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The island folk dread him not; fear has not yet visited those sunny shores. And as he was with the sea-people so is he with their compeers on land, a trusted playfellow, a creature perfect in glory and beauty, able to vie with them in their superb activities, their amazing play of vigour, their abounding joy in the plentiful gifts of Nature.

After those sunny gambols, how sweet the rest on yielding couch of leaves, fanned by sweet zephyrs laden with the subtle scents of luxuriant flowers, and lulled by the slumber-song of the friendly sea. Around him, with drooping wing, nestle the birds; the bejewelled insects hush their busy songs into tenderest murmurs, the green leaves hang in unrustling shade, noiselessly waving over him a cool breath. There is peace and sleep.

“Awake, O laggard!” cry the birds; “awake and live! Joy comes anew. Love and life and strength are calling us, and every sense answers triumphantly. Sweet is the dawn when the splendid sun springs skyward and the quiet night steals away; sweet is the strength of noonday, when downward he sends his shafts of life-giving flame, and we lie in the shade renewing from his exhaustless stores of energy our well-spent strength. But sweetest of all the time when, his majestic ascension accomplished, our sun sweeps westward to his ocean-bed, and all his children hasten to revel in his tempered beams until he hides his glorious face for a season, and night brings her solemn pleasures.”