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Ranolf and Amohia

A dream of two lives. By Alfred Domett. New edition, revised
Domett, Alfred (1811-1887)

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RANOLF AND AMOHIA:
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VOLUME I.
  
PRELUDE.
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BOOK THE FIRST. THE SAILOR-STUDENT.
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Canto the First. The Sea-boy.
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VII.
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VIII.
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IX.
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Canto the Second. Will-o'-wisp-chasing.
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Canto the Third. From Wisp to Morass.
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VIII.
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Canto the Fourth. Terra Firma.
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Canto the Fifth. Cloud-blowing.
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XIII.
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XIV.
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Canto the Sixth. Land-Life or Sea-Life?
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Canto the Seventh. The Shipwreck.
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BOOK THE SECOND. THE SOUTH-SEA VILLAGERS.
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Canto the First. The Rescue.
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Canto the Second. The ‘Sounding Sea.’
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Canto the Third. The Magician.
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Canto the Fourth. A Woodland Jaunt.
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Canto the Fifth. The Legend of Tawhaki.
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Canto the Sixth. Mythical Cosmogonies.
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Canto the Seventh. The Captive.
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BOOK THE THIRD. ALL IN A SUMMER NIGHT.
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Canto the First. Miroa's Tidings.
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Canto the Second. The Song-cheered Swimming.
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Canto the Third. The Star-lit Swimming.
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Canto the Fourth. Legends of the Spirit-Land.
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Canto the Fifth. Amohia at the Fountain.
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Canto the Sixth. Silence and Moonlight.
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Canto the Seventh. The Meeting.
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VOLUME II.
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BOOK THE FOURTH. A LATTER-DAY EDEN.
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Canto the First. Flight of the Lovers.
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Canto the Second. Miroa's Story.
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Canto the Third. Love and Nature luxuriant.
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Canto the Fourth. Trees and the Tree-God.
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Canto the Fifth. The Fountain-Terraces.
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Canto the Sixth. A Geyser Yoked.
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Canto the Seventh. English Maidens.
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BOOK THE FIFTH. STILL IN EDEN.
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Canto the First. The Haunted Mountain.
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Canto the Second. Sports on the Lake.
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Canto the Third. The Cicada.
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Canto the Fourth. A loving Questioner.
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Canto the Fifth. A cheery Theorist.
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Canto the Sixth. Love beats Logic.
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Canto the Seventh. An airy Nest.
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BOOK THE SIXTH WAR.
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Canto the First. The Beleaguered Fortress.
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Canto the Second. War needs Idealizing.
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Canto the Third. The grand Assault.
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Canto the Fourth. Fight between ‘Sounding Sea’ and ‘Angry Star.’
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Canto the Fifth. Love fed by War.
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Canto the Sixth. An old wrong avenged.
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Canto the Seventh. Death of the ‘Sounding Sea.’
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BOOK THE SEVENTH. SELF-SACRIFICE.
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Canto the First. Weariness.
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Canto the Second. A sad Resolve.
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Canto the Third. Death of the Magician.
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Canto the Fourth. Where is Comfort?
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Canto the Fifth. A Vision.
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Canto the Sixth. The Departure.
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Canto the Seventh. After-Experiences.
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XII.

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I.

“Glorious! this life of lake
And hill-top! toil and tug through tangled brake,
Dense fern, and smothering broom;
And then such rests as now I take
In sunflecked soft cathedral-gloom
Of forests immemorial! Noble sport
Boar-hunting! yet that furious charge, the last
Of the dead monster there had cut it short
For me, and once for all, belike,
Had not his headlong force impaled
The savage on my tough wood-pike
That, propped with planted knee and foot,
Its butt against a rata-root,
From chest to chine right through him passed
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And nought his inch-thick hide availed,
Or ring-like tusks upthrusting through
The notches of his foaming lips,
By constant whetting planed away
To chisel-sharpness at their tips:
It weakened him—the knife-dig, too,
He caught when first commenced the fray;
When, as in haste I sprang astride
The narrowed gully—just a ditch
With flowering koromiko rich—
Between my feet the villain drove,
And fierce, with short indignant sniffs,
And grunts like muttering thunder, strove
To gain his haunts beyond the cliffs,
And foil the foes he fled from, yet defied.
“But Nim, my glorious bull-dog! Nim,
My mighty hunter of the boar,
Who never recked of life or limb
That old antagonist before!
That rip has finished his career—
His last boar-fight is fought; no more
He'll come to greet me as of yore,
Wriggling his lithe spine till his tail
Whipped his black muzzle in the excess
Of cringing canine happiness;
No more his genuine love express
With such dumb signs and tokens clear,
Mock bites and mouthings of the hand,
Easy as words to understand.
Strange, a mere dog should be so dear!
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But he is dead, and—done with, must we say?
Poor victim of this universal demon-play
Of Life—my fate to-morrow, his to-day,
Which I, for sport, have sealed—as God (or no God, then
Say you?) that of his myriad worlds and men?
And ‘pluck’ like his, that nought could quail;
Good temper—honest humble love and truth—
These must not live again, forsooth!
No future for the Dog—but why?
Duty, our highest inborn feeling, who
Has stronger than this guardian true
To death? or can we in our own rejoice,
As sprung from self-determined choice?
That Self with so much bias made—
Our Will by strongest motive swayed?
Scarce higher than his, our claims, I fear,
To merit of our own appear.
Then compound, too, not simple, he,
A work complete no more than we,
(If stuff for hope therein may be),
Has not his nature, like our own,
Instincts at war, the lower with the high?
With trusts to be fulfilled, obedience shown—
The longing for the ramble, game forbidden,
Or bone, like miser's treasure, hidden?
And if, instead of eyes that often so
With solemn melancholy glow,
He had but tongue to speak with, who can show
He might not tell of hopes, and dim
Perceptions, yearnings, that no longer dumb,
He, too, may rise to human, and become
Erect some day, a ruler and a lord,
And, like his master, loved, adored,
124

A visible God and Providence to him—
Though swayed, no doubt, full oft, by rage, caprice and whim.
As good a faith or fancy 'twere
To think all conscious creatures—foul or fair,
One universal endless progress share;
In the procession headed by mankind,
Only a march or two behind;
Each rank of God's grand army onward bent
To higher states and stages—who knows where?—
Of free and fortunate development!”
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