[Translation.]
Song
O Wewehi, la, la!
Wewehi, peerless form, la, la!
Encouched on the pola, la, la!
Bossing the paddlers, la, la!
Men of the canoe, la, la!
Of that canoe, la, la!
Of this canoe, la, la!
Mawi inquires, la, la!
Who was her grand-sire? la, la!
’Twas Wewehi-loa, la, la!
Wewehi is dead, la, la!
Wounded with spear, la, la!
The same old wound, la, la!
Wound made by Mawi, la, la!
The flag, lo the flag!
The flag weeps at half-mast!
The flag, indeed, asks—
Many, many the flags,
A scandal for number.
Why are they overturned?
Why their banners cast down?
The author has met with several variants to this mele, which do not greatly change its character. In one of these variants the following changes are to be noted:
Line 4. Pikaka [212] e ka luna, ke, ke!
Line 5. Ka luna o ka hale, ke, ke!
Line 8. Ka puka o ka hale, a ke, ke!
Line 9. E noho i anei, a ke, ke!
To attempt a translation of these lines which are unadulterated slang:
Line 4. The roof is a-dry, la, la!
Line 5. The roof of the house, la, la!
Line 8. The door of the house, la, la!
Line 9. Turn in this way, la, la!
Footnote 212:[ (return) ] Pikaka (full form pikakao). Dried up, juiceless.
The one who supplied the above lines expressed inability to understand their meaning, averring that they are “classical Hawaiian,” meaning, doubtless, that they are archaic slang. As to the ninth line, the practice of “sitting in the door” seems to have been the fashion with such folk as far back as the time of Solomon.
Let us picture this princess of Maui, this granddaughter of Wahieloa, Wewehi, as a Helen, with all of Helen’s frailty, a flirt-errant, luxurious in life, quickly deserting one lover for the arms of another; yet withal of such humanity and kindness of fascination that, at her death, or absence, all things mourned her—not as Lycidas was mourned:
“With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head,
.............................................
And daffodillies fill their cups with tears,”
but in some rude pagan fashion; all of which is wrought out and symbolized in the mele with such imagery as is native to the mind of the savage.
The attentive reader will not need be told that, as in many another piece out of Hawaii’s old-time legends, the path through this song is beset with euphuistic stumbling blocks. The purpose of language, says Talleyrand, is to conceal thought. The veil in this case is quite gauzy.
The language of the following song for the marionette dance, hula ki’i, as in the one previously given, is mostly of that kind which the Hawaiians term olelo kapékepéke, or olelo huná, shifty talk, or secret talk. We might call it slang, though, it is not slang in the exact sense in which we use that word, applying it to the improvised counters of thought that gain currency in our daily speech until they find admission to the forum, the platform, and the dictionary. It is rather a cipher-speech, a method of concealing one’s meaning from all but the initiated, of which the Hawaiian, whether alii or commoner, was very fond. The people of the hula were famous for this sort of accomplishment and prided themselves not a little in it as an effectual means of giving appropriate flavor and gusto to their performances.
Mele
Ele-ele kau-kau; [213]
Ka hala-le, [214] e kau-kau,
Ka e-ele ihi,
Ele ihi, ele a,
Ka e-ele ku-pou; [215]
Ku-pou.
Ka hala, e! [216]