THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF R. L. STEVENSON. Robert Louis Stevenson

And the sun and the shadow of palms dappled his muscular back.

       Swiftly he lifted his head at the fall of the coming feet,

       And the water sprang in his mouth with a sudden desire of meat:

       For he marked the basket carried, covered from flies and the sun;

       And Rahéro buried his fire, but the meat in his house was done.

       Forth he stepped; and took, and delayed the boy, by the hand;

       And vaunted the joys of meat and the ancient ways of the land:

       — “Our sires of old in Taiárapu, they that created the race,

       Ate ever with eager hand, nor regarded season or place,

       Ate in the boat at the oar, on the way afoot; and at night

       Arose in the midst of dreams to rummage the house for a bite.

       It is good for the youth in his turn to follow the way of the sire;

       And behold how fitting the time! for here do I cover my fire.”

       — “I see the fire for the cooking, but never the meat to cook,”

       Said Támatéa.— “Tut!” said Rahéro. “Here in the brook,

       And there in the tumbling sea, the fishes are thick as flies,

       Hungry like healthy men, and like pigs for savour and size:

       Crayfish crowding the river, sea-fish thronging the sea.”

       — “Well, it may be,” says the other, “and yet be nothing to me.

       Fain would I eat, but alas! I have needful matter in hand,

       Since I carry my tribute of fish to the jealous king of the land.”

      Now at the word a light sprang in Rahéro’s eyes.

       “I will gain me a dinner,” thought he, “and lend the king a surprise.”

       And he took the lad by the arm, as they stood by the side of the track,

       And smiled, and rallied, and flattered, and pushed him forward and back.

       It was “You that sing like a bird, I never have heard you sing,”

       And “The lads when I was a lad were none so feared of a king.

       And of what account is an hour, when the heart is empty of guile?

       But come, and sit in the house and laugh with the women awhile;

       And I will but drop my hook, and behold! the dinner made.”

       So Támatéa the pliable hung up his fish in the shade

       On a tree by the side of the way; and Rahéro carried him in,

       Smiling as smiles the fowler when flutters the bird to the gin,

       And chose him a shining hook, and viewed it with sedulous eye,

       And breathed and burnished it well on the brawn of his naked thigh,

       And set a mat for the gull, and bade him be merry and bide,

       Like a man concerned for his guest, and the fishing, and nothing beside.

       Now when Rahéro was forth, he paused and hearkened, and heard

       The gull jest in the house and the women laugh at his word;

      And stealthily crossed to the side of the way, to the shady place

       Where the basket hung on a mango; and craft transfigured his face.

       Deftly he opened the basket, and took of the fat of the fish,

       The cut of kings and chieftains, enough for a goodly dish.

       This he wrapped in a leaf, set on the fire to cook,

       And buried; and next the marred remains of the tribute he took,

       And doubled and packed them well, and covered the basket close.

       — “There is a buffet, my king,” quoth he, “and a nauseous dose!” —

       And hung the basket again in the shade, in a cloud of flies;

       — “And there is a sauce to your dinner, king of the crafty eyes!”

       Soon as the oven was open, the fish smelt excellent good.

       In the shade, by the house of Rahéro, down they sat to their food,

       And cleared the leaves, in silence, or uttered a jest and laughed

       And raising the cocoanut bowls, buried their faces and quaffed.

       But chiefly in silence they ate; and soon as the meal was done,

       Rahéro feigned to remember and measured the hour by the sun

       And “Támatéa,” quoth he, “it is time to be jogging, my lad.”

       So Támatéa arose, doing ever the thing he was bade,

       And carelessly shouldered the basket, and kindly saluted his host;

       And again the way of his going was round by the roaring coast.

      Long he went; and at length was aware of a pleasant green,

       And the stems and shadows of palms, and roofs of lodges between.

       There sate, in the door of his palace, the king on a kingly seat,

       And aitos stood armed around, and the yottowas sat at his feet.

       But fear was a worm in his heart: fear darted his eyes;

       And he probed men’s faces for treasons and pondered their speech for lies.

       To him came Támatéa, the basket slung in his hand,

       And paid him the due obeisance standing as vassals stand.

       In silence hearkened the king, and closed the eyes in his face,

       Harbouring odious thoughts and the baseless fears of the base;

       In silence accepted the gift and sent the giver away.

       So Támatéa departed, turning his back on the day.

       And lo! as the king sat brooding, a rumour rose in the crowd;

       The yottowas nudged and whispered, the commons murmured aloud;

       Tittering fell upon all at sight of the impudent thing,

       At the sight of a gift unroyal flung in the face of a king.

       And the face of the king turned white and red with anger and shame

       In their midst; and the heart in his body was water and then was flame;

       Till of a sudden, turning, he gripped an aito hard,

       A youth that stood with his ómare, one of the daily guard,

       And spat in his ear a command, and pointed and uttered a name,

       And hid in the shade of the house his impotent anger and shame.

      Now Támatéa the fool was far on his homeward way,

       The rising night in his face, behind him the dying day.

       Rahéro saw him go by, and the heart of Rahéro was glad,

       Devising shame to the king and nowise harm to the lad;

       And all that dwelt by the way saw and saluted him well,

       For he had the face of a friend and the news of the town to tell;

       And pleased with the notice of folk, and pleased that his journey was done,

       Támatéa drew homeward, turning his back to the sun.

       And now was the hour of the bath in Taiárapu: far and near

       The lovely laughter of bathers rose and delighted his ear.

       Night massed in the valleys; the sun on the mountain coast

       Struck, endlong; and above the clouds embattled their host,