Far to the Southward, where ten thousand Isles Stand in* the sapphire sea like sentinels Guarding the mainland, lies the Town of Pearls Embower d in flowering trees and waving palms.
Faint echoes, wafted by the ocean's breath, Tell of strange trades and curious industries, Of luscious bche-de-mer, and swallows' nests Dear to the bland Chinese ; of swart Salons
Who hide, a dying race, in creek and covea Here may you scour the ocean floor for " shell, Gamble in "blisters," taste a durian; Or, like bluff Pinto's crew from Portugal,
Search for that legendary Isle of gold Which somewhere floats amid the endless throng, And, often seen above the sunset haze, Sinks, at a near approach, below the wave.
r. s.r. s.