GOLU.
141
Costly robes were not for Golu:
No more raiment did she need
Than the milky budding breadfruit,
Or the lily of the mead;
And she was my little sweetheart
Many a sunny summer day,
When we ate the fragrant guavas,
In the land of the Malay.
Life was laughing then. Ah! Golu,
Do you think of that old time,
And of all the tales I told you
Of my colder Western clime?
Do you think how happy were we
When we sailed to strip the palm,
And we made a latteen arbor
Of the boat-sail in the calm?
They may call you semi-savage,
Golu! I cannot forget
How I poised my little sweetheart
Like a copper statuette.
