Another man's food you must eat little bits of; food won by your
own labour you may eat plenty of, and satisfy your hunger well.
An axe, though very little, can do as much as a man in clearing
away a forest.
A fish begins nibbling gently upwards before he bites, and you
begin a steep ascent from the bottom (from trifling disputes
fierce wars arise).
Not less conspicuous is the vigour displayed in the poetical conceptions of the Maori. There is in them a depth of sentiment, a vividness of imagery, which would almost make us doubtful of their true origin, if the original were not at hand to compare with.
Thus, for example, how beautifully do the following lines, borrowed from a dirge for the chief Te-Huhu, describe the wild anguish of a warlike people, mourning the loss of a beloved leader:—
DIRGE OF TE-HUHU.
Behold the glare of the lightning!
It seems as though it had cleft in twain the steep hills of Tuwhare.
Dropped from thy hand thy weapon,
And thy spirit, it vanished
Behind the lofty ridges of Raukawa!
The sun hid his face, and hasted away,
As a woman hurries from the strife of battle!
The waves of ocean mourn as they rise and fall,
And the hills of the south melt away!
For the spirit of the chieftain
Was winging its way to the dwellings of Rona;[35]
Open, ye gates of heaven!
Tread thou the first heaven! tread thou the second heaven!
And when thou dost traverse the spirit land,
And its dwellers shall ask thee, "What meaneth this?"
Tell that her wings were torn from this our world,
When he died, the strong one,
Our leader in the roar of battle!
Atutahi and the stars of the morning
Look pitifully down from their fastnesses,
The earth reels to and fro,
For the mightiest support of her children lies low!
O my friend! the dew of Hokianga
Shall penetrate thy body;
The waters of the brooks shall dry up,
And the land become desolate:
I see a cloud rising afar
Above the head of Heke the renowned!
May he be annihilated, for ever
Brought low to nothingness! so may the heart,
Now mourning in its depths, ne'er think of evil more!
As deeply imbued with the spirit of true poetry is the
following dirge of a mother, a heartfelt effusion of maternal affliction for the loss of an only daughter:—