University of Virginia Library

It is upon the far-off deep South Seas,
The island Nukuheva, its degrees
In vain,—I may not reckon, but the bold
Adventurous Melville there by chance was rolled,
And for four months in its delights did dwell,
And of this Island writ what I may tell.
So far away, it is a Paradise
To my unfolded, stationary eyes,
Around it white the heavy billows beat,
Within its vales profoundest cataracts meet,
Drawn from the breasts of the high purple mountains,
And to those Islanders perpetual fountains.

One vale there is upon this southern Isle,
This seal of velvet on the Ocean's smile,
One vale, all breasted in with precipices,
Whose ample side the clinging root caresses,
And from the Ocean to the mountain's face,
But some few miles their interventions trace:
Within this narrow limit there are men,
Of whom I loved to read, and read again,
Such strange and placid lives there seem to be,
Upon that vale far on the deep South Sea.
There, like our village elm, the Bread-fruit grows,
Its green pavilions in broad circle shows;
The scollopped leaves group splendid in decay,
Their rainbow tints oft parted in display,
Upon the brow of the gay Islanders,
Whose heart more serious business rarely stirs.
And when the fruit shines golden in the sun,
Like citron Melons on the vast vine hung,
The Typee farmers gather in the grain,
That in great forests heaps its verdant wain,
No dusty Ploughman breaks the heavy clod,
But crops in native clusters freely nod.
There the smooth trunks of the tall Cocoa-nut,
Rise in abundance near the graceful hut;
The scarce-seen fruit in Heaven it seems to be,
But Typee men ascend the slippery tree,
Where from the centre shoot the waving leaves,
With rich grain burdened like our Indian sheaves,
From which is drawn that nectar most divine,
Nature's blanched vintage of Marquesan wine;
There, waving Omoos vibrate in the air,
Bananas spread their yellow clusters fair.
Along this Typee vale, houses are strown
At easy distance, separate not alone;
Of bamboo, reed, and cocoa-nut's fine boughs,
The hut is built, whose pliant strength allows
Many reverses,—the interlacing sides
Of open cane-work, where the windy tides
Circulate free, and colored Sinnate binds
With various hues the light ethereal blinds;
Then, almost to the ground, the sloping roof
Thatched with Palmetto's tapering leaves, is proof
Against the rains, while from the modest eave
Its tassels droop, and thus the eye relieve.
Two trunks of Cocoa-nut lay polished high
Within,—upon the ground the mats descry
Which gaily-worked form grateful seats by day,
While there at night, the supple limbs obey
The natural instinct sunk in sleep profound,
Upon the simple couch nearest the ground.
The path that goes by these light cottages,
Was never made for horse to pace with ease,
Broad, dusty, strait, and lined with smooth stone-walls,—
Here, droops the pathway with the vale's deep falls,
Now leaps upon the curving hillock's side,
Then, down the glens in rapid mood doth glide,
Crosses the Brook's flint-channel, then away
Turning stupendous rocks, or where the day
Rarely descended in Time-hallowed groves,
Where rotting trunks give to the earth their loves,
By shade and flashing sunlight parted oft,
Or gently winded o'er the verdure soft.

King of the Typees, reigned Mehevi tall,
His mighty stature rising above all,
Of Paradise plumes his gorgeous head-dress made,
With the cock's gaudy plumage interbraid,
A semi-circle high in beads is laid.
His neck-lace of Boars-tusks like ivory bright,
Depending freely o'er a breast of might,
His ear-rings fabricate of sperm whale teeth,
The fronting ends freshly-plucked leaves enwreath,
And wrought with odd devices at the other,
Of which the Typee worship is the mother;
His loins girt round with Tappa-cloth in folds,
Dark-colored, clustered tassels,—who beholds
His wrists and ancles, sees the curling hair
Of some dead enemy, in circles there.
His well-carved spear of bright Koar-wood is made,
One end points sharp, one is the flat oar-blade;
His decorate pipe a sinnate loop doth hold,
Hanging from his girdle, painted like red gold
Its slender reed-stem, and the Idol-bowl
Flutters with thinnest Tappa, so the whole.
Over his skin like finest lace-work drawn,
Endless tattooings the great limbs adorn,
And a broad triangle upon his face,
Across his eyes, across his lips finds place.

'Tis different, the sweet shape of Fayaway,
To her, the grand Mehevi, night by day.
The Typee maiden with her olive skin,
Through which a soft vermilion shines within,
Her dazzling teeth, like arta's milk-white seeds,
Her soft smooth form contrived for fairy needs.
Upon her naked shoulders flowed her hair
Of deepest brown, which like a mantle rare
In natural ringlets dressed her in its pride,
Her hands as soft as Countess',—she, the bride
Of Nature, who in captivating mood,
Sculptured this maiden for this solitude.
Her dress at home was a slight belt of bark,
With some leaves, like those Fig leaves (save the mark),
Which our first Parents found, but in this she
Moved like a creature wove of sanctity,
Fell like a sunbeam in that summer world,
Beneath those skies her native grace unfurled.
Her jewels were the small Carnation flowers,
Strung in necklaces, rubies for some hours,
On a slight thread of tappa,—in her ear
One small white bud, its stem behind, a sphere
Of purest pearl, its delicate petals close,
Her bracelets flowers, and anklets, like a rose
Set in a folded circle of sweet things,
Or like a soft Spring hour when one bird sings.

Upon the vale the white snows are not sown,
Winter has never been there, but alone
One endless early Summer reigns content,
Ripens sweet fruits in this fine element.
Temperate live the Islanders, the trees
Themselves prepare their food, their perfect ease
Ever consulted by the passing wind;
They live, like youthful fancies, in the mind.

Into the sparkling streams the Maidens spring,
Dash in the cool, clear waters, laugh and sing,
Anoint themselves with “aker,” or that oil
Of cocoa-nuts, prepared with pleasant toil,
Shut as it is, within the “moo-tree's” nut,
Which when carnation-tinted then is cut,
The odorous globe within fragrant with rind,
Of a light yellow all perfumed they find;
Then wreathed with flowers their sportive dances try,
Or couched the pipe to their sweet lips apply,
Or to their nostrils put the scarlet reed,
And with soft lullabies their fancies feed.
Some in gay parties with their lovers find,
In the deep groves the bright banana's rind,
And never doomed to labor's slow decay,
Shall these fair Typee maids wear out the day,
But like a band of spirits linked together,
Weave through the landscapes dances in fair weather.

In that sweet vale where Nature serves her lord,
The land is equal, sounds no Tyrant's word;
Upon the doors no padlocks shall you see,
The Warrior's spear stands out against the tree,
The maiden's brooch hangs careless from the roof,
The door is open, but the heart is proof.
There is no prison, neither fence nor road,
The land is but the man's desired abode,
What there is worth is freely shared by all,
No man is sad, and life a festival.
Within the forests ne'er the Lion's hum,
No wild beasts from the mountain-deserts come,
No snakes crawl hissing o'er the fruitful ground,
But sportive lizards golden-hued abound,
And purple-azure birds flit freely by,
Or crimson, white, and black, and gold come nigh,
Fly not at man's approach, and fear no harm,
Sometimes alight upon the extended arm,
But trill no reedy notes in those high woods,
Silent save roar of Falls those solitudes.

And in this happy vale the “Taboo” rites,
Cast a religious awe o'er many sites,
And feasts of Calabash are freely set,
In “Hoolah-Hoolah” grounds the men are met;
The delicate fair maids are all forbid
To enter there, and cannot be Priest-rid.

Ah! lovely vale, why art thou called that name,
The land of Cannibals,—did nature tame
Thy happy groups, and Paradise make thee
In some forgetful moment, savagely
Turning, and for her frolics bid thee eat
Her Happar children, yon the mountain's feet?