A Maori Exile.

Could I but gaze where stately nikau palms,
Stand straight and tall with rev'rent upraised arms,
In regal loveliness amidst the bush,
And where the kea flies at Dawning's hush,
Or see again a sprig of rata red,
Rain-splashed or dew-impearled when Dawn has fled;
Or feast my eyes upon a Maori Sky,
And watch the lights of Ra with no one nigh.
And in a long canoe on Maori Seas,
Glide tranquilly with rhythm and with ease,
While out beyond—a seagull dips its wings,
And salt-spray flies where Te Moana flings—
Its strength against the rocks of Aotea-roa,
Or breaks in billows blue upon her shore.
Ah! could I stand where Ngauruhoe lies,
When Night's exotic stars in glad surprise,
Spring out in glowing wonder high aloft,
Wrapped in the Mystic Dusk—a mantle soft—
Ere Morning in the Bowl of Omar's Night,
“Has flung the stone that puts the stars to flight” ….
Or see the Cold Lakes mirror lofty peaks,
And moonlight dart in wild fantastic streaks,
Across the haunts of grotesque taniwha,
That guards the entrance to its tapupa.
For this indeed I then would gladly be,
Content to pass beyond Death's Unknown Sea!
And carry there to Io-Wonderment!
A heart at Peace! and mind in full content.

—O. M. Shakespeare.

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