Page:Shingle-short-Baughan-1908.djvu/196

 Where? Lo, where the quick wind smites thine old tresses, Under them, over them, glancing between them, Sharp to the eye, sharp to the heart, Glitters the iron roof of the Stranger. Oh, strong the Stranger! a tall Karaka-tree: Glossy with oil the bright leaves of his branches: —We, the shed berries beneath! He, the new Moon—we were the old Moon. As the plunge of the Takapu, straight is his speeding:— Frost-fish, we make for the shore!

Once, Here lay the forest, yonder the flax-flat. High on yon hill stood the pa, palisaded, Spiked were its fences, and strong. And the house of the youthful, the house of the dancers, Was ample and high: The carv’d hall of meeting, the house of the entertain’d, Spacious and warm. Here, on this side, were the store-pits for kumara, Roomy, well-fill’d, and the stages, thick-cover’d With fish, to be dried in the sun. Ah, ah! In that day, The sun was brighter, the flax-leaves longer, The patiki thicker, its flesh more sweet:—