The Ghosts.

This bush is haunted—not, as in older lands,
By dryads dancing through the silver trees,
By little leering fauns in wandering bands,
Or pan-pipes singing shrilly in the breeze.
Not here at midnight do the goat-feet dance;
No wanton satyrs chase the waning moon;
The feet of centaurs, wild with summer madness,
Never have stamped beside this still lagoon.
Our ghosts are starker far, and terrible—
From the lagoon great tearing shark-teeth leap,
Following still the hook of that Great Fisher
Who drew an island from the sunken deep.
Beware the owl-light of the kauri trees,
Beware the banks of fern, so darkly green;
In watery cavern lurks the Taniwha,
Whose monster feet can tread unheard, unseen!
With slavering lips agape, and reddened jaws,
Hine goes shuffling by with senile leer;
Her teeth betokened death to many a warrior
Who passed her dread abode—and passed too near!
Yet some there are, whom earth cannot make fearful.
In splashing streamlets dwell the star-eyed ones—
This ancient people's lovely dark-skinned daughters,
Her proud and tall, her great spear-striving sons.
Here Ina watches still the glowing moon,
Young Maui listens for a phantom bird;
And many an ancient poem here is uttered,
And many a song is sung, but never heard.
Surely on moony nights they go a-hunting,
Who were so young and gay in years gone by;
And Hinemoa hears, above the waters,
The fluted love-song of Tutanekai
—Dorothy I. Scott.