There are some, youths and maidens, who, link’d in a chain,
Like pearls strung, and mix’d, here and there, with sea-shells,
Dash into the flood for the fruit of the palm,
Which they strive for, and, winning, bring joyously out;
Then lean on their lovers, all panting and warm
With laughter and splashing the waters about.
O, who would not like to pass summer away
Amid scenes such as this? O, who would not love
With Malabar’s daughters, at twilight, to play,
And taste the ripe fruit of that dark coral-grove?