Page:Tales-of-Banks-Peninsula Jacobson 2ed 1893 cropped.pdf/309

Lost is the time in ages dim,
Since this stern peak first gained the name
From wise Tohunga’s^[1] visions grim,
That placed it high in Maori fame.
Onawe! Home of him who holds
The mighty winds that restless sweep;
Who bids them in their treacherous folds
Engulph the wanderers o’er the deep,
Or curbs their restless course to calm,
Or lets the gentle zephyr play
The wearied mariner to charm,
And waft him on his watery way.

Home of the Spirit of the Wind!
Where the dread Atua^[2] held his sway,
When luckless mortal sought to find
Him whom the winds alone obey,
A dreadful voice, in accents deep,
Would call from out the rocky steep,
“What want you here? Begone! Begone!”
And lucky he if, e’er the morn,
The winds had spared from vengeance dour
One who had braved the Atua’s power.

The ages passed, and from the North
The restless pakeha races came;
Their cannons belched loud thunders forth.
The Taniwha’s gigantic frame,
Pierced by their lances, gave its life;
And trees were felled, and a new light,
Foreboding change and peace from strife,
Dawned on the ancient Maori night.
Then those stern gods, whose bloody reign
Had lasted from the ages past,
Saw that the struggle must be vain,
And that their power had gone at last,
For the blind faith that long had spread
Its shelter o’er them was no more;