III.

Two hours ot more had dragged their weary way
While cramped with chafing bonds in pain he lay;
Those stony eyes had faded from his sight
When deeper fell the shades of growing sight.
Far, far away his mournful thoughts had flown
To friends and scenes in happy boyhood known—
When—hist! a rustling sound that softly falls
Upon his ear, his wandering mind recalls;
page 147 He listens—all is silent—then again
The rustle and slight creak are heard—'[unclear: plain]
Some cautious hand has thrust aside the door—
Some noiseless foot steals light along the floor;
The form that owned them had a moment hid
The patch of moonlight where the panel slid
Away—too briefly for his eye to trace
Its outline—guess its purpose; to his side,
So stealthy, swift and noiseless was its pace,
The shadowy Shape seemed less to walk than glide.
Could this some midnight murderer be? his heart
Beat quick as over him that Shadow bent-
Quick as the sweet breath felt upon his face,
That Phantom's breath, that quickly came and went
As if in his emotion it took part.
A soft voice whispered: "Stranger—hist! no word-
'Tis I—'tis Amohia!"—Then she fell
To her kind work, and every cutting cord
Sought out and severed with a sharpened shell.
Upsprung the youth, to life and joy restored;
And rapturous thanks had to the Maid outpoured,
But that her hand upon his lips was laid,
But that her lips in briefest whisper prayed
What her unseen more eloquent looks implored:
"O for your life no sound! but follow me—
Who knows how near your deadliest foe may be!"

So through the doorway stealing in the dark,
She makes the panel fast, and he may mark
Less-pleased, that silvery blue solemnity
That mingles with the bowery trees hard by.
Then in the open, silently they creep,
They, and their shadows thrown so sharp and deep.
page 148 Upon a terrace half way up a cleft
Or hollow on the mountain's northern steep,
Mid tufts of flax, tall-bladed, bright as glass,
And ferny tree-clumps, stood the house they left.
See! by a hut which they perforce must pass,
Across their very path, three youths, asleep
In the warm moon upon the sun-dried grass
Are Lying!—'twould be ruin to retreat:—
The Maiden's heart, he almost hears it beat!
Each foot placed firm before the last is raised,
They step between the knees so nearly grazed:
And soon are safe beneath the blessed shade
By trees—themselves as still as shadows, made.
Then round the island's end, that fear allayed,
Beneath its woody western slopes they steal,
Where they may speak secure, and she reveal,
The cause and author of the base assault
Her friend had suffered. Kangapo's the fault—
That priests', and not her father's, ahe averred:
For Kangapo's sole aim, he might have heard,
The one great passion that his bosom stirred,
The main pursuit in which his life was spent,
Was, nest his own, their tribe's aggrandizement,
For this, by his advice, almost from birth,
Herself had been made 'tapu' to her grief,
To Taupo's Lord—an old whiteheaded chief,
Of mighty power, no doubt, high rank and worth;
And though this marriage of her dread and hate
That landslip had relieved her from of late,
Yet much she feared—the Priest already planned
Some other proud disposal of her hand;
So jealously he watched, so little brooked
The slightest glance of any youth who looked
page 149 With any (here she checked herself)—at least
Of any one who talked with her awhile:
And so that day when she observed the Priest
Eye them so keenly with his crafty smile,
Although deceived a moment by his guile,
It roused suspicions, strengthened when she saw
Again, on their returning to the Isle,
He noticed Ranolf from the group withdraw
At sunset; and himself stole off so soon
By the same pathway towards the western wood;
She followed; for the thing could bode no good;
But by another track; had seen him meet
Four men to whom his slightest wish was law,
Then to a copse of mánuka retreat
Where they could safely, secretly commune;
Had crept close-up on tiptoe—overheard
Their vile atrocious project every word;
To seize, hind, bear the Stranger to their great
Runanga-house; there leave him bound and wait
The setting of the Moon, till they could take
Their captive to the middle of the Lake,
Where they would throw him overboard, still bound;
And tell her Father next day how they found
The Stranger at his evening meal—with food—
Aye food! beside the monument that stood
High carved in their most sacred burial-ground
O'er his most famous ancestor's dead bones:
And though a bird sung on it all the while-
Doubtless the spirit of that Chief renowned,
It still could not prevent the outrage vile:—
Would not such impious sacrilege astound
The boldest?—how aloof the crime they viewed
With hair on end, tongues to their palates glued
page 150 In speechless horror, motionless as stones:
But how his Ancestor's insulted Shade
With vengeance dire the deed profane repaid;
For when the Stranger launched his boat again
There was no ripple on the watery plain;
Yet scarce a spear-flight had he left the bank
Before his boat without a breeze capsized,
And with it—he with scarce a struggle—sank;
For all his powers that Spirit had paralyzed.
This was the plot concerted then and there;
And next she noted where his boat they hid
To make all points of their narration square;
And Miroa was to bring it, as she bid,
Round to a spot they presently would reach—
Yes! there she saw them waiting on the beach!
The rest he knew. "But now, O Stranger, haste!
Fly to your skiff—O not a moment waste
In words—already, see! the Moon is low—
Away, before your flight those traitors know!"

He turned to thank her—would not take her nay;
Despite her struggles clasped her to his breast,
And ere from his embrace she broke away
Upon her lips a shower of fervent kisses prest.