Canto the First. The Beleaguered Fortress.
1. War song of Tribes attacking Tangi's fortress—Mokoia. 2. Who
they were, and why there. 3. The Magician's motives: and proceedings
of assailants and defendants. 4. Two assaults failing, a
third prepared.
I.
1
The clashing of Tempests!
The tumult of Tempests!
To the West and the North
On their terrible path
They are rioting forth;
And they crash altogether in a whirlwind of wrath
Against the high fortress that bristles and towers
In the midst of the torn Rotorua. How cowers
The scared Lake!—how it shrieks—do you hear it?
As the lightnings spear it,
And savagely chase
In the race
Of affright
The mad-fleeing flakes of the wind-levelled spray;
Or shrivel, in flame-sheets how blindingly bright,
Black tangible night
To blue hideous day!—
O the clashing, the flashing, the tumult, the jar,
Of the gathered confederate tempests of War
Over Mókoi-ahía!
2
See, see you the glare,
O Riri, the glare?—
How the flames leap in air,
Bloodstaining the leaden-hued murkiness scowling
O'er the high Western hills where the tempests are howling,
Paparáta, Wainúku, with thunderclouds growling?—
—No fire, no flashes,
Erelong shall be there,
No life-spark or love-light on mountain—in vale;
Not a sound of despair,
Sorrow-breath,
Sob of wail—
But the blackness of ashes,
The silence of Death,
Over Mókoi-ahía.
3
Come forth, my Canoe,
My glorious Canoe!
Right over the war-boats of Tangi,
Right over their gunwales though fiercely they strive,
Thou shalt drive, thou shalt drive,
While the paddle-beat foam-waves enwreathe us, ha! ha!—
Resistless—remorseless—right onward—no check—
Thou shalt tread down and trample each plunging wreck!
Thou shalt ride
In thy pride
O'er its hollow inside,
While the hissing wave fills it beneath us, ha! ha!—
O my tearing, all-daring, unsparing Canoe—
O the might,
The delight
Of your conquering crew!—
What a tustle shall wait them,
A triumph elate them,
A blood-revel sate them,
At Mókoi-ahía!
4
Weave the great Chain—
The great living Chain!—
Over hill, over plain,
Round and round, high and low,
It shall go, it shall go,
The beleaguering Chain round the Fort of the foe!—
I-ará! I-ará!—
Firm shoulder to shoulder, every inch of the ground—
Strongly woven—well-knit—all the links true and sound—
Around and around shall the great Chain be wound!
High and low
It shall go
Round the fear-smitten foe!—
Soft-stealing—close-hemming—all-stemming—death-dealing—
O the leaguer of heroes
At Mókoi-ahía!
5
How fretful the cries,
The plaintive wild cries
Of crimson-billed terns when in bright azure weather
They flock wheeling in from all parts of the skies,
Confusedly fluttering and huddling together
To dabble and scramble for food in the water!—
Rotorua's proud islet shall see such a muster;
From the regions all round so our victims shall cluster!
So shall they
On that day
Crowd in helpless array,
So be gathered at once all together for slaughter!
Wild-crying—no flying—all dying—no trace
Of their race
Shall be left on earth's face!—
Thus our foes shall be crushed
And the battle-roar hushed
Over Mókoi-ahía!—
Such was the purport of the measured roar,
A warrior-crowd by Rotorua's shore
From time to time across its waters flung,
Their wild excitement growing as they sung.
The song foreshadowed vengeance long-desired;
Visions of victory hate and hope inspired—
But vengeance doubtful—victory yet to win.
One singer fierce in savage solo first,
Within the space the circling throng left clear,
Darting about with madly brandished spear,
The ranting wild war-ditty would begin;
Then as they all struck in, the chorus strong,
Now full and furious, with a sea-like burst
Of guttural thunder grandly rolled along;
Now at the war-chaunt's pauses, interspersed
Its short harsh sighs of deep-lunged expiration,
Such as a pavier in a London street
Gives when his ponderous hammer strikes the stones;—
All panting forth in unison complete
Hoarse harmony of heartfelt execration!
Crash after crash of deep earthshaking groans,
Whose echoes through the folded mountains tore—
Escaping monsters, plunging on to hide
In their recesses; nor even then forbore
But far and farther off faint bellowings plied.
II.
This storm of war by Kangapo was brewed:
'Twas he had roused this raging multitude
Of Uri-wéra, Nati-pórou—all
The restless spirits turbulent and rude
Amid the neighbouring tribes, South, East or West
He found, or made, obedient to his call:
For stung by Tangi's cool disdain—his breast
Black with foul bile that Amo could arrest
His schemes by flight; and worst, that such a prize
Should by this chance-sent Stranger be possessed—
One whom he would so heartily despise,
But that he hated him so much, and feared,—
Aye, feared!—he could no more endure those eyes
That met his own so calmly and appeared
To look right through his soul and life of lies,
So high and safe above his sorceries—
More than the hound the Moon's unmoving gaze
Fixed on him mutely till he howls—and feels,
How through his canine consciousness it steals—
The fascination of those searching rays,
That read his inmost thoughts, know all his ways,
And fix him all the more, the more he bays:—
Stung with such rabid jealousy and pain,
Less for his own loss than the other's gain:—
For he was of a nature Hate could move
More deeply even than successful love;
And even his Love burnt livid, like the flames
Of liquids lit for joy in Christmas games,
With bitter selfishness 'twas so imbued;
While Hate that could through Love's triumphant mood
Survive, on baffled Love would surely prey
And batten into boundless life and play:—
With all these feelings fuming thus, the Priest
Had sought out Tangi's many secret foes
And hollow friends; these—most in peace retained
By dread of Tangi, and as great at least
Of powers himself from his dark Atuas gained—
Were prompt to seize whatever chance arose,
That seemed to promise surety of success
Against a Chief, whose frank blunt haughtiness
Left many a rankling grudge, in hearts that owned
His chieftainship while backed by strength; and more
In neighbours not dependent; most of whom
Could always point, besides, to some heirloom
Of injury—ancient grievance safe in store
Kept to produce, parade as unatoned,
Harangue on and grow wild about, whene'er
Interest might prove a breach was worth their care.
And now that Priest's defection—proffered aid
To Tangi's foes, such tempting juncture made!
That sorcerer's help, to warn, foresee, foretell,
And ever keep at hand, whate'er befel,
The fresh reserve of some religious spell
The fiercest Atua's favour to compel—
With such ally what could against them be
The force or fortune of the ‘Sounding Sea’?—
And readier even than these for reckless raid
Was many a youth with jealous fury fired,
Who, when that liquid landslip set her free
From bonds the “tapu” had around her knit,
To Amo's hand had fruitlessly aspired.
So, mustering quick in arms—sharp lances fit
For thrust or whirl; flat spears with cleaving blade
Of iron-hard wood; smooth clublets of green jade
Whale's bone or black obsidian: and, though few,
The white man's lightning weapons dearly prized
For such death-dealing powers, swift, safe, and true
As made all slaughter's ruder tools despised:—
—Bearing of berries dried sufficient store,
Hínau—karaka; sun-cured fish and maize;
Their siege-provisions for not many days,
As trusting to catch Tangi unprepared
And take his fortress by surprise before
His distant friends could to the rescue pour:—
—Dragging—(by dint of desperate labour, shared
Among thick-crowding, oft-renewed relays—
A hundred straining limbs and voices timed
As one, by that wild chaunt in chorus chimed)—
Or carrying bodily—their big canoes,
O'er hill and dale, with fierce incessant toil,
And frantic ardour nothing could infuse
But rampant greed secure of blood and spoil:—
—Leaving the friends of Tangi as they passed—
Too weak alone, each hamlet, to withstand
The headlong progress of so large a band,—
Within their palisadoes shut up fast:—
Thus had the host with hopes of victory flushed,
Through Tangi's country unimpeded rushed;
And now were camped by Rotorua's Lake
In swarms resolved his island-fort to take,
Under the leadership of one, by far
The boldest, vainest that had joined the war—
And ‘Whetu-riri’ named—‘The Angry Star.’
III.
Nor deem that Priest had wholly laid aside
The object of his passion and his pride
So long—his native tribe's success and power.
Incensed to be so baffled and defied,
His aim in giving Tangi's foes their hour
Of partial triumph, was but to reduce
The Chieftain's haughtiness till he should be
More pliant to his own ascendancy.
These crowds were tools and creatures for his use;
For well he knew whenever he might please,
He could the tumult he had raised appease;
Upon their superstitious fears could play,
And fright his new adherents from the fray
With well-invented omens of dismay.
This crooked course to so concealed an end,
Did to his mind his project recommend;
'Twas doubly dear to him to win his will
By secret exercise of sinuous skill;
The consciousness of cunning mastery made
A guerdon of success almost as dear
As aught for which his cunning schemes were laid.
Yet would he not even then, with insight clear,
Deliberate purpose to himself confess,
With cool deceptive art to forge or feign
Omens and signs sinistrous, to restrain
The assailants at the height of their success;
But he had taught himself to think and feel
The Atuas ever favoured his appeal—
Could with a little management be brought
To give him mystic aid whenever sought.
And at the outset, glad was he to find,
Tangi's own acts to aid his plans inclined;
For the old Chief was so devoid of fear,
When rumours of invasion reached his ear
By foemen such as these, the thought he spurned,
A notion too absurd to entertain;
And still refused, when surer news he learned,
With obstinate and absolute disdain,
To sanction against danger threatening thence,
Any unwonted measures of defence.
So when the storm broke o'er him, and he found
The tide of War advancing all around,
He gathered hastily a sturdy band
Of staunch adherents readiest to his hand:
And on that island hill-cone, girt and swathed
In tiers, with terrace, ditch and smooth-scarped bank,
Where'er its natural slope less steeply sank;
Each terrace a successive fighting stage;
Behind each fosse, a bristling palisade
Of posts with carved and monstrous heads arrayed,
Red-ochred, grim, and grinning scorn and rage;—
There they ensconced themselves to wait unscathed
Till succours should be hurried up by sure
And faithful emissaries swift despatched;
There, in their fortress, as they felt, secure—
Withdrawing from each ditch its wooden bridge,
Lifting each terrace-ladder o'er its ridge,
Each gate closed fast,—there scornfully they watched,
Behind the walls, each movement of the foe;—
Or frantically darting in and out
The palisades, kept rushing to and fro
With wild-tossed limbs and yell and taunting shout;
Or wasting at long range a charge or two
Of precious ammunition, if it chanced,
Prowling about, a prying war-canoe
Close to the isle too temptingly advanced;
Or some marauding, reconnoitring band
Upon the garden-level dared to land.—
Thus, keeping ever at the boiling fret
The fury that could find scant outlet yet,
Thus did they shout, from morn to even-close,
Or dance defiance of their swarming foes.
IV.
Twice had the foe made fierce attack;
With slaughter twice been beaten back;
For Tangi's staunch and stalwart band—
The skill and valour far-renowned
That marked the veteran's cool command—
The lines that wound that hill around—
And last, not least, unknown before,
The dreaded weapon Ranolf bore
That through the press could swiftly hurl
A shower of deaths at every whirl,—
All these together made a sum
Of tough impediments no rush
Of Uri-wéra's hosts could crush,
Or arts, so far essayed, o'ercome.
Yet for a fresh assault, one more
Ere they should give the contest o'er,
They roused, revived their flagging force
And spirit dashed by ill-success;
Revolving every rude resource
Of savage war's ingeniousness:
Each tried, untried experiment
Old lore could teach, new craft invent;
And plying all the wild man's ways
Their forced factitious wrath to raise
And blow their fury to a blaze.
