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Ranolf and Amohia

IV

IV.

So with factitious fervour—wearied zeal
As if to banish thought and deaden pain
He takes to his boar-hunting toils again;
While native mongrels, bad or good, replace
His first stanch sturdy comrade in the chase;
page 427 But none he loved so—none that so loved him—
As that good-tempered wriggling tiger—Nim!
And many a day and sometimes nights he passed
Amid the forests on the Mountains vast;
While Amo, loving still and lonely grieved,
By his affected interest undeceived
In these pursuits; and with increased distress,
Saw the sad struggle she so well could guess—
The discontent of forced contentedness.
Though he was kind—aye kinder than before,
'Twas not for kindness that she yearned alone,
But love—glad glowing love like that of yore,
Impetuous and impassioned as her own!
That kindness might be pity—nay, it must!
What else could be more likely—natural—just!
What else could one of such exalted sphere
Her fancy lifted to a realm so clear
And high above her, from his glorious place
Feel towards a being of inferior race,
Such as her love still made herself appear?
"Did he not come, a wonder and a prize
From some far Clime mysterious as the Skies—
Stoop in his flight to steep me in excess
Of too delightful, fleeting happiness—
My lowly life with strange wild joys to crown,
As Hapae in the legend once came down.
The white-winged Wanderer from blue haunts above—
And on Tawhaki lavished all that love?
Ah! what am I, or what my claim or right
To keep all to myself a thing so bright?—"
And then her anguish took another turn;
With the old pride at moments would she burn:
"Am I not something too! through all the land
page 428 Where'er on great or small the Sun would shine
What Maid could boast superior birth to mine?
Could I help hearing how on every hand
They said—not men, even women—far and wide
For beauty none with Amohia vied;
None in the dance such wavy grace displayed;
Such fair designs for rich-wrought purfles made—
Like her could tell a legend—turn a song?
Was it all flattery then—delusive—wrong?
Is she—through her whole life so praised—so prized,
Doomed to be now neglected and despised?"—
In her distraction then how would she try
To hate the cause of all this agony;
Half curse him in her impotent distress—
Aye-curse him with a passion that—would bless!
The mere conception of harsh words of hate
Such instant fond revulsion would create,
The ire wrung out by woe, in utterance choked,
Itself a gush of boundless love provoked—
The rage ran off in tears of tenderness:
"Too mad! too mad!—too horrible to curse
One so beloved—so beautiful—O worse
Than Rona cursing the full Moon for light!
Is it his blame he shines at such a height?
Ah, miserable me! who can but find
Food for a curse in what I am too blind—
No—not too blind! I cannot, ne'er could be
So blind, that dear, dear glory, not to see!
And seeing it and him—to think it strange
If love like mine he only could bestow
On beings like himself in fair exchange—
Bright beings—ah—those Maids he talked of so—
All golden light and sunset-tinted snow!
page 429 In beauty, knowledge—all attractions fine
Such as perchance I never could divine,
Would they not dim these poor dark charms of mine
As he does all our native youths outshine!
But could they love like me? Ah were they here
To show which held the dearest one most dear!
Would they were here! if deadly danger prest
His life, he soon would learn who loved him best!
Would they, like me (O would I might!) to save
Him sinking, rush into the flooded wave
And all the terrors of the torrent brave?
Would they, like me, dash into the thickest fight.
Cling to his conquering foe, about to smite
And take the blow—Ah me! with what delight,
Aimed at that head so beautiful—so bright!
Then, then—those Wonders—none he soon would see
Could worship—doat on—die for him like me!
Ah, why can men love nothing but the skin,
So little care for all that glows within—
All that should lure their love—their praises win?
Ah, why was I not made as wise, as fair—
Why should those Gods or Atuas—whatsoe'er
They be—have left me of these gifts so bare,
And grudged me all but misery and despair?
And yet he said—for I remember well
When of those wondrous beauties he would tell
The greatest merit could be had or known
Was for another's good to give your own;
And those grand Creatures, born to light and bliss,
Good in so much besides, were best in this.
But there at least I am their equal—I;
O could I not the best of them defy
To give all I would give his good to buy?
page 430 None—none of them like me, without a sigh,
To give him joy, a thousand times would die:
O that the chance would rise—howe'er it came
That I might prove, and he might learn, the same!"

And so the days slid heavily for both—
Each grief grew daily with the other's growth;
And from the woods upon his sad return
The sadness in her eyes he would discern,
And try to cheer her, O, with words too drear—
Words meaning much—but sounding little—cheer.
And then it was her turn sad joy to feign,
Which, pressing hard her heart to check its pain
She feigned—with stiffening lips that twitched in vain;
Thinking—with anguish smiling for his sake—
"O misery! my heart will break, will break!"