THE MAORI RACE

Te Awamutu Courier, Volume 53, Issue 3846, 16 December 1936, Page 5

THE MAORI RACE

NOBILITY OF THE OLD CHIEFS.

THE DYING CHIEFTAIN.

(By

“Anchorite.”

Thfc NatSve Chiefs of the Rohe Potae, when the writer first came among them, some 35 years ago, were a fine class of men, and strictly honourable in all their dealings. One such, whom I have in mind, while I write, was an exceptionally able man, and, although he had pakeha blood in his vdins, his heart was ever with his Maniapoto mother’s race. He built a fine homestead on the hill that overlooks Otorohanga—from the Northern hillside. I look, from my office window, to this house, daily, and muse upon the life of this fine man who crossed the Great Divide some years ago. I no Heed his steps getting slower and slower, each time he climbed the ra ther steep hill, from the township to his home. When he felt the shadow of the Great Beyond was flickering around him, he frequently expressed keen regret that Maori was losing his individuality by his m> . ger with Pakeha. He thought th: t the race he loved should be preserved intact—for all time. He thought that the Maori children (whom he loved) should be taught the songs and games of their race, instead of those of the white man:— THE DYING CHIEFTAIN. His tribci has perished from the earth, His tootprints passed away, The grand old Kangatira breathes His latest sigh to-day, The last of all his dusky race Awaiting Death’s stern call— He turns ms proud and mournful face In silence to the wall. Alone, what thoughts are passing through The dying chieftain’s brain— Does he recall the murderous fight, The flaming torch again: Or does he with his waning breath The grasping race revile, Who robbed him of his birthright In these fair sunny Isles. Whose baneful mess of potagc Lured his people from his side, And caused his nearest kith and kin In anger to divide. Ah no! His thoughts are drifting back To happier themes than these Far back upon life’s rugged track His Maori home he sees Before the stranger’s ruthless hand Had laid the forest bare. And sent its swarthy children forth To seek a home elsewhere, The royal kauris carry their Majestic heads on high A giant race of forest kings Wlhose glories never die. The tall and tapering rimus In stately colonnades Support the leafy canopy B&neath whose green arcades Ard draped and festooned avenues The towering nikau stands And there the queen fern marshals forth Its silvery crested bands. Swiftly the creek meanders on Beneath tha kowhai’s shade Past many a waste of fern and flax Through many a sylvan glade, In yonder wild sequestered spot The nestling hapu smiles Above the stream that dashes for h From out the dark defiles That rift the rugged mountain’s breast W’hose sombre summit reigns In silent grandeur—high above The qver-verdant plains. Till far away—in deen lagoons— Its slackening waters creep On‘o the flashing line that marks The boundary of the deep. Eeccr fancy uncontrolled Bv reason’s hand holds sway To echo back the forms of those Who long have passed away. He hears the. silvery laughter Of h ! s dark-eyed maidens ring— He listens to the haka wild His old companions sing. He stands a gallant chieftain’s son Amid that warlike throng Or treads the featv war-dance With a fhousand warriors strong. He ir/irks his people rally round Their Chieftain as of yore To hurl the white invader back. Bv r : ver, lake or shore. Their thrilling war-crv vines again The startled forest through As dashes forth with measured chant Th" g'ant war-canoe. His flee'ire soul then turns Upon life’s utmost strand To take one b'ngerine wistful look At fading Maoriland. And as the hand of death weighs down His sad and weary eyes The Sacred Huia. utters back The night winds mournful sighs. Some sa.y the grand old Maori race Is disappearing fast. Th"*- soon its name and language iWlill have merged into the past. Howe’er the ruling hand of fate Wii" trree theii’ chequered lot The Maori’s name—the Maori’s fame Will never be forgot. ’Tis stamped on river, lake and shore Each sunny island through From Taketimu’s southern heights To far off Taunakaruru, The sad Waikato’s mournful dirge Their story will revive. W’hile Ngauruhoe’s muffled sobs Will keep their name alive.