ORIGINAL POETRY.

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 6, Issue 320, 4 December 1862, Page 4

ORIGINAL POETRY.

LEGEND OF WAI-MOTCJ. “ I was then but a boy, yet I recollect well iThe story inwoven with Wai-motu dell, Though now I am hoary with age ; > And when I am gone ye may wondering seek j For some other old man, with a deep-wrinkled cheek, To show you its shadowy page.” It was thus spake Te Ruru, the chief of the pa, Noted for many a battje-earn’d scar, For he’d led in the wars when the Ngapuhis came, And earn’d by his prowess a warrior’s fame j A Seldom he speaks ’mid a council sage, Or when tales of the bygone the young ones engage, But they list tonis words with an anxious ear, Silent with wonder half mingled with fear; For a smile o’er his features no friend ever saw, Save when tinged with a frown striking terror ( and awe. Stories are told of the deeds he had done '

When the battle was o’er and the slaughter begun; How he heard not the cry of the wounded

around, And stopp’d up his ears to each piteous sound; How he cared not for counsel when victory smiled, But Bneer’d when they ask’d for the life of a

child; And though now he is feeble, so stern is his

mien, That the bravest will cower when that dread frown is seen.

“ Years passed along, and young. Rurangi thought That the daughter of Nini, whose hand he had sought, Would soon be his beautifid bride. But he dreaded to see that another one came, Who could boast of an older and nobler name Than the one he had hoped was her pride. He watch’d Kaparoa come day after day, And he watch’d the short months driving " ~ ' swiftly aWayj " Yet still she grew careless and cold; And one day he vow’d, by the atuas high, That the rival who dared to blight his hopes should die, Be he ever so noble and bold. “ On a beautiful eve of a midsummer day We wonder’d why Rurangi stay’d still away, For he then was to claim her his bride. And old Nini nowhere his daughter could find, Though sometimes her threats flitted over his mind, That she’d go in the forest to hide. So we wander’d to seek them when supper was done, And the midnight was lit by its silvery sun. Little need for our wandering long’; For down by the river we very soon found, Where that blasted karaka by climbers is bound, Kaparoa the valiant and strong ■ But a tomahawk gash oh his blood-streaming head Spoke of Rurangi’s crime, and told why he had fled Far away to Borne deep hidden, lair; .Then 1 found the girl by the Taro field track, Tt seem’d just as if she had tried to come, back, For Rurangi slaughter’d her there. “We laid them both down on some ferpcover’d ground, And nothing was heard save the piteous sound Of the tangi we bitterly raised. . There were few faces then but a tear trickled o’er, While each one in turn a dark vengeance swore On; a man whom we often had praised.'

We were hiding their faces with co meet, When we felt the ground trembling under otur * feet, But ’twaa not a mere, trembling long - For it heaved and it roll'd like a tempest, toss’d sea, ’ Or as if some great fire-mountain strove to be free, .■■■■. And burst through some barrier strong. I gazed on the top of the forest close by, : And I saw it first fall and then rise up on high, As each earth-waye. mov’d rambling on ; ; And a bright star I noticed above the trees . tOO,. Twenty times mounted up high into view, And twenty times sunk down and gone. “ To the whares we fled when the earth seem’d to rest. For no one but thought it was safest and best To be far from the murder’d ones there. Then I ask’d, like a boy, why the earth had thus roll’d? An,d strange were the stories that some of them told As we watch’d by the bright ruddy glare. . One said ’twas a monster, whoso shoulder sustains The whole of the land, with its mountains and plains, Till his arm, with the weary weight aches. Then when he is. tired he but changes its rest, ‘ Like a man would a burden when pain’d and oppress’d; And this causes the dreaded I ,earthquakes. But be this as it may, I am certain, as .well, There are atuas far in the solid earth dwell, And that this was but their evil work ;• For when it was daylight we all wander’d . back, . . .. And search’d on the ground for dark Ru* rangi’s track, To find where hj’d travelM to lurk. We soon found his footprints and follow’d them on; It was straight up the valley the murderer had gone, To the edge of the Wai-motu creek ; And there up its deep vale we saw, far and wide, The atuas’vengeance on every side, - From the stream to each forest-form’d peak. Before it was beauty romantic, and wild, But hills had been riven and ruthlessly piled',. In broken heaps, down in the glen ; , And the beautiful streamlet, so crystal .and sheen, That trickled on sweetly ’neath trees green, Was hidden by clay-hillocks then, , “We climb’d o’er the fragments, and soon found the place Where the death-pallor stole over Rurangi’s. face ; ’Twas a dreary and desolake lake; For hundreds of trees through the surface peep’d, And hundreds around its dark sides were heap’d, As if striving a waste-scene to make. They say, that the tree where he rested that night i Still stands in the midst of the riplets bright. With'parasites climbing around : : And there may it stand, in the dismal spot : Mark’d by its history, till all have forgot Why its form by the waters are hound. “ I have heard people say it is beautiful now, : That the green trees again clothe the wild, rugged brow, And down to the blue water’s side; But I see no beauty where monuments tell That murderers’ spirits and taniwas dwell, And dark demon kehuas hide. ’Tis a hideous place, and the atuas. know That nothing within those dread precincts will go Their terrible vengeance to brave; And the kaka but, shrieks when it flies o’er the spot, As if it knew well what a' curse and a blot Is stamp’d on the murderer’s grave. ” But the Pakeha sees not a dark tie to dim— No visions of bygone can hover round him ;, For the gloomiest spots in the Maori chief's sight Are the places that gleam to his vision most bright. The forest-girt lake, with' its barrier wall, And the valley side-cliffs, so majestic and tall, Are but gem-spots to him; and he only can gaze On the sweetest of pencillings nature Memory may waft to some nobler scene, Where mountains are pictured in glaciers sheen, But the loveliest nook, it will oftentimes tell, Is that lake hidden deep in the Wai-motu, dell. J. W.