VI.

Thus they two in their dream. But Evening now
Steals, like a serious thought o'er joyous face,
Its cooling veil o'er the warm Earth to throw.
The hawk no longer soars in pride of place,
Stiff-wheeling with bent head in circles slow;
The teal and wild-duck leave the floating weed
And open pool, for sheltering rush and reed;
And home with outstretched necks the cormorants fly
In strings—each train dark-lettering the sky,
Now V exact, now lengthening into Y—
As arrow-like direct their course they steer
To haunts afar, unseen, but somewhere near
Those mountain-summits carpeted and black
With forests dense without a break or track,
Whence smooth and ferny spurs in golden dun
Of solemn sunlight undulating run
page 266 Down to dim bases lost in shadows blue
That blot the intervening gullies too—
Encroaching darkness creeping upward still
O'er chequered black-and-gold of dell and hill.

"How pleasant is the life those birds must lead—
About the sea all flay to sport and feed,
Where'er they will, with little heed;
And flee away at night with aim so sure
Striking across the sky, so eager each
His inaccessible far roost to reach—
So secret, solitary and secure
In solitude. And is not ours like theirs—
As free, as lonely sweet, as void of cares!"
Said Ranolf, as beside him closer drew
Fair Amo: "Yes, my wild-wood dove,
What have we else to do but live and love!"—
And she, her native tongue, no doubt, too weak
The fond delight that filled her heart to speak,
Replied in one more rich, she felt, though new,
That foreign language of a fervid kiss;
Shaping her smiling lips as if they might
Unleamedly perform the mystic rite,
Some feature of its due observance miss.
"But see," she hints, "Te Maim comes to say
The kúkupas^* are done he takes such pride
In cooking."—As she spoke the youngster gay
Came running up and grinning cried:
"Ranoro, come! come, Amo, quickly—do!
Ka rawe! 'tis a glorious stew!"