And the winds and the waving trees,
And the singing pines by the coral bars,
Loud with the voices of roaming seas,
You are to me, you are to me!”
Kora slowly raised his head. For a moment he gazed like one who still thought that he dreamed. The O Le maun oa (nightingale) ceased to sing in the backa trees just overhead, so delicious was the warm-throated melody that Kasawayo sang. Then Kora started up to his feet. He realized that some beautiful goddess was singing to him. He knew well that no one but his lost Kasawayo would have so beautiful a voice.
Still the goddess sang on. And as she sang she thought of the serpent-god who had, for her sake, been transformed into a serpent so that she might go into the forest alone.
She longed to rush forth from the bamboos and reveal herself to Kora. But how could she do so when she had promised the serpent-god to be faithful to him? So she still remained hidden, and sang on.
Kora listened to her voice with delight. Then he cried out:
“Kasawayo! I know ’tis you who sing; come forth and let me see you.”
On hearing the voice of the youth calling her, so strong was her love that she almost rushed forward. For a moment she controlled the awful impulse, and started to sing once more, and these were the words of her song: