The Rose of Dawn | Page 2

they made?Their pretty toilet.?Some had gathered flowers?In fragrant wreaths, and others brought the grave?Work of the morning. Yet because the wine--?Sun of the South--gilds even toil, it seemed?A poet's pastime. Scarlet beans they threaded?Later to lie about some golden throat.?Deftly they wove fine mats, and deftly twisted?Bright witchery to adorn themselves, and snare?Men's eyes. With little songs they pearled the air.?Hush! it is Taka singing:--
"Far away?In a fountain dwelt a maiden;?When the silver moon was high?She was glad, but heavy laden?Was she when its light must die.?Far away.
"Far away?Came a stranger brave to love her,?Loved her when the moon was high;?When the moon was pale above her?Love grew pale and like to die?Far away.
"Far away?From the fountain's mist he drew her?Happy while the moon was high,?Waning, fled she, her pursuer?Held her back, and saw her die?Far away."
"'Tis a sad song for morning," cried the maids--?"And for a bride. Come, Hopa, sing of laughter."?Hopa sang:--
"Little brown streams,?Slim as my fingers,?Running and laughing?While the light lingers,?Have you no dreams,?Little brown streams?
"Little brown maidens,?Laughing and weeping,?Singing and dancing,?All the night sleeping,?Have you no lovers,?Little brown maidens?"
Afar there sounded in the mellow breeze?The rhythmic movement of the maidens' toil;?Before them on the sand a snowy sheet?Lay spread,--the tapa cloth; tutunga trees?Yield them their inner bark, and lightly then?The maidens tap the fibres till they join,?Made firm with scented gums and bright with dyes,?To form a fabric that a bride might choose,?And this was for a bride. Among the rest?One maiden shone; a moon beside her stars,?Taka, the fair. Her father was the chief?Of this small village. His the splendid store?Of kava bowls for which the isle is famed,?The shining fish-hooks, fairest of mother of pearl,?Great mats from ancient days with border rare?Of crimson feathers, cruel tragic spears,?Sweet unguents, necklaces of pearly shells?Envied by maidens, and above them all?Bales of the snowy tapa, made by hands?Subtle, wise hands of women, over whom?The earth had long laid flowers.
In the land?Where history is but a charming tale?Droned by old men at twilight, future days?Pleasantly certain as the next repast,?Where gods and goddesses appear as birds,?Trees, plants or moonlight, gently rising tide,?And shining girdle of leaves,--all homely things,?Which hold the people's hearts.--In this fair land?Taka was born. Thro' sixteen years of moon?And tropic sun she blossomed in the air.?Chilled by no frost, the world unconsciously?Mirrored her sweetness back to her. The sun?Had kissed her skin to a warm topaz; rare?As dusky wealth of Autumn, her sweet breast,?Gleaming and bare, was hung with ropes of flowers?Yellow and white, and in her curling hair?Glimmered the pure gardenia. All the braves?Wished her for wife, but old Akau the chief,?Knowing Uhila's prowess and the blood?Left by an English forbear in his veins,?Knowing that Taka too could boast, or mourn,?A foreign ancestry, had lately pledged?His daughter to this brave, and now the village?Made preparations for the marriage. There?By the warm sea the maidens paid their court?To Taka, who so soon would leave their gay?Indifferent frolic lives to wed the grave?Stern chief. She did not falter at the choice.?Love which the maidens sang was but a word;?She wished no better fate than to be mated?To a strong warrior whom her heart held dear?As friend to kind Akau. So she waited.?In her slim hands she held a polished cup,?The shell of cocoanut, which caught the light?Like a brown pool. The toil of many days?Had turned the tawny shade to warmest black?In gradual depths as shaded Taka's cheek;?With perfumed oil her fingers gave caress?And waked the hidden pictures in the grain,?The yellow sand, the dusky amber girl,?The brown perfected in the shining globe.?Earth's monotones are justified in this.?Close to her lolled small Hopa, blithe and gay?As a young cricket, teasing all the rest?With her sharp wit; often she dropped her work--?The threading of bright flowers into wreaths--?To look across the waves, and suddenly?She called, "A sail, a little sail," and all?Followed her pointing fingers. Far away,?Tossed like a feather, black against the sky,?Hovered a tiny craft, its unknown lines?Marked it as stranger, and the maidens all?Curiously watched its coming to the shore.
All night the little shell with ceaseless dip?And pause, and rise and dip again, had borne?The trackless trade winds. Tui Tua Kau,?"King of the Reefs," had ventured over far?From Tonga's shore. Caught by a wanton gale,?His idle racing, lengthened in a whim?To cheat his laughing mates, grew a wild flight.?The frail canoe seemed, on the angry sea,?A sweet rose petal blown across the night.?Yet wisely now the winds had mind to crown?Their joyous undertaking, and upon?The shores of Fiji's isles they drew their prize.?The maidens on the shore had seen afar?The stranger's coming, and the songs were stilled?To hush of expectation. Even so?A prince might come to claim his kingdom, lone,?In a frail craft, with weary eyes, and hair?Crowned with a fading wreath, more beautiful?Than