I, back-lame and sore in defeat,
Shall master the smart of my wrong.
The love-bird has flown into space.
Away from this wriggle and squirm.
You may twist, you may turn, you are here!
Lohiau had broken with Pele-ula; his last hope and appeal was to Hiiaka. He stood before her waiting her fateful decision. Will she consent to turn the canoe-prow and fly back to Kaua’i with him? He had won the woman’s heart in her, but not the deity that controlled her nature. The chain that bound her to the Woman of the Pit was too strong to be broken by any mere human appeal. Lohiau had failed in his play with the kilu; he now saw that he had also failed in his attempt to play with this human heart. The game was up; he sat down.
When Lohiau had retired in defeat, it became the turn of Wahine-oma’o to entertain the company—Wahine-oma’o, faithful, rustic soul, that she was, whose only acquaintance with this fine art was what she had picked up from seeing the performances of her mistress and master. Her wits did not desert her and were equal to the occasion: best of all, she had the wit to recognize her own limitations. Instead of pitching her song to some far-fetched hyperbole, she travestied the whole performance in a wholesome bit of nonsense that drifts down to us across the centuries as a most delicious take-off:
O ku, o ka o Wahine-oma’o.
Wahine ia Lohiau-ipo!
TRANSLATION