Around the pools, the islets o'er,
Fast she plucks white Southern-wood,
To help the sacrificial store;
And for our prince does service good.

Where streams among the valleys shine,
Of Southern-woods she plucks the white;
And brings it to the sacred shrine,
To aid our prince in solemn rite.

In head-dress high, most reverent, she
The temple seeks at early dawn.
The service o'er, the head-dress see
To her own chamber slow withdrawn.



~The Wife of Some Great Officer Bewails His Absence~

Shrill chirp the insects in the grass;
All about the hoppers spring.
While I my husband do not see,
Sorrow must my bosom wring.
O to meet him!
O to greet him!
Then my heart would rest and sing.

Ascending high that Southern hill,
Turtle ferns I strove to get.
While I my husband do not see,