“Shoulder to shoulder,” echoes the throng
On the heights of Mauli-ola,—
Where the green leaf distills the water
Men search for like hov’ring owls.
Chew thou the herb with thy friend,
I will offer mine to my god.
The fault of Pele’s condoned;
She lifts herself from her huddle in bed—
A couch far down in the Pit—
It now becomes plates of smooth lava,