Am I not white like yourself?
Behold, though since quitting Oroolia the sun has dyed my cheek, am I not even as you?
Am I brown like the dusky Aleema?
They snatched you away from your isle in the sea, too early for you to remember me there.

But you have not been forgotten by me, sweetest Yillah.

Ha! ha! shook we not the palm-trees together, and chased we not the rolling nuts down the glen?
Did we not dive into the grotto on the sea-shore, and come up together in the cool cavern in the hill?
In my home in Oroolia, dear Yillah, I have a lock of your hair, ere yet it was golden: a little dark tress like a ring.
How your cheeks were then changing from olive to white.

And when shall I forget the hour, that I came upon you sleeping among the flowers, with roses and lilies for cheeks.

Still forgetful?
Know you not my voice?
Those little spirits in your eyes have seen me before.
They mimic me now as they sport in their lakes.