A trumpet sounds through the fog,
Dimmed are the stars in the sky;
When the night is clear, how they twinkle!
Lani-kaula’s torches look double,
The torches that burn for Kane.
Ghostly and drear the walls of Waipio
At the endless blasts of Kiha-pú.
The king’s awa fails to console him;
’Tis the all-night conching of Kiha-pú.
Broken his sleep the whole winter;