goes down, and the morning air Blows, and the cocks are singing on shore. And surely she knew The speechless thing at her side belonged to the grave.
It blew All night from the south; all night, Rahéro contended and kept The prow to the cresting sea; and, silent as though she slept, The woman huddled and quaked. And now was the peep of day. High and long on their left the mountainous island lay; And over the peaks of Taiárapu arrows of sunlight struck. On shore the birds were beginning to sing: the ghostly ruck Of the buried had long ago returned to the covered grave; And here on the sea, the woman, waxing suddenly brave, Turned her swiftly about and looked in the face of the man. And sure he was none that she knew, none of her country or clan: A stranger, mother-naked, and marred with the marks of fire, But comely and great of stature, a man to obey and admire.
And Rahéro regarded her also, fixed, with a frowning face, Judging the woman’s fitness to mother a warlike race. Broad of shoulder, ample of girdle, long in the thigh, Deep of bosom she was, and bravely supported his eye.
“Woman,” said he, “last night the men of your folk— Man, woman, and maid, smothered my race in smoke. It was done like cowards; and I, a mighty man of my hands, Escaped, a single life; and now to the empty lands And smokeless hearths of my people, sail, with yourself, alone. Before your mother was born, the die of today was thrown And you selected:—your husband, vainly striving, to fall Broken between these hands:—yourself to be severed from all, The places, the people, you love—home, kindred, and clan— And to dwell in a desert and bear the babes of a kinless man.”