"Gaily sporting,
Pleasure courting,
Nought know we of care or sorrow.
We are free
As sun and sea,
What care we what comes to-morrow_?"
Louder still and louder, Pélé roars within her lake of fire,
And the youths and maidens trembling look in fear up Mauna Loa,
Dreading sight of that grim figure stalking down the mountain side;
For when Pélé claims her victims none the summons may avoid.
Pélé calls for whom she chooses—whom she chooses goes,—and dies.
See! He comes! They start in terror. There, along the mountain side,
Death comes stalking, slowly, surely,—Pélé must be satisfied.
Which among them will he summon, with his dreadful pointing finger?
All their hearts become as water, all their faces blanch with fear,
Deaths they suffer in the waiting, while dread Death draws near.
Now he stands in dreadful menace, seeking with a baleful eye
For the sweetest and the fairest—for the meetest sacrifice.
"Choose, O choose!"—they cry in terror; "choose your victim and be
gone,
For we each die deaths while waiting, till dread Pélé's choice be
known!
Choose your victim, Priest of Pélé, choose your victim and be gone!"
Slowly points the dreadful finger, marks the newly-wedded bride;
All the rest, save one, fall from her, as the living from the dead.
From the first of time's beginnings Pélé ne'er has been gainsayed;
Pélé chooses whom she chooses, each and all the choice abide,
For the common good and safety,—Pélé must be satisfied!
Still the mountain reels and shudders, still the awful thunders peal,
Like a snake the ruthless finger holds them all in terror still;
One is there whose life is broken, parted from his chosen bride,
But the threatening finger, heedless of the lives it may divide,
Lights upon a tiny maiden,—Pélé must be satisfied!
Slow, the grim high-priest of Pélé turns to climb the mountain side;
Slow, the victims turn and follow,—Pélé must be satisfied.
And the rest shrink, dumb and helpless, daring not to lift an eye,
And beyond, the labouring mountain cracks and belches living fires,
Till the island reels and shudders at dread Pélé's agonies.
But a greater one than Pélé walked the mountain side that day;—
To them, climbing, dumb and dim-eyed—like a flash of heavenly flame,
Swift and bright as saving angel, fair Kapiolani came,
Swiftly as a saving angel, gleaming like a heavenly flame,
Thirsting like a sword for battle, fair Kapiolani came.
Radiant with the faith of martyrs, all aglow with new-born zeal,
Burning to release the people from the bondage and the thrall,
From the deadly thrall of Pélé, from the ever-threatening doom,
From the everlasting menace, from the awful lake of fire,
Like a bright avenging angel fair Kapiolani came!
"Hear me now, you priest of Pélé, and ye men of Owhyhee!
Hearken! ye who cringe and tremble, at the sound of Kilauea,
Fearful of the wrath of Pélé, fearful of the lake of fire!—
Priest, I say there is no Pélé! Pélé is not—never was!
Pélé lives but in your legends—there is only one true God!"