the king
And aping behaviour, but clinging together with hands and eyes,
With looks that were kind like kisses, and laughter tender as sighs. 
There, too, the grandsire stood, raising his silver crest,
And the impotent hands of a suckling groped in his barren breast. 
The childhood of love, the pair well married, the innocent brood,
The tale of the generations repeated and ever renewed —
Hiopa beheld them together, all the ages of man,
And a moment shook in his purpose.

But these were the foes of his clan,
And he trod upon pity, and came, and civilly greeted the king,
And gravely entreated Rahero; and for all that could fight or sing,
And claimed a name in the land, had fitting phrases of praise;
But with all who were well-descended he spoke of the ancient days. 
And “’Tis true,” said he, “that in Paea the victual rots on the ground;
But, friends, your number is many; and pigs must be hunted and found,
And the lads troop to the mountains to bring the feis down,
And around the bowls of the kava cluster the maids of the town. 
So, for to-night, sleep here; but king, common, and priest
To-morrow, in order due, shall sit with me in the feast.” 
Sleepless the live-long night, Hiopa’s followers toiled. 
The pigs screamed and were slaughtered; the spars of the guest-house oiled,
The leaves spread on the floor.  In many a mountain glen
The moon drew shadows of trees on the naked bodies of men
Plucking and bearing fruits; and in all the bounds of the town
Red glowed the cocoanut fires, and were buried and trodden down. 
Thus did seven of the yottowas toil with their tale of the clan,
But the eighth wrought with his lads, hid from the sight of man. 
In the deeps of the woods they laboured, piling the fuel high
In fagots, the load of a man, fuel seasoned and dry,
Thirsty to seize upon fire and apt to blurt into flame.

And now was the day of the feast.  The forests, as morning came,
Tossed in the wind, and the peaks quaked in the blaze of the day
And the cocoanuts showered on the ground, rebounding and rolling away: 
A glorious morn for a feast, a famous wind for a fire. 
To the hall of feasting Hiopa led them, mother and sire
And maid and babe in a tale, the whole of the holiday throng. 
Smiling they came, garlanded green, not dreaming of wrong;
And for every three, a pig, tenderly cooked in the ground,
Waited, and fei, the staff of life, heaped in a mound
For each where he sat;—­for each, bananas roasted and raw
Piled with a bountiful hand, as for horses hay and straw
Are stacked in a stable; and fish, the food of desire, {1m}
And plentiful vessels of sauce, and breadfruit gilt in the fire; —
And kava was common as water.  Feasts have there been ere now,
And many, but never a feast like that of the folk of Vaiau.