Themes and Variations/A Maori Legend
A MAORI LEGEND.
A legend, my friend, they relate of these fire-guarded mountains,
Three mountains that rise in the silent and untrodden forest,
Forbidden to white foot, and held by the Maori thrice-sacred.
Three mountains that rise in the silent and untrodden forest,
Forbidden to white foot, and held by the Maori thrice-sacred.
One mountain, the greatest, arises in snow-sheeted splendour,
Far seen, on the plains, like a white ship blown hither and stranded,
From the ice-fields that gleam to the dance of the southern Aurora;
And one wears the veil of volcano; and one looks a ruin.
Far seen, on the plains, like a white ship blown hither and stranded,
From the ice-fields that gleam to the dance of the southern Aurora;
And one wears the veil of volcano; and one looks a ruin.
In the ages far past came a chief from the isles of the west wave
To see these wild peaks; and with him came the slave, Ngaru-hoé,
They sought to ascend, but the death-wind blew cold from the glacier:
And the sleep of its breath overcame Ngaru-hoé, the faithful,
Then the chief cried in anguish—‘Oh, Sisters! come hither! I perish!’
To see these wild peaks; and with him came the slave, Ngaru-hoé,
They sought to ascend, but the death-wind blew cold from the glacier:
And the sleep of its breath overcame Ngaru-hoé, the faithful,
Then the chief cried in anguish—‘Oh, Sisters! come hither! I perish!’
. . . . The sisters arose in their sun-lighted vales of Hawaii—
Snatched fire from the altar, and flew o’er the ripples of ocean.
They stumbled in haste, and the holy fire fell from their fingers,
And burns to this day in wild geyser, or smouldering volcano.
Snatched fire from the altar, and flew o’er the ripples of ocean.
They stumbled in haste, and the holy fire fell from their fingers,
And burns to this day in wild geyser, or smouldering volcano.
So they rescued the chief; and the fire to his bosom returning,
Hand in hand they fled fast down the cliffs of the rushing Waikato.
By the light of the peak, by the smoke of the red-burning island,
Over ripple and reef, till they reached the hearth-stone of Hawaii.
Hand in hand they fled fast down the cliffs of the rushing Waikato.
By the light of the peak, by the smoke of the red-burning island,
Over ripple and reef, till they reached the hearth-stone of Hawaii.
But no footstep returning awakens the slave, Ngaru-hoé.
So peaceful he sleeps in the shade of the thrice-smitten mountain.
So peaceful he sleeps in the shade of the thrice-smitten mountain.