Tangaroa.

Passing, now, are the ghosts of the dead,
The winds are hushed, the rude waves hide their head;
And the fount flows silently,
And the breeze forgets to sigh,
And the torrent to moan
O'er rock and stone.
For the dead pass by!
Now on the barren spirit-track,
Lingering sadly, gazing back,
Slowly moves a ghastly train,
Shades of warriors, brave in vain;
For what can mortal valour do
page 235 'Gainst you, furious war-god Tu? ^*
You, by sacrifice and pray'r,
To hostile ranks allured were;
None but you, O Tu! could slay them,
None but the war-god's self dismay them;
You who shouted at your birth,
" Let us sunder heaven and earth";
You who, charging like a flood,
Wrap whole armies in their blood;
You who scale the hill-fort steep
When the weary warriors sleep,
And awake them but to die
With the Whaka-ara^† cry;
You who, when the fight is done,
Roast the flesh on heated stone,
Brother of the thunder, scarlet-belted Tu,^‡
For ever and for ever shall the warriors worship you;
Wealth and power and high command
All are in your forceful hand,
Earth-shaker,
Spoil-taker,
Climber of mountains, climber of waves,
Weapon-bearer, binder of slaves,
Battle-fighter, wrathful Tu,
Builder of the war-canoe.
Though your followers may lie
In their blood on battle-plain,
They alone can never die,
For in song they live again,
page 236 And their names, remembered long,
Twine in many a warlike bale;
And the tangi, plaintive song,
Makes for them the parting wail.
The seer has left the hill. Hark! hark! that wailing cry;
The shades he saw were braves of his tribe to the Reinga passing by.

—F. E. Maning.