University of Virginia Library


265

IV.

A hand upon her shoulder laid,
With sudden startling pressure stayed
Her anguish in its mid career;
Though not the slightest sound betrayed
A human being's presence near.
'Twas Kangapo! who silent crept
Upon her, thinking that she slept;
Till as he neared the weeping maid,
Her heart-wrung moans the truth conveyed.
To aid the Northern Chief's designs, and make
The conquest sure which his revenge would slake;
To spy into the schemes the people planned
To meet the invaders of their threatened land;
But most with well-feigned tale and crafty lie
To lull them into false security;
The wily Priest had ventured back once more—
Safe in the sorcerer's dread repute he bore—
To prowl about the country, gather news,
And disaffection, where he could, diffuse;
Hiding the while, and less from need than taste,
In many a well-known haunt of wood and waste.
When Amo raised in wild surprise
Her tear-bedabbled face and eyes,
And saw whose form above her hung;
Whose spiteful, cool, triumphant leer
Into her grief would pry and peer,
Indignant to her feet she sprung:
“You, Kangapo! and wherefore here?

266

“Nay, rather—” was the answering sneer,
“Say what has brought to such disgrace,
Such evil plight, so lone a place,
The Stranger's Love—the white man's bride!
Has he, whose pale and girlish face
Could win, despite her birth and race,
Her tribe's renown—her father's pride,
The Maori maiden to his side—
Has he turned false, or fled—or died?”
“Ask nought of him; no mate of thine;
Thy course pursue—leave me to mine!”
“Nay—listen, Amo! let me tell—”
“Away! I know thy wiles too well!”