IV.

The mists were gone—the sun rode high;
On went they paddling merrily,
Each bay and cove and nook to try;
In loving converse sauntering slow
Or darting swiftly to and fro,
Except for pleasure, purposeless
As minnow-crowds whose sinuous stream
Meandering through the azure gleam
Darkened the watery depths below.
It chanced the boats a moment lay
With prows that pointed both one way,
Amo's ahead a little space:
A sudden whim lit up her face;
Then, as a challenge for a race,
She chaunted, ere away she sped.
With laughing frowns of loving spite,
Set teeth and sideways-shaken head,
Mock words of bitter-sweet delight:

"I am Hatu! I'm Hatu! poor boy of the glen
Whom the wicked witch-giantess hid in her den!
And you are the Giantess hoarding her prize
With her terrible claws—O such hideous eyes!
But I've fled from caresses I hate, O so much!
Escaped from her loathsome, her horrible touch—
page 304 From her dreadful dear! clutches escaped to the plain,
And I dare, I defy her, to catch me again!"

Then paddling off with all her might
Away across the lake she flew,
And left a wake of foam snow-bright,
And broadening ripple glassy-blue;
While, dashing after, less expert
Soon Ranolf finds he must exert
His utmost skill to catch her, too.
But when, though less by skill than strength,
He nears her flying skiff at length—
With nimble paddle, dodging back
She slips off on another tack,
With swiftly-flitting noiseless ease;
As—when some fisher thinks to seize
With gently-dropped and stealthy spear
A flounder, down in shallows clear,
'Mid mottling tufts of dusky weeds
And white sand-patches where it feeds—
The trembling shadow shifts away
Through faintly-shimmering water grey—
'Tis there—and gone—his would-be prey!
So, hovering round with wistful eyes,
While many a feint, to cheat, surprise,
That merry mocker, Ranolf tries,
She, at a little distance staying,
And watchful, with the paddle playing,
No move of his, no glance to miss—
Now darts alert that way, now this;
And at each foiled attempt again
Provokes him in alluring strain:

page 305

• "Look! I'm one of those divine ones—joy and love of all beholders,
• Who had pinions, O such fine ones! growing from their stately shoulders;
• Not that fond one too confiding—so in vain your bright eyes watch me—
• He, the last on earth residing … Ah! you need not think to catch me!…
• Who, beside his loved-one lying, let the Maid while he was sleeping.
• Press his wings off, spoil his flying—lest he e'er should leave her weeping!"—

Then off she skims in circuit wide,
Resolved another plan to try,
Again with paddies swiftly plied,
Again across the lake they fly;
And as her little bark he nears,
A new defiance Ranolf hears:

"I'm Wakatau, he—
That Child of the Sea!
And my dearest delight
Is flying my kite,
Down beneath, on the sand.
With the string in my hand,
Under water I stand;
Or the kite in the air,
Like the day-moon up there,
Like an albatross strong,
Draws me swiftly along
As I float to and fro
On the green sea below.—
page 306 Apakùra, my mother,
Can catch me, none other;
From the quickest alive,
Down—down-would I dive!-
Whoever you be—
Though fonder, though dearer,
You, you are not she,
Apakura, O no!—
So if you come nearer,
See—down I must go!"

Scarce on the gunwale had he laid
His hand, and scarce the words were said.
Ere, slipping from her loosened dress,
Her simple kilt and cloak of flax—
Just as a chestnut you may press
With careful foot ere ripened well,
Shoots from its green and prickly shell,
With tender mind so tawny-clean
And dainty-pure and smooth as wax
She shot into the blue serene—
A moment gleamed, then out of sight.
Swift as a falling flash of light!
All round he seeks with anxious mien
The Naiad—nowhere to be seen:
A fearful time he seems to spy—
His heart beats quick—when lo, hard by.
A mermaid! risen on the rocks,
Whose diamond glances archly play
Through shaken clouds of glittering locks.
And glancing showers of diamond-spray:
"You are not Apakura! 0, no, no, not you.'"
She cries—and dives beneath the blue.
page 307 He follows, watching where she glides
Beneath a drooping pall profound
Of boughs, that all the water hides.
Into the gloom he pushes: sound
Or sight of her is none around.
But hark!—'twas somewhere near the bank
That sudden plash! it takes his ear
As startlingly as sometimes, near
A stream where June's hot grass is rank,
You hear the coiled-up water-snake
Your unsuspecting footsteps wake,
Flap down upon the wave below,
And wabbling through the water go.
Again to the mid lake she dies;
In swift pursuit again he flies:
And see! she waits with face, how meek!
Till he can touch and almost clasp,
The shining shoulders, laughing cheek:
Then, diving swift, eludes his grasp:
Just as, with quick astonished eye,
A wild-duck waits, until well-nigh
The ruddy-curled retriever's snap
Is gently closing like a trap
On its poor neck and broken wing,
Before with sudden jerk she dips,
Beneath the ripple vanishing.
From Ranolf so the Maiden slips—
And when, the chase renewed, he nears
The spot where next she reappears,
Look! floating on the glass she lies
With close-sealed lips and fast-shut eyes,
Still as a Saint in marble bloom
Carved snowy-dead upon a tomb.
page 308 Close to her side his skiff he steers:
"O Swallow of the waters fleet,
O wild lake-bird! rny Swift, my sweet,
My lovely-crested grebe! at last,
I catch, I kiss, I hold you fast!"
He takes that slender hand of hers;
She answers not—nor looks—nor stirs
Surprised, her listless arm he shakes—
She neither stirs—looks up—nor wakes.
"Speak, speak, my Amo! what is this!
Do you not feel my clasp, my kiss?
Do you not hear my voice?"—Ah no!
That low sad moan no answer gives:
She breathes—but heavy, stertorous, slow;
That breathing barely shows she lives.
He felt her heart—it faintly pulsed;
At times she shudders as convulsed; "
Yes, it must be! the hot, high sun
Has struck her, dear one; too opprest,
With such exertions quite o'erdone!"
Alarmed—reflecting what were best,
He soon resolves, and does it too.
Beneath each arm with tenderest care,
He twines a tress of streaming hair,
And knots them both with double turn,
Rich-volumed to his own canoe—
The open carved work of the stern:
Then tows her senseless till they reach
The nearest stripe of sandy beach:
There leaps ashore—seeks—breaks in half,
A cockle-shell—'twill answer well:
Then finds and feels the corded vein
That crosses with its azure stain
page 309 The tender hollow of her arm,
And soon will wake the life-tide warm.
But ere the shell's sharp point can wound—
Just ere it pricks her—from the ground,
Upleaping with a silvery laugh,
The cheat confessed, she darts away,
(Snatching her mantle up that lay
In Ranolfs boat, which he had thrown
Into it as she left her own)
And to a thicket near has flown—
Swift—sudden-glancing as a bird
The loud flirt of whose wing is heard
A moment, on the hot wood-side,
As, brushing out and in again,
A scarlet gleam, you see him glide,
Lancing his dodging flight; even so
Does Amo still the chase maintain;
And Ranolf follows, with mock-angry show
Of mirthful vengeance, fondly-threatening cries,
And chastisements that are caresses in disguise.