VI.

And often had she fixed the day to start,
Yet could not bear from all life's tight to part;
The project oft deferred, was still renewed,
Whenever Ranolfs restlessness she viewed;
Until one night arrived for her and him,
That filled their cup of misery to the brim.
That day a precious letter from his home—
With slanting oval postmarks blue and red,
And scrawls "Try here—try there" all overspread—
Had (passed from tribe to tribe) to Ranolf come;
And with it, news that all the Chiefs who shared
The great proposed invasion were prepared
With countless guns and piles of packed-up food
And war-canoes and crowds of warriors good
To start in sanguinary, sanguine mood.—
And Amo all that eve had sate and gazed
With tearful looks, how fond! on Ranolfs face
And eyes, so seldom from the letter raised,
Or fixed in sad abstraction far away,
While on his knees the fatal missive lay;
And fancied all his thoughts she well could trace—
With maddening hopelessness how they would run
Upon the Sister—Mother—long unseen;
And what a roar of Ocean—vast—unknown—
And obstacles far greater, stood between
Those loved ones and the Brother and lost Son;
And some sweet phantom Shape still dearer, she
Would fancy in his picture there must be!—
'Twas then, and there, with burning—bursting heart
And choking throat—she bound herself, alone
Come what come might-—next morning to depart.
page 435 So, when day broke, while Ranolf, half the night
Awake, was sleeping sadly by her side,
She rose up—from her prostrate grief upright—
To take a last long gaze—heart-broken bride—
Upon that sleeping face—her life—her pride!
Then, in an agony of tenderness
With those fair golden curls she toyed awhile
That seemed to mock her with their sunny smile;
And lavished many a bitter-sweet caress
Upon the brow and cheeks and fast-closed eyes
She loved so—more than ever seemed to prize,
And thought more beautiful in this distress;
And hid at last her face upon his breast,
And wept a passionate flood of bitter tears—
"O could she there end all—joys, woes and fears—
Dead—dead at once—for ever there to rest!"—
And when at those fond touches Ranolf woke,
And saw her grief, and words of comfort spoke.
Returning her caress, and sought to know
What sudden sorrow caused these tears to flow;
With quick-recovered firmness she replied—
'Twas nothing—he was not to mind her—she
Was foolish—was 'porangi'—and would be
Better directly—" and her tears she dried
And smiled in utter misery—and tried
Her deep despairing eyes from his to hide;
The while with more than usual busy zeal,
It seemed, she went about the morning meal;
Then set it quietly before him—made
Some light excuse why he could not persuade
Herself to touch it—quietly received
His last caress, as, bidding her be cheered,
page 436 "For he would soon return, she might be sure! "—
And kissing her, he stroked her tresses black,
And with his dogs and gun, and heart sore-grieved
Off to the hills, by her calm looks deceived,
As usual went; while she, with bosom seared,
And brain that whirled confused upon a rack
Of thoughts and feelings she could scarce endure,
Till all that she was seeing, hearing—seemed
Something she heard not—saw not—only dreamed,
She stood there watching till he disappeared;—
Then flung herself upon her couch, and there
Gave full, wild vent to sobbings of despair.

Soon with set teeth she rises; from her eyes
Brushes the blinding tears that will arise;
And snatching up a small supply of food—
For life must last to make her purpose good—
Still in the clutch of that wild passion held,
That from her tight grief-strangled bosom swelled
Up to her throbbing brow—as if compelled
By outward force—she keeps her frenzied thought
As well as her despairing fevered glance,
From resting on a single circumstance
Of past or recent happiness, or aught
About that dim—loved—lost—and torturing scene—
The hut—the room where she so blest had been!
But staggering as beneath a heavy load,
Rushes straight forward on her blighted road.