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Ranolf and Amohia

5

5.

How fretful the cries,
The plaintive wild cries
Of crimson-billed terns when in bright azure weather
They flock wheeling in from all parts of the skies.
Confusedly fluttering and huddling together
page 357 To dabble and scramble for food in the water!—
Rotorua's proud islet shall see such a muster;
From the regions all round so our victims shall cluster!
So shall they
On that day
Crowd in helpless array,
So be gathered at once all together for slaughter!
Wild-crying—no flying—all dying—no trace
Of their race
Shall be left on earth's face!—
Thus our foes shall be crushed
And the battle-roar hushed
Over Mokoi-ahía!—

Such was the purport of the measured roar,
A warrior-crowd by Rotorua's shore
From time to time across is waters flung,
Their wild excitement growing as they sung.
The song foreshadowed vengeance long-desired;
Visions of victory hate and hope inspired—
But vengeance doubtful—victory yet to win.
One singer fierce in savage solo first,
Within the space the circling throng left clear,
Darting about with madly brandished spear,
The ranting wild war-ditty would begin;
Then as they all struck in, the chorus strong,
Now full and furious, with a sea-like burst
Of guttural thunder grandly rolled along;
Now at the war-ehaunt's pauses, interspersed
Its short harsh sighs of deep-lunged expiration,
Such as a pavier in a London street
Gives when his ponderous hammer strikes the stones;—
All panting forth in unison complete
page 358 Hoarse harmony of heartfelt execration!
Crash after crash of deep earthshaking groans,
Whose echoes through the folded mountains tore—
Escaping monsters, plunging on to hide
In their recesses; nor even then forbore
Rut far and farther off faint bellowings plied.