A MAORI SONG. 237 



I heard the bird singing a pleasant song. 



He sang of food ; he also sang of love. 



The name of this bird is known to me, 



But I will not tell it till we meet under the moon. 



The stranger, with his face so ugly and pale, 

 Has come from far over the sea. 

 He loves us, he says ; but a Maori maid 

 Will not listen to his love. 



The mountains and vales of our own land 



Are pleasant to see and live among. 



And the sun at his setting is very red — 



Red with love to the Maori ; angry at the stranger. 



My father lived here long ago ; 



He lived here, and here also lived the paraipa (a kind of bird). 



The paraipa is not here, and my father is dead : 



Woe is me, I wander among strangers. 



