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence.'

"Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die.

Again she said: 'I woo thee not

with gifts.

Sequel of guerdon could not alter me To fairer. Judge thou me by what I am,

So shalt thou find me fairest.

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.

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