214 THE LESSON OF EVOLUTION 



Where art thou , O my son ! 



Thou whom thy people were wont to greet 



With the welcome cry , Draw near ! Draw near ! 



Thou art gone, alas ! 



Borne by the strong ebbing tide 



That bears all men away. 



(2) 



The mists still hang on Pukehina. . 

 Along its slopes my lover wends his way. 

 Turn, love, once more, 

 That I may pour forth my tears to thee. 

 I was not the first to speak" of love. 

 You deceived me, your inferior; 

 And now my foolish heart 

 Is beside itself, 

 When my eyes rest, love, on thee. 



There is much more, equally good, in Maori 

 poetry. But it is very difficult to translate, as the 

 poet uses unbounded licence with his language. 



