At Wailua stands the main house-post;
This oracle harks to wild voices,
Tumult and clamor, O Ulu-po;
It utters no voice to entreaty.
Alas for the prophet that’s dumb!
But there drifts the incense of hala.
Maná sees the rain-whirl of Eleao.
The robe of Ka-ú sways in the wind,
That dashes the waves ’gainst the sea-wall,
At Honu-apo, windy Ka-ú;