O This gloomy and keen regret for thee, my child!
I feel my sorrow and my anguish now.
O son of mine! why didst thou silently depart,
Nor utter words of long farewell,
And speak thy last request to me?
But now with thee I'll rise,
And follow with the mighty throng Of those our ancient men,
And fathers now with Whati-hua;
Nor heed the warning words
Of Rua-pu-te-hanga—She of old, who said,
“Return; nor dare the death
That must ensue if you persist,
And follow her who, reckless, dared
The surging waves of Rakei-mata-taniwha.”
Oh! come, come back, my child, to me, and
Tell the news from countries trod by thee.
But thou, when asked to give our history,
Make answer, “I am young, and but a child,
And have forgotten what my parents taught.”
Yet we have heard from days of old
That Tai-nui, Arawa, and Mata-tua,
With Kura-hau-po and Toko-maru,
Were the canoes in which our great progenitors
Sailed across the mighty ocean which we see.
And Hotu-roa, Nga-toro, and Tama-te-kapua
And Rongo-kako, these with Tama-tea
In the Arawa came, and whose descendants now
Have spread and covered all these lands.
And we will own the truth,
And now admit the error
Which Te-tauri charged us with.
'Tis true, Te-tauri and ourselves
Are offspring of Te-wairangi,
And you of Pou-tu also came.
Nor can we count the many lines
Of Tua-matua, or our pedigree
Rehearse. A summer's day would
Not give time to tell it all.
O-kai-whare was the ancestor
Of Kiri-tai, and Hine-rehu
Came of Wai-tapu; and Kahu-rere-moa
Wed the son of Upoko-iti,
Who lived in days of old,
When Whiro's law the people ruled;
When Pare-kawa, Tama-mutu,
And Waka-toto-pipi lived,
And Tu-roa and Rangi-hopu-ata
Ruled in Whanga-nui.
But you and they are one in rank.
O son of him whose fame
Was heard by every tribe, and even
By the moon and morning star, high up in heaven,
And all the noted men of Wai-kato
Whose proverb is, “The plume of Mo-tai—
Of the multitude of men.”

Lament for Te-tahuri, son of Te-whata-nui.