1The morrow came; and three abreast, with snorting prows, we raced along; our mat-sails panting to the breeze. All present partook of the life of the air; and unanimously Yoomy was called upon for a song. The canoes were passing a long, white reef, sparkling with shells, like a jeweler’s case: and thus Yoomy sang in the same old strain as of yore; beginning aloud, where he had left off in his soul:—

2Her sweet, sweet mouth!

3The peach-pearl shell:—

4Red edged its lips,

5That softly swell,

6Just oped to speak,

7With blushing cheek,

8That fisherman

9With lonely spear

10On the reef ken,

11And lift to ear

12Its voice to hear,—

13Soft sighing South!

14Like this, like this,—

15The rosy kiss! —

16That maiden’s mouth.

17A shell! a shell!

18A vocal shell!

19Song-dreaming,

20In its inmost dell!

21Her bosom! Two buds half blown, they tell;

22A little valley between perfuming;

23That roves away,

24Deserting the day,—

25The day of her eyes illuming;—

26That roves away, o’er slope and fell,

27Till a soft, soft meadow becomes the dell.

28Thus far, old Mohi had been wriggling about in his seat, twitching his beard, and at every couplet looking up expectantly, as if he desired the company to think, that he was counting upon that line as the last; But now, starting to his feet, he exclaimed, “Hold, minstrel! thy muse’s drapery is becoming disordered: no more!”

29“Then no more it shall be,” said Yoomy, “But you have lost a glorious sequel.”