Glanced many a light Caique along the foam,

Danced on the shore the daughters of the land,

No thought had man or maid of rest or home,

While many a languid eye and thrilling hand

Exchanged the look few bosoms may withstand,

Or gently prest, returned the pressure still:

Oh Love! young Love! bound in thy rosy band,

Let sage or cynic prattle as he will,

These hours, and only these, redeem Life's years of ill![185]