I.

• "Shall we run into the cloudlet, love, so luminous and while
• That is crouching, up in suns/tine there, on yonder lofty height?
• We could step out of the splendour all at once into the mist—
• Such a sunny snowy bower where a maiden might be kissed! From the woody lower terrace we could climb the russet sleep
• Near that chasm gorged with tree-tops still in shadow dewy-deep,
• Where another slip of vapour, see! against the purple black, Set on fire by the sunbeam which has caught it there alone, Like a warrior-chief inciting his adherents to attack,
• Has upreared itself upright with one imperious arm out-thrown!
• Up that slope so smooth and ruddy we could clamber to the crags
• To the jutting rim of granite where the crouching cloudlet lags;
• In anil out the bright suffusion up above there in the skies,
• I would follow my fleet darling by the flashing of her eyes,
• O'er that lofty level summit, as they vanished vapour-veiled,page 298
• Or would glitter out rekindling and then glance away to seek,
• Like swift meteors seen a moment, for some other silver streak—
• Now bedimmed and now bedazzling till each dodge and double failed,
• And I caught her—O would clasp her! such delicious vengeance wreak
• On those eyes—the glad, the grand ones! on that laughter-dimpled cheek,
• Till with merciless caresses the fine damask flushed and paled,
• And half-quenched in burning kisses those bewitching lustres quailed!"
• "Nay, but Rano, my adored one—O my heart and souls delight
• Scarce with all your love to lead me—fold me round from all affright—
• Would I dare ascend that Mountain! woody cleft and fissure brown
• Are so thick with evil spirits—it has such a dread renown!
• Such a hideous Lizard-Monster in its gloomy shades it screens,
• That as rugged as the rocks are, winds along the closeravines—
• E'en asleep lies with them sinuous like a worm in twisted shell—
• And has eaten up more people in old days than I can tell!
• Would you go and wake that Taniwha! O not at least to-day:
• Look how lovely calm the Lake is!—'twill be sweeter far to straypage 299
• In the blue hot brilliant noon-tide to each secret shadowy bay,
• And afloat on liquid crystal pass the happy time away! "—

So he, who when he had his will,
For pleasure always went up hill,
So Ranolf spoke; and so replied
His wildwood bride, the diamond-eyed,
When morning's beam began to burn,
Up-springing from their couch of fern
By charming Tara-wera's side.
A little plot of smooth green grass—
By tapering trees thick-set and tall
Beneath grey rocks that rose o'er all,
Shut in behind—a verdurous wall
Circling that lawny flat so small
Down to the very water's edge,
That spread in front its liquid glass;—
Not far from where, 'mid reed and sedge
The warm Mahana's rapid tide,
A mile-long stream scarce six feet wide,
Comes rushing through the open pass—
As seeks a hot and fevered child
Its Mother's bosom cool and mild—
To Tara-weras' ample Lake;
This shallow niche, tree-girt and green,
With nought its still sweet charm to break,
The lovers' lonely bower had been.

II.

In sunshine stretching lightly o'er
The Lake's far end from shore to shore,
page 300 Long stripes of gauze-like awning lay—
In stripes serene and white as they,
Repeated on its bright blue floor:
And many a rocky rugged bluff,
With crimson-blossoming boscage rough,
O'er beetling crest and crevice flung;—
White cliff or dark-green hill afar
With patches bleached of scarp and scar—
Stood boldly forward sunrise-fired,
Or back in sun-filled mist retired.
Untrembling, round the glistering rim
Of that expanse of blooming blue,
From headland bright or inlet's brim,
Long fringes of reflection hung.
Tts ramparts stretched along the sky.
One mighty Mountain reared on high
Far o'er the rest a level crest,
With jutting rounded parapet
And rude rock-corbels rough-beset,
Half-blurred by time and tempest's fret;
While smooth its slopes came sweeping down
From that abraded cornice brown.
The mountain this, the ruddy steep,
That Ranolf, sun-awaked from sleep,
So longed to scale; and high in air
In glad imagination share
Its sky-possessing majesty
Of haughty isolation!—there
Into each dark recess to pry
And every sight and secret see
Its lofty level might reveal,
Or those grim fissures' depths conceal,
That split the Mountain into three.
page 301 About the heights, soft clouds, a few,
Clung here and there like floating flue;
Like helpless sea-birds breeze-bereft,
Unmoving spread their pinions white—
From jutting crag, deep-bathed in light,
To slip away in snowy flight;
Or closely crouched in shadowy cleft,
Like lambing ewes the flock has left.
Below, o'erjoyed at darkness fleeing,
Reviving Nature woke again
To all the exceeding bliss of being!
The minnows leapt the liquid plain
In shoals—each silvery-shivering train,
A sudden dash of sprinkled rain!
The wild-ducks' black and tiny fleet
Shot in-and-out their shy retreat;
The cormorant left his crowded tree
And stretched his tinselled neck for sea;
All Nature's feathered favourites poured
To their adored undoubted Lord
Of light and heat, accordance sweet
Of pure impassioned revelry;
And honey-bird and mocking-bird
And he of clearest melody,
The blossom-loving bell-bird—each
Delicious-throated devotee
In happy ignorance framed to be
Content with rapture—longing-free
For life or love they cannot reach—
Like chimes rich-tuned, to heaven preferred
The praise of their mellifluous glee;
Each lurking lyrist of the grove
With all his might sung all his love;
page 302 Till every foliage-filled ravine
And bower of amaranthine green
Rang persevering ecstasy.

III.

With free elastic hearts that shone
In joy as iresh as morning's own—
Each seated in a light canoe,
The kind Lake-villagers supplied—
Arao's the lighter—gayer too,
With snowy tufts of feathers tied
In rows along each ruddy side—
The pair went paddling, fancy-led;
For here no wondrous sights of dread
Or beauty lurked to guide their guest
As at Mahana—nothing strange,
Or out of Nature's wonted range:
Vet Ranolf marked with lively zest
What charms the changeful scene possest:
The billowy-tumbling hills—the crags—
The smooth green slopes fern-carpeted;
Low cliffs with feathery foliage graced;
Rock-palisades emerging pale
And grey; and precipices faced
With headstones—close-set armour-scale
Of gothic-pointed bristling flags;
Flat islets crowned with wood—cliff-bound;
And lake-side bowers and canopies;
And caves and grottos within these;
And lichened rocks that singly stand
Detached from green umbrageous land,
Mere pedestals for single trees;
Or, jutting out with jagged arms
page 303 All plumed and fair with greenery, bear
Into the Lake the forest's charms;
And with the bank that proudly swells—
A wooded wall without a strand—
Make niches, nooks, and liquid cells,
With interlacing boughs o'erspanned.

IV.

The mists were gone—the sun rode high;
On went they paddling merrily,
Each bay and cove and nook to try;
In loving converse sauntering slow
Or darting swiftly to and fro,
Except for pleasure, purposeless
As minnow-crowds whose sinuous stream
Meandering through the azure gleam
Darkened the watery depths below.
It chanced the boats a moment lay
With prows that pointed both one way,
Amo's ahead a little space:
A sudden whim lit up her face;
Then, as a challenge for a race,
She chaunted, ere away she sped.
With laughing frowns of loving spite,
Set teeth and sideways-shaken head,
Mock words of bitter-sweet delight:

"I am Hatu! I'm Hatu! poor boy of the glen
Whom the wicked witch-giantess hid in her den!
And you are the Giantess hoarding her prize
With her terrible claws—O such hideous eyes!
But I've fled from caresses I hate, O so much!
Escaped from her loathsome, her horrible touch—
page 304 From her dreadful dear! clutches escaped to the plain,
And I dare, I defy her, to catch me again!"

Then paddling off with all her might
Away across the lake she flew,
And left a wake of foam snow-bright,
And broadening ripple glassy-blue;
While, dashing after, less expert
Soon Ranolf finds he must exert
His utmost skill to catch her, too.
But when, though less by skill than strength,
He nears her flying skiff at length—
With nimble paddle, dodging back
She slips off on another tack,
With swiftly-flitting noiseless ease;
As—when some fisher thinks to seize
With gently-dropped and stealthy spear
A flounder, down in shallows clear,
'Mid mottling tufts of dusky weeds
And white sand-patches where it feeds—
The trembling shadow shifts away
Through faintly-shimmering water grey—
'Tis there—and gone—his would-be prey!
So, hovering round with wistful eyes,
While many a feint, to cheat, surprise,
That merry mocker, Ranolf tries,
She, at a little distance staying,
And watchful, with the paddle playing,
No move of his, no glance to miss—
Now darts alert that way, now this;
And at each foiled attempt again
Provokes him in alluring strain:

• "Look! I'm one of those divine ones—joy and love of all beholders,
• Who had pinions, O such fine ones! growing from their stately shoulders;
• Not that fond one too confiding—so in vain your bright eyes watch me—
• He, the last on earth residing … Ah! you need not think to catch me!…
• Who, beside his loved-one lying, let the Maid while he was sleeping.
• Press his wings off, spoil his flying—lest he e'er should leave her weeping!"—

Then off she skims in circuit wide,
Resolved another plan to try,
Again with paddies swiftly plied,
Again across the lake they fly;
And as her little bark he nears,
A new defiance Ranolf hears:

"I'm Wakatau, he—
That Child of the Sea!
And my dearest delight
Is flying my kite,
Down beneath, on the sand.
With the string in my hand,
Under water I stand;
Or the kite in the air,
Like the day-moon up there,
Like an albatross strong,
Draws me swiftly along
As I float to and fro
On the green sea below.—
page 306 Apakùra, my mother,
Can catch me, none other;
From the quickest alive,
Down—down-would I dive!-
Whoever you be—
Though fonder, though dearer,
You, you are not she,
Apakura, O no!—
So if you come nearer,
See—down I must go!"

Scarce on the gunwale had he laid
His hand, and scarce the words were said.
Ere, slipping from her loosened dress,
Her simple kilt and cloak of flax—
Just as a chestnut you may press
With careful foot ere ripened well,
Shoots from its green and prickly shell,
With tender mind so tawny-clean
And dainty-pure and smooth as wax
She shot into the blue serene—
A moment gleamed, then out of sight.
Swift as a falling flash of light!
All round he seeks with anxious mien
The Naiad—nowhere to be seen:
A fearful time he seems to spy—
His heart beats quick—when lo, hard by.
A mermaid! risen on the rocks,
Whose diamond glances archly play
Through shaken clouds of glittering locks.
And glancing showers of diamond-spray:
"You are not Apakura! 0, no, no, not you.'"
She cries—and dives beneath the blue.
page 307 He follows, watching where she glides
Beneath a drooping pall profound
Of boughs, that all the water hides.
Into the gloom he pushes: sound
Or sight of her is none around.
But hark!—'twas somewhere near the bank
That sudden plash! it takes his ear
As startlingly as sometimes, near
A stream where June's hot grass is rank,
You hear the coiled-up water-snake
Your unsuspecting footsteps wake,
Flap down upon the wave below,
And wabbling through the water go.
Again to the mid lake she dies;
In swift pursuit again he flies:
And see! she waits with face, how meek!
Till he can touch and almost clasp,
The shining shoulders, laughing cheek:
Then, diving swift, eludes his grasp:
Just as, with quick astonished eye,
A wild-duck waits, until well-nigh
The ruddy-curled retriever's snap
Is gently closing like a trap
On its poor neck and broken wing,
Before with sudden jerk she dips,
Beneath the ripple vanishing.
From Ranolf so the Maiden slips—
And when, the chase renewed, he nears
The spot where next she reappears,
Look! floating on the glass she lies
With close-sealed lips and fast-shut eyes,
Still as a Saint in marble bloom
Carved snowy-dead upon a tomb.
page 308 Close to her side his skiff he steers:
"O Swallow of the waters fleet,
O wild lake-bird! rny Swift, my sweet,
My lovely-crested grebe! at last,
I catch, I kiss, I hold you fast!"
He takes that slender hand of hers;
She answers not—nor looks—nor stirs
Surprised, her listless arm he shakes—
She neither stirs—looks up—nor wakes.
"Speak, speak, my Amo! what is this!
Do you not feel my clasp, my kiss?
Do you not hear my voice?"—Ah no!
That low sad moan no answer gives:
She breathes—but heavy, stertorous, slow;
That breathing barely shows she lives.
He felt her heart—it faintly pulsed;
At times she shudders as convulsed; "
Yes, it must be! the hot, high sun
Has struck her, dear one; too opprest,
With such exertions quite o'erdone!"
Alarmed—reflecting what were best,
He soon resolves, and does it too.
Beneath each arm with tenderest care,
He twines a tress of streaming hair,
And knots them both with double turn,
Rich-volumed to his own canoe—
The open carved work of the stern:
Then tows her senseless till they reach
The nearest stripe of sandy beach:
There leaps ashore—seeks—breaks in half,
A cockle-shell—'twill answer well:
Then finds and feels the corded vein
That crosses with its azure stain
page 309 The tender hollow of her arm,
And soon will wake the life-tide warm.
But ere the shell's sharp point can wound—
Just ere it pricks her—from the ground,
Upleaping with a silvery laugh,
The cheat confessed, she darts away,
(Snatching her mantle up that lay
In Ranolfs boat, which he had thrown
Into it as she left her own)
And to a thicket near has flown—
Swift—sudden-glancing as a bird
The loud flirt of whose wing is heard
A moment, on the hot wood-side,
As, brushing out and in again,
A scarlet gleam, you see him glide,
Lancing his dodging flight; even so
Does Amo still the chase maintain;
And Ranolf follows, with mock-angry show
Of mirthful vengeance, fondly-threatening cries,
And chastisements that are caresses in disguise.

V.

Thus ever and anon, this buoyant Child,
Free as the winds and as the waters wild,
With wayward whims the time beguiled:
Thus would the tranquil tenor of her joy
Still quicken into rapids of delight;
And break meandering into branches bright
Of manifold emotions that would rove
Diversely, but to give redoubled force
And sweet variety to one sure course—
Spreading and sparkling only to unite
In one broad current of unfailing Love.
page 310 Such simple arts would she employ
To tamper with, and tease, and toy
With her content, its depth to prove,
With sportive sallies—sly disguises,
Arch mockeries—mimicries—surprises;
So on her heart impress a sense
More varied, vivid, and intense,
Of bliss all golden-pure without alloy,
And Love no time could cool, no fond fruition cloy!

VI.

'Tis burning Noon: from heat and glare
How sweet the bower the lovers share!
A Lakeside cleft—a rock-recess
Of soft sun-chequered quietness,
A nook for lovers made express.
Like birds in some umbrageous tree
Girt round with leaves they seemed to be,
A hollow globe of greenery:
For twisting, arching, overhead
Dark serpentining stems were spread;
And arching twisting, down below,
Stems serpentining seemed to grow;
While on a plane of light between,
Suspended lay those skiffs serene.
Sunbathed arose the dome-like roof
A strangely-splendid wondrous woof;
Whose dark-green glistening foliage seemed
Thick over-showered with shining snow,
Except where blood-red masses gleamed—
Such luminous crimson—all aglow!
White buds and opening leaves the first,
With silvery-sheening velvet lined;
page 311 The last, rich-tufted bloom that burst
Bright-bristling, with the sun behind;
As if whole trees, 'mid heaped snow-showers
Were turning into burning flowers!
Below, the pair as thus in air
Upbuoyed, a sight as fair enjoyed;
The hollow shadowy floor, o'erlaid,
Beneath the clear transparent void,
With silvery-crimson soft brocade,
To that above in shape and hue
So like, the seeming from the true
By its inversion best they knew.
It was the 'downy ironheart '
That from the cliffs o'erhanging grew,
And o'er the alcove, every part,
Such beauteous leaves and blossoms threw,
And made this cool sequestered nest
For silent, lone and loving rest.

Then for refreshment in the noontide heat,
With mockery of much ado,
And lips comprest and pursed-up too,
And little nods of playful pride,
And self-complacent confidence to win
Applause at fine arrangements so complete—
As who should say:'Now open wide
Your eyes and see how I provide!—
Fair Amo with arch mimic pomp outdrew
A platted basket hid in her canoe,
Cool-packed with leaves and lightly tied—
A flax-green basket autumn-piled; wherein
Date-like karakas made a golden show
Quince-coloured and quince-smelling; faintly sweet
page 312 Soft aromatic pepper-spikes were seen;
Potato-apples of the poro-poro tall
Rich-mellowing from their crude lip-burning green;
And, bounteous 'mid these wood-gifts wild and small,
Ripe, slippery-seeded and of juiciest flow,
Great water-melons melting crisp with crimson snow.

Nor was there lack of more substantial food,
Leaf-hidden in a smaller green flax-hamper;
Choice too, for appetites so young and good—
As roasted wild duck, red-gray parrot stewed,
And bread in its primeval form of 'damper'—
Unleavened cakes of palatable maize
Well pounded by Te Manu, and well kneaded
By Amo, and in hot wood-ashes clean
Well baked—or rather in oven of simpler sort
Than most remote 'Stone-period' could report—
Mere flagstones laid and heated without trouble
Upon a quenchless fountain's boiling bubble;
Flat cakes that dish and platter superseded;
And used instead, recalled in this far scene
A moment's memory of old school-boy days
To Ranolf—that crab-apple-feasted crew
Of Ocean-wanderers, wearily reposing
In maple shadows on green sunny slopes,
And watching with dim eyes and fading hopes,
The sparkle of the sea-waves summer-beaded;
Then fair Ascanius luckily disclosing
The prophecy's fulfilment, else unheeded,
"What! must we eat our very tables too!"—
Nay, one more luxury swelled the savoury list—
That dainty by our daintiest humourist
page 313 So prized—roast sucking-pig! for two of these
Nimble Te Manu had contrived to seize,
Cut off by clever doubles yesternight
From a long train that scampered after
Their grunting dam, and, driven from her track
Could not escape the youngster's clutches, though
They dodged him, as disabled half by laughter,
He obstinately chased them to and fro
An hour at least, imprisoned as they were
Between a shrunken river, and cliff chalk-white
That wall-like rising at their back
From the broad gravelbed upright
Without a blade of verdure, bright and bare,
Made the small runaways look doubly black,
Doubly conspicuous in the sunset's glare.

VII.

So each as in a floating nest,
Moored side by side the lovers rest,
And catch veiled glimpses as they lie
Of splendour-flooded azure sky.
The birds that sung those matins sweet
Are silent now in slumberous heat.
In dreamy-lighted luxury
Lies Ranolf musing—marking well
Each charm of water, rock and tree
About that shadowy glimmering cell;
The low grey cliffs with stains imbued
Of lichens white and saffron-hued,
Flat crumpled—or blue hairy moss;
All doubled in the shimmering gloss:
Sometimes a loose-furred hawkmoth, see!
At those rich blossoms restlessly
page 314 Fumbles to suck their anthers sweet:
Sometimes, invading that retreat
Great black white-banded dragon-flies—
With green and gold-shot globuled eyes
On either side projecting wide
Like swift coach-lamps—on quivering wings
Of glittering gauze dart all about;
With tinier ones of richer dyes,
That hover-—dodge aside—and fix
Themselves with those bent-elbowed legs,
And heads so loose, endlong to sticks
And twigs, and hold as straight as pegs
Their blue or scarlet bodies out,
Just as a tumbler, mid his tricks
Seizes an upright pole and fling
His particoloured legs in air,
And holds them horizontal there—
So proud to ape a finger-post.
"They were revolting, hideous things,"
Thought Ranolf, "but at least could boast
A faith that made them leave in time—
Come shouldering up through mud and slime
With horny eyes and dull surprize,
Out of the clogging element
Where their first grovelling life they spent! "—
—Meanwhile unseen cicadas fill
The air with obstinate rapture shrill—
A wide-fermenting restless hiss
Proclaiming their persistent bliss;
As if the very sunshine found
A joyous voice—and all around,
While woods and rocks and valleys rung,
In brilliant exultation sung.
page 315 And Ranolf loved—could not but prize
That tiny classic Cymbalist,
So graced with old Greek memories;
The rapture-brimmed, rich-burnished one—
His bright green corselet streaked with jet,
His brow with ruby brilliants set—
That, undisturbed, would ne'er desist
From clicking, clattering in the sun
His strident plates—at every trill
Jerking with stiffly quivering thrill
His glassy-roofing wings; as gay
As when two thousand years ago—
Where—through thin morning vapour gray,
With snowy marble gleams between
Blue-shadowy clefts of fragrant gloom,
Melodious ever and alive
With immemorial bees that hive
In honied thickets, lilac-green
With sage and thyme in deathless bloom—
Bare old Hymettus looked serene
O'er silvery glimpses far below
Of pure Ilyssus in swift flow
Through plains—one revel of renown;—
The hyacinth-curled bronzed Attic boy,—
As fond of sunshine, full of joy,
In some hot mead where violets hid
Blue round the well's white time-worn trunk
Of hollow marble slightly sunk
In grass about the spring that slid
Slow-steeping crystal all the year—
Would pause beneath the olive shade
In loitering chat with one so dear,
page 316 That slim slip of a Greek-limbed Maid,
Who looks so sweetly grave upon
Sad news about their neighbour's son
Killed—since they met, at Marathon!—
—Pause, in the act of sucking down
The fig she brings him—bursting-ripe.
Plump, melting-skinned, and purple-brown,
To mark their little gay compeer,
As hand in hand they draw too near,
Abruptly stilling his sweet shrilling,
And edging round his olive branch,
Backing and sidling out of sight
Of eager eyes, that gleam gray-bright,
As one fond wish the Boy expresses,
That chirper were but turned to gold
To stick in Myrrhin's golden tresses!
While not his wildest dream had told
The lad, how many an age to come,
In what far regions all unknown,
His race's merry earthborn type
Would still be singing blithe and stanch,
After its own grand Muse was dumb,
Its noisy greeds and glories gone!

So Ranolf's musing fancy strung
Together olden scenes and new;
Or on more dubious ventures flew,
If e'er as to some bough it clung
The songster's pupa-case was seen,
Whence from his base life subterrene
He made escape in winged shape—
The bright transparent brittle sheath
Wherein he slept his life-in-death.
page 317 A suit of perfect armour, where
He left it Ranolf notes it still;
An open crack across the back,
And lobster-claws thrown by because
Superfluous found, his labour crowned;
The forelegs raised—' not as in prayer.'
Thinks he—" but work; for he too, mark!
Was forced to dig with strength and skill
His stout way from his dungeon dark
Up to his heaven of sunshine! Thus
From clogged and cramped existence fleeing,
He tries a second state of being
In the sphere that holds but one for us:
But both his lives to us seem one
Who see the changes undergone:
So this life and another too,
Nay, lives on lives, perhaps, of ours,
May seem but one to wider view
And keenlier-gifted loftier powers;
The subtle links we lose pursued,
The metamorphose understood.
But with what pitying smile must they
Look on, when with such sad array
The human insects hide away
Some care-worn soul-case out of sight—
And weep because they cannot stay
The fresh winged Soul's unfettered flight
To wider spheres and new delight!—

"That was the way those types to read—
A fine old cheery way indeed.
Will Science say remorseless?—' Nay,
You must not read them so to-day.
page 318 The actual metamorphoses
Foreshadowed by-—akin to these,
Gone through already. One surmise
From lingering traces undesigned
Of transformations some low grade
Of life sustained, ere birth displayed
In nascent undeveloped Man,
Might be by strictest reasoning made:
That if organic Being rise
Elsewhere upon the selfsame plan—
Continue so ascending—there
Some glorious creature might be found
Of frame more complex, powers more rare,
In whom Man's perfect mould would be
But one in its imperfect round
Of embryoric stages. Try
What help, what hope therein may lie! "—
Well, then, methinks, that surging sea
Of resonant shrill melody
Whence one may frame a thoughtful plea:
'O human Insect!. sad Truth-seeker—
Which of us two is wiser—weaker?
Your senses—-those deep reasoning powers
You will within their bounds compress,
May take a wider range than ours,
How vastly wider! none the less
They both are dwarfed, unspeakably
Fall short of, and are distanced by
The infinite Reality:
And all beyond their feeble reach
Will doubtless seem and be for each
page 319 A blank—a void—mere nothingness!
Think you the mighty gains you boast,
The ever deepening, widening host
Of wonders Science as she presses
Into the Mystery's first recesses,
Works out, worms into, proves or guesses:—
—Creation, like a firework splendid
Ever exploding, unexpended;
As endlessly it whirls and flies
Still breaking into brilliancies
Of stranger gleam and lovelier guise:—
—Organic Nature, in its flow
By inorganic guided, so
Divinely from its hidden fount;
Germs, gemmules, cells, life-struggles dense—
And Circumstance turned God at least,
Combining, with intelligence
So matchless, to evolve and mould
Life's plastic structures manifold
To perfect tree, man, insect, beast;
With agents—climate, fire and frost,
Food, famine—skilled to crush, uphold,
Choose what bad best survive or perish—
The lower to check, the higher to cherish—
Make progress sure at any cost:—
—Then all those correlated forces,
All Motion's masquerading courses;
And passing far all puny count
Of million million 'powers of horses,'
Dynamic energies immense,
At work, asleep, alike intense;
Evasive, latent—never lost—
That utterly from sight and sense
page 320 Can vanish, imperceptible
As any disembodied Soul,
Yet all the while about you dwell;
Until, a hundred ages hence,
Their cycle—seeming proved so well—
Of dark annihilation finished,
They reappear, alive and whole
With force and fervour undiminished!—
Think you all this, so far beyond
Our powers perceptive, would not seem
To us a blank your fancy fond
Filled with a visionary dream
As vain and baseless as you deem
All in the blank beyond your own?—
O human Insect! wiser—weaker—
O suicidal secret-seeker,
What if you left your 'types' alone
And joined our reckless rapturous Pasan
Of clear confiding trustfulness,
That once so charmed the jovial Teian,
Whose loves and lyre and brimming beaker
Were all o'erthrown by one grape-stone
That choked his life out, just as you
Your life of life by laying stress
On. doubts perhaps as trivial too—
Wresting despair with so much pain
Out of a scheme not your poor brain
Nor ours can compass or contain,
Exhaust, unravel, or explain!'"—

VIII.

Still side by side the lovers rest
Afloat in that sequestered nest.
page 321 As close to Ranolf s, Amo's head
Reclined,—her silky tresses spread
Beneath, beyond his own—unrolled
In black abundance uncontrolled,
To the warm and moisture-drinking air—
A splintered sunbeam lighting there,
Upon his locks of amber gleamed,
Which so contrasted—cushioned—seemed
A moon where sable soft cloud streamed,
Or golden lustrous coronet
On funeral pall of velvet set.
O'er rocks and trees, through light and shade
His curious eyes unresting strayed;
But hers were fixed upon his face,
Their choicest, dearest resting-place!
"O Rano—" such appeared to be
The train of feelings half expressed
In murmuring words that filled her breast:
"Great is indeed my love for thee!
It seems almost a dream, even now,
These lips—these eyes—this noble brow,
These locks that like the day-break shine,
Are mine, O mine—all—only mine!
How can I make you know and feel, -
How much I love you! how reveal
My thirst for what my heart adores,
The longing of my soul for yours!—
O best I love to lie awake,
A lonely tender watch to keep
Over my trusting own one's sleep,
And think, how can my love be shown!—-
What can I ever do to make
Myself more worthy of his own?
page 322 And almost wish your welfare less
That more might be the chance for me
To make or mend the happiness,
Health, comfort, I would have depend
On me, your dearest, only friend!
To do some little more of good
Than just preparing clothes or food;—
And I at times would almost flee
Your dear caress and company,
E'en when I know no need to go,
Just to contrive—consider—do
Some thing—some active thing for you;
As if the care itself were dear
As him I cared for!—all the same
It is my joy to trust—revere—
Look up to—as my ruler claim
And sole protector, guide and guard,—
Him o'er whose weal I watch and ward.
So would I, with the parent's love
The cherished child's affection prove;
So be the mother-bird to hold
The young one in her fond wing's fold,
Yet nestle like the fledgeling too
Beneath the breast so sheltering, true:
As if—my love, my lord, my life,
It were not all to be your wife!—
But I can never, never have
Enough of that sweet love I crave;
Can never find or feign or steal
Sufficient outlet to reveal
The burning boundless love I fed
I So could I anger—give you pain,
To soothe, coax, comfort you again;
page 323 Would have you sick, to nurse and tend,
And deeper love that way expend
Upon you; have you cruel, sweet!
So might I down before you throw
Myself in self-abandonment
More utter—not to frustrate so
The working of your fall intent,
But to cling to you and entreat
And clasp your knees and kiss your feet
And mercy with hot tears implore,
Only to feel myself the more
Your own—all yours—life—body—soul—
On whom no shadow of control
Shall check your power at any hour
To wreak your wildest whim or will—
To ban—to bless—to save or kill 1
So would I tend—implore—offend—
Do anything your thoughts to fill,
Share each emotion, every thrill,
And bear an all-absorbing part
In all the beatings of your heart!
So should my Soul live, drink, and feed
On yours—its ardour-kindling spring!
For are you not—indeed—indeed—
The gulf into whose depths I fling
My all of being; plunged and tost
In fathomless sweet fires, and lost
In this immeasurable abyss
And whirl of overwhelming bliss!
Yes, yes 1 you know that you are this,
My soul-devouring, lordly bird
Of beauty! O, with plumes so fair,
Such stately step, commanding air
page 324 And eyes so proud and free! O whence,
Whence shall I seek new life to drain,
Win some existence back again,
But from this heart of yours alone
Which so consumes—absorbs my own!—

So dearest, you conceive how thence
My foolish fancy, my pretence
Of drowning came; 'twas but to hear
Your love in your lamenting—cheer
My heart with your despair and feel
The sweet sensations o'er me steal
Of your fond efforts to restore
And bring me back to life once more!—
But had I really died to-day
Think not, dear friend! my
Soul set free—
This 'Wairua'—could have fled away
To any realm where Spirits stray,
Could ever have abandoned thee! I
I know, I know! distressed, forlorn,
It could not from thy side be torn—
Would long for—linger—only rest
Near what in life it loved the best!"

IX.

You know it, dearest! and just now,
To see you looking forth and far,
As bright, soft, bold and beautiful
As some outstanding steady Star,
With full assurance so serene,
Such radiant love upon your brow—
Might make the wretch most doubting, dull,
Catch confidence from yours, my queen!"
page 325 "Nay, surely 'twere a little thing,
My soul to yours should choose to cling;
Not stay to vex, as others do,
Poor wretches who may break taboo"

"So then you think, if this sweet breath
Were stopped—these kindling eyes were closed—
These lovely living limbs reposed
In rigid, stirless, icy death,
My loving Amo would not be
Gone—perished—-done with utterly! "

"Nay, what have these to do with me—
With me who speak to—love you so?
How strange a fancy!—tell me then
For you know all things, you white men,
What course my Spirit, down below,
If to that land before your own
It chanced to go (I know, behind
It could not, would not stay alone!)
Should take with least delay to find
And fly to your dear heart, and show
The deep and deathless love, I know,
It would be burning to bestow? "—

"What can I tell you! you know more,
Dearest, yourself—as much at least;
Do you remember, once before
I told you, love, I was no priest,
No learned Tóhunga—not I——"
page 326 "But tell me what your wise men say,
And all about us when we die;
You laughed at us, I know, that day,
Too proud to give a true reply!"

"Our wise men, Amo!—sooth to say, the most
Of these, just now seem doing as one day
A great white War-chief did to find a way
O'er shallow sea-flats when the ford was lost.
Straight through the rising tide his band he sent
In all directions radiating round,
Resolved to follow him who furthest went,
And footing most secure the longest found.
So seem our Sages wandering, all and each.
Some struggle through the weltering waves and sink,
Still panting for the shore they never reach;
Some plod along complacently and think
Already they enjoy the wished-for beach;
Some crouch upon a rock-reef close at hand
Whence leads no path, and swear the vaunted land
Is but a film that dims the seeker's eye,
A passing cloud that mocks the groping band;
Content to perish where gulf-girt they stand
They hug their barren rock with dreary cheer—
Confess to no confinement—vow they hear
No wanderer's wail—no plaintive breeze's sigh,
No moauings of the melancholy main:
Life after death—that any Spirit can
Exist apart from Matter—God or Man—
To them a dream, how visionary—vain!
What their minute sensorium may contain.
What they could touch, taste, smell or hear or see,
Is all that in the Universe can be!
page 327 Did ever brain conceive an idler notion!—
Might they not just as well—these hardy men—
Strive to compress the blue tremendous Ocean
In all its dim far-sparkling boundlessness
nto yon yellow calabash! And when
They failed—declare with confidence no less,
With self-complacent doggedness insist,
That all it would not hold did ne'er exist:
That no reflections on its outer side,
No dancing day-gleams from the waters wide,
Are any signs that Seas or Oceans roll
Beyond the circlet of that narrow bowl? "

"Well, that I cannot understand, you know
But tell me what you think yourself is true;
That I am certain must be right—and so
Will I believe, and only trust in you."

"In me, dear Child!—but that indeed
Were trusting to a broken reed!"

"That reed no whit the less shall be
A staff of trust and truth for me!"

"Well then, suppose your eyes you close,
And on my shoulder rest your head,
While lasts, my sweet! this noontide heat,
And that shrill music sunshine-bred;
And try to sleep while I devise
Some answer wondrous deep and wise
To my fond querist, little dreaming
What mysteries questions may comprise
To her so plain and simple-seeming."
page 328 "There—then; I will be still as death—"
And soon the soft-recurring breath
Long-drawn, and breast that gently heaves,
Tell how the life that gushed and glanced
So brightly, lies in sleep entranced—
Sleep, placid, light and infantine—
Serene as those green-imaged leaves
That up through crystal pointing shine.