Land) where dwells my mate,
He who is whirled away
To southern seas.

More utilitarian are (6) and (7), in which a woman asks "Who will
marry a man too lazy to till the ground for food?" And a man wants to
know "Who will marry a woman too lazy to weave garments?" Very
unlover-like is the following:

I don't like the habits of woman.
When she goes out--
She _Kuikuis_
She _Koakoas_
She chatters
The very ground is terrified,
And the rats run away.
Just so.

More poetic are the _waiata_, which are sung without the aid of any
action. The following ode was composed by a young woman forsaken by
her lover:

Look where the mist
Hangs over Pukehina.
There is the path
By which went my love.

Turn back again hither,
That may be poured out
Tears from my eyes.

It was not I who first spoke of love.
You it was who made advances to me
When I was but a little thing.

Therefore was my heart made wild.
This is my farewell of love to thee.

A young woman, who had been carried away prisoner from Tuhua, gives
vent to her longing in these lines:

"My regret is not to be expressed. Tears like a spring
gush from my eyes. I wonder whatever is Te Kaiuku [her
lover] doing: he who deserted me. Now I climb upon the
ridge of Mount Parahaki; from whence is clear the view
of the island Tahua. I see with regret the lofty Taumo,
where dwells Tangiteruru. If I were there, the shark's
tooth would hang from my ear. How fine, how beautiful,
should I look. But see whose ship is that tacking? Is
it yours? O Hu! you husband of Pohiwa, sailing away on
the tide to Europe.

"O Tom! pray give me some of your fine things; for
beautiful are the clothes of the sea-god.

"Enough of this. I must return to my rags, and to my
nothing-at-all."

In this case the loss of her finery seems to trouble the girl a good
deal more than the loss of her lover. In another ode cited by
Shortland a deserted girl, after referring to her tearful eyes, winds
up with the light-hearted

Now that you are absent in your native land,
The day of regret will, perhaps, end.

There is a suggestion of Sappho in the last of these odes I shall
cite:

"Love does not torment forever. It came on me like the
fire which rages sometimes at Hukanai. If this
(beloved) one