Page:A New Zealand verse (1906).pdf/181
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The Lost Tribe.
145
Then Maui bowed his head
And smote his palms together.—
“Ina, my sister, little one, heed!
Give me thy hair.”
And smote his palms together.—
“Ina, my sister, little one, heed!
Give me thy hair.”
Ina, the Maiden of Light,
Gave him her hair.
Swiftly he wove it,
Laughing out to the skies:—
“Thrice for the living!
Thrice for the dead !
And thrice for the long hereafter!”
The thin little cord
Flew fast on the wind
Past the Eyes of the Kings
To the neck of Te Ra.
And then was the pull.
The red lizards licked it;
The fire-knives chipped it;
But it stood, but it held.
And measured and slow
Evermore was the flight
Of the fire-bird of Rangi.
Gave him her hair.
Swiftly he wove it,
Laughing out to the skies:—
“Thrice for the living!
Thrice for the dead !
And thrice for the long hereafter!”
The thin little cord
Flew fast on the wind
Past the Eyes of the Kings
To the neck of Te Ra.
And then was the pull.
The red lizards licked it;
The fire-knives chipped it;
But it stood, but it held.
And measured and slow
Evermore was the flight
Of the fire-bird of Rangi.
LXXXIV.
The Lost Tribe.
Not always do they perish by the sword
Who by the sword have lived. A harder fate,
A direr doom, an end more desolate
Befel the remnant of one warlike horde!
Who by the sword have lived. A harder fate,
A direr doom, an end more desolate
Befel the remnant of one warlike horde!