A LEGEND

Te Ao Hou, June 1960, Page 61

A LEGEND * Karapiti is the name of a large steam-hole in the Taupo country; it is visible from a great distance, and is constantly belching forth a great column of steam with a roaring noise. Yon iris hues are glistening gay, Flicker and flaunt on steam and spray— A goodly canopy; But scalding vapours are they that soar, From the cruel mouth comes an angry roar, And faintly there rises evermore A wail of agony. Karapiti's steam-cloud is shining fair, Like wreath that the white girl loves to wear, With folds of bridal veil; While the nestling fern-fronds, half asleep, Through the misty white of its vapours peep, And nod to a maiden who comes to keep Her tryst, and scorns to fail. ‘Tis a Maori maid, in her wistful eyes Flashes a gleam of glad surprise— No lover greets her sight. The joy of triumph adorns her face, For each has come from a distant place, And she knows she has won in the loving race, And she watches through the night. For that maid had hastened with flying feet Where her lover and she had planned to meet, At Karapiti's bowl. They both had vowed they would not be late, Their hopes were high, and their love was great; And the first to come, was to watch, and wait; And she loves with all her soul. But her mirth took flight, and her smile had gone, When the morning light on that maiden shone, And found her still alone; She hid her face from the glare of day, She crouched on the ground, in her Maori way, And she crooned to herself an old-time lay, In a low and mournful tone. And when two more days of her watch had passed, She had known no sleep, nor broken fast, Her heart was seared with pain; And her song was an ancient savage dream, With lust and hate for its bloody theme, That she sang to the rush of the roaring steam, With a wild and sad refrain. The fourth day finds her spent and ill, But crouched by Karapiti still, Drenched with its driven foam; Then her kinsmen come from her tribal place, And swear she has won them deep disgrace— A stain on their ancient haughty race; And bid her hasten home.

But she only peers through the fringe of fern At the depths where those secret fires do burn, Whence their deadly breath is poured; And her chief cries, “Foolish daughter, go! “Would you wait on the son of our former foe? “Whom we conquered in battle long ago, “With all his rabble horde! “‘Tis little you reck of that trysting-place “Where he never lags in the loving race, “Nor plays a backward part. “Is it meet or right for a maid well-born “To leave her tribe, and to grieve forlorn, “For a coward slave who has falsely sworn?”— And he racks that maiden's heart. She springs to her feet, alert, upright, Her eyes flash the sudden signal light Of proud blood rudely stirred. She calls aloud to her kinsmen all, And they start, amazed at her sudden call; You could hear a footstep's lightest fall; They hang on her ev'ry word. “If my lover be false, or my lover true, “May the gods be witness between us two, “I have kept the tryst I swore. “I'll keep the compact between us both, “For the sake of my love and my plighted troth, “Though he keep me waiting, I take my oath, “A hundred years or more!” She leaps, with one despairing scream, Like spear-shaft piercing the scalding steam; Its clouds one moment part; That hell-hole gorges its dainty prey, Then shrouds in a column of boiling spray A woman who dared to be true alway, So fond so brave her heart. Still is the steam-cloud shining fair, ‘Tis a white pall, hanging ever there, O'er a tomb that none may see. But the drooping fern-fronds are no more glad; Karapiti's moan is a tangi sad, And a warning voice to the Maori lad Who false to his tryst would be. GEORGE PHIPPS WILLIAMS 1904