Ballads by Robert Louis Stevenson Part 3

I. THE PRIEST'S VIGIL

IN all the land of the tribe was neither fish nor fruit, And the deepest pit of popoi stood empty to the foot. {61} The clans upon the left and the clans upon the right Now oiled their carven maces and scoured their daggers bright; They gat them to the thicket, to the deepest of the shade, And lay with sleepless eyes in the deadly ambuscade.

And oft in the starry even the song of morning rose, What time the oven smoked in the country of their foes; For oft to loving hearts, and waiting ears and sight, The lads that went to forage returned not with the night.

Now first the children sickened, and then the women paled, And the great arms of the warrior no more for war availed.

Hushed was the deep drum, discarded was the dance; And those that met the priest now glanced at him askance.

The priest was a man of years, his eyes were ruby-red, {62a} He neither feared the dark nor the terrors of the dead, He knew the songs of races, the names of ancient date; And the beard upon his bosom would have bought the chief's estate.

He dwelt in a high-built lodge, hard by the roaring sh.o.r.e, Raised on a n.o.ble terrace and with tikis {62b} at the door.

Within it was full of riches, for he served his nation well, And full of the sound of breakers, like the hollow of a sh.e.l.l.

For weeks he let them perish, gave never a helping sign, But sat on his oiled platform to commune with the divine, But sat on his high terrace, with the tikis by his side, And stared on the blue ocean, like a parrot, ruby-eyed.

Dawn as yellow as sulphur leaped on the mountain height: Out on the round of the sea the gems of the morning light, Up from the round of the sea the streamers of the sun;- But down in the depths of the valley the day was not begun.

In the blue of the woody twilight burned red the cocoa-husk, And the women and men of the clan went forth to bathe in the dusk, A word that began to go round, a word, a whisper, a start: Hope that leaped in the bosom, fear that knocked on the heart: "See, the priest is not risen-look, for his door is fast!

He is going to name the victims; he is going to help us at last."

Thrice rose the sun to noon; and ever, like one of the dead, The priest lay still in his house with the roar of the sea in his head; There was never a foot on the floor, there was never a whisper of speech; Only the leering tikis stared on the blinding beach.

Again were the mountains fired, again the morning broke; And all the houses lay still, but the house of the priest awoke.

Close in their covering roofs lay and trembled the clan, But the aged, red-eyed priest ran forth like a lunatic man; And the village panted to see him in the jewels of death again, In the silver beards of the old and the hair of women slain.

Frenzy shook in his limbs, frenzy shone in his eyes, And still and again as he ran, the valley rang with his cries.

All day long in the land, by cliff and thicket and den, He ran his lunatic rounds, and howled for the flesh of men; All day long he ate not, nor ever drank of the brook; And all day long in their houses the people listened and shook- All day long in their houses they listened with bated breath, And never a soul went forth, for the sight of the priest was death.

Three were the days of his running, as the G.o.ds appointed of yore, Two the nights of his sleeping alone in the place of gore: The drunken slumber of frenzy twice he drank to the lees, On the sacred stones of the High-place under the sacred trees; With a lamp at his ashen head he lay in the place of the feast, And the sacred leaves of the banyan rustled around the priest.

Last, when the stated even fell upon terrace and tree, And the shade of the lofty island lay leagues away to sea, And all the valleys of verdure were heavy with manna and musk, The wreck of the red-eyed priest came gasping home in the dusk.

He reeled across the village, he staggered along the sh.o.r.e, And between the leering tikis crept groping through his door.

There went a stir through the lodges, the voice of speech awoke; Once more from the builded platforms arose the evening smoke.

And those who were mighty in war, and those renowned for an art Sat in their stated seats and talked of the morrow apart.

II. THE LOVERS

HARK! away in the woods-for the ears of love are sharp- Stealthily, quietly touched, the note of the one-stringed harp. {67} In the lighted house of her father, why should Taheia start?

Taheia heavy of hair, Taheia tender of heart, Taheia the well-descended, a bountiful dealer in love, Nimble of foot like the deer, and kind of eye like the dove?

Sly and shy as a cat, with never a change of face, Taheia slips to the door, like one that would breathe a s.p.a.ce; Saunters and pauses, and looks at the stars, and lists to the seas; Then sudden and swift as a cat, she plunges under the trees.

Swift as a cat she runs, with her garment gathered high, Leaping, nimble of foot, running, certain of eye; And ever to guide her way over the smooth and the sharp, Ever nearer and nearer the note of the one-stringed harp; Till at length, in a glade of the wood, with a naked mountain above, The sound of the harp thrown down, and she in the arms of her love.

"Rua,"-"Taheia," they cry-"my heart, my soul, and my eyes,"

And clasp and sunder and kiss, with lovely laughter and sighs, "Rua!"-"Taheia, my love,"-"Rua, star of my night, Clasp me, hold me, and love me, single spring of delight."

And Rua folded her close, he folded her near and long, The living knit to the living, and sang the lover's song:

_Night_, _night it is_, _night upon the palms_.

_Night_, _night it is_, _the land wind has blown_.

_Starry_, _starry night_, _over deep and height_; _Love_, _love in the valley_, _love all alone_.

"Taheia, heavy of hair, a foolish thing have we done, To bind what G.o.ds have sundered unkindly into one.

Why should a lowly lover have touched Taheia's skirt, Taheia the well-descended, and Rua child of the dirt?"

"-On high with the haka-ikis my father sits in state, Ten times fifty kinsmen salute him in the gate; Round all his martial body, and in bands across his face, The marks of the tattooer proclaim his lofty place.

I too, in the hands of the cunning, in the sacred cabin of palm, {69} Have shrunk like the mimosa, and bleated like the lamb; Round half my tender body, that none shall clasp but you, For a crest and a fair adornment go dainty lines of blue.

Love, love, beloved Rua, love levels all degrees, And the well-tattooed Taheia clings panting to your knees."

"-Taheia, song of the morning, how long is the longest love?

A cry, a clasp of the hands, a star that falls from above!

Ever at morn in the blue, and at night when all is black, Ever it skulks and trembles with the hunter, Death, on its track.

Hear me, Taheia, death! For to-morrow the priest shall awake, And the names be named of the victims to bleed for the nation's sake; And first of the numbered many that shall be slain ere noon, Rua the child of the dirt, Rua the kinless loon.

For him shall the drum be beat, for him be raised the song, For him to the sacred High-place the chaunting people throng, For him the oven smoke as for a speechless beast, And the sire of my Taheia come greedy to the feast."

"Rua, be silent, spare me. Taheia closes her ears.

Pity my yearning heart, pity my girlish years!

Flee from the cruel hands, flee from the knife and coal, Lie hid in the deeps of the woods, Rua, sire of my soul!"

"Whither to flee, Taheia, whither in all of the land?

The fires of the b.l.o.o.d.y kitchen are kindled on every hand; On every hand in the isle a hungry whetting of teeth, Eyes in the trees above, arms in the brush beneath.

Patience to lie in wait, cunning to follow the sleuth, Abroad the foes I have fought, and at home the friends of my youth."

"Love, love, beloved Rua, love has a clearer eye, Hence from the arms of love you go not forth to die.

There, where the broken mountain drops sheer into the glen, There shall you find a hold from the boldest hunter of men; There, in the deep recess, where the sun falls only at noon, And only once in the night enters the light of the moon, Nor ever a sound but of birds, or the rain when it falls with a shout; For death and the fear of death beleaguer the valley about.

Tapu it is, but the G.o.ds will surely pardon despair; Tapu, but what of that? If Rua can only dare.

Tapu and tapu and tapu, I know they are every one right; But the G.o.d of every tapu is not always quick to smite.

Lie secret there, my Rua, in the arms of awful G.o.ds, Sleep in the shade of the trees on the couch of the kindly sods, Sleep and dream of Taheia, Taheia will wake for you; And whenever the land wind blows and the woods are heavy with dew, Alone through the horror of night, {72} with food for the soul of her love, Taheia the undissuaded will hurry true as the dove."

"Taheia, the pit of the night crawls with treacherous things, Spirits of ultimate air and the evil souls of things; The souls of the dead, the stranglers, that perch in the trees of the wood, Waiters for all things human, haters of evil and good."

"Rua, behold me, kiss me, look in my eyes and read; Are these the eyes of a maid that would leave her lover in need?

Brave in the eye of day, my father ruled in the fight; The child of his loins, Taheia, will play the man in the night."

So it was spoken, and so agreed, and Taheia arose And smiled in the stars and was gone, swift as the swallow goes; And Rua stood on the hill, and sighed, and followed her flight, And there were the lodges below, each with its door alight; From folk that sat on the terrace and drew out the even long Sudden crowings of laughter, monotonous drone of song; The quiet pa.s.sage of souls over his head in the trees; {74} And from all around the haven the crumbling thunder of seas.

"Farewell, my home," said Rua. "Farewell, O quiet seat!

To-morrow in all your valleys the drum of death shall beat."

III. THE FEAST

DAWN as yellow as sulphur leaped on the naked peak, And all the village was stirring, for now was the priest to speak.

Forth on his terrace he came, and sat with the chief in talk; His lips were blackened with fever, his cheeks were whiter than chalk; Fever clutched at his hands, fever nodded his head, But, quiet and steady and cruel, his eyes shone ruby-red.

In the earliest rays of the sun the chief rose up content; Braves were summoned, and drummers; messengers came and went; Braves ran to their lodges, weapons were s.n.a.t.c.hed from the wall; The commons herded together, and fear was over them all.

Festival dresses they wore, but the tongue was dry in their mouth, And the blinking eyes in their faces skirted from north to south.

Now to the sacred enclosure gathered the greatest and least, And from under the shade of the banyan arose the voice of the feast, The frenzied roll of the drum, and a swift, monotonous song.

Higher the sun swam up; the trade wind level and strong Awoke in the tops of the palms and rattled the fans aloud, And over the garlanded heads and s.h.i.+ning robes of the crowd Tossed the spiders of shadow, scattered the jewels of sun.

Forty the tale of the drums, and the forty throbbed like one; A thousand hearts in the crowd, and the even chorus of song, Swift as the feet of a runner, trampled a thousand strong.

And the old men leered at the ovens and licked their lips for the food; And the women stared at the lads, and laughed and looked to the wood.

As when the sweltering baker, at night, when the city is dead, Alone in the trough of labour treads and fas.h.i.+ons the bread; So in the heat, and the reek, and the touch of woman and man, The naked spirit of evil kneaded the hearts of the clan.

Now cold was at many a heart, and shaking in many a seat; For there were the empty baskets, but who was to furnish the meat?

For here was the nation a.s.sembled, and there were the ovens anigh, And out of a thousand singers nine were numbered to die.