“The braves who have carried Murulyie, the red-ochre, hither, Wilchrena, are fearsome!”
Here the men and women burst in with a chorus of one word, dwelling on the last two syllables:—
“Muracherpū-nā, We are groping in the dark.”
The old singer continues:—
“Quiet is wathararkuna, the south wind; but gna-pou kouta,
“The noise of the waters reaches us.
“The ko-ning-chteri, the noisy gnats,
“Chaudachanduna kuriunia, are whispering over the spinifax (spiny grass).”
Chorus: “Muracherpū-nā.”
“Thou dancest as kintallo, the shrimp,