Wild and straggling as the flowers
Is human nature there;
Uncultivated all its powers
In that secluded air:
The passions fiery, bold, and strong,
Impetuous urge their course along,
Like mountain torrent rolling,
More rapid as the more confined,
Far leaving Reason’s rules behind,
No curb of law controlling!
The spectre Superstition there
Sits trembling on her gloomy throne!
Pale child of Ignorance and Fear,
Embodying shapes of things unknown:
When, when shall rise the glorious morn
Of heavenly radiance unconfined?
When shall the mental veil be torn,
And GOD be known by all mankind?
Full many a ray must pierce the soul,
Ere darkness quits the southern pole:
Yet here are maidens kind and true
As ever northern pencil drew;
And here are warriors brave and young
As ever northern minstrel sung!
And see, upon the valley’s side
With fairy footstep lightly glide
A train of virgins soft and fair,
With sparkling eyes and shining hair,
As beauteous as the flowers they bear--
Fresh flowers of every scent and hue,
Besprinkled with the morning dew,
Which they have risen before the sun
To gather for some favourite one.
It is a custom at Tonga for the young women to gather flowers in the
earlier part of the morning, and twine them on their return into various
ornaments, for themselves, and their relations and friends. They gather
them at sunrise while the dew of the morning is still fresh on them;
because, when plucked at that time, their fragrance is of longer
continuance.[240]
[240] From the “Ocean Cavern, a Tale of the Tonga Islands,” 1819.
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