I aka mai oe i kou la manawa le'a;
A manawa ino, nui mai ka nuku,

15 Hoomokapu, hoopale mai ka maka,
Hoolahui wale mai i a'u nei.
E, oia paha; ae, oia no paha ia.

[Translation]

_Song_

Ewa's lagoon is red with dirt--
Dust blown by the cool Moa'e,
A plumage red on the taro leaf,
An ocherous tint in the bay.

5 Say not in your heart that I am the culprit.
Not I, but they, are at fault.
No child of the womb is to blame.
There goes, likely he is the one.
Who was it blabbed of the bed defiled?

10 It must have been one of that band.
But look at the rank grass beat down--
For my part, I tripped, the other one smiled.
You smiled in your hour of pleasure;
But now, when crossed, how you scold!

15 Avoiding the house, averting the eyes--
You make of me a mere stranger.
Yes it's probably so, he's the one.

A poem this full of local color. The plot of the story, as it
may be interpreted, runs somewhat as follows: While the man
of the house, presumably, is away, it would seem--fishing,
perhaps, in the waters of Ewa's "shamrock lagoon"--the
mistress sports with a lover. The culprit impudently defends
himself with chaff and dust-throwing. The hoodlums, one of
whom is himself the sinner, have been blabbing, says he.
[Page 85]
His accuser points to the beaten down _hina-hina_ grass as
evidence against him. At this the brazen-faced culprit
parries the stroke with a humorous euphemistic description,
in which he plays on the word _hina_, to fall. Such verbal
tilting in ancient Hawaii was practically a defense against a
charge of moral obliquity as decisive and legitimate as was
an appeal to arms in the times of chivalry. He
euphemistically speaks of the beaten herbage as the result of
his having tripped and fallen, at which, says he, the woman
smiled, that is she fell in with his proposals. He gives
himself away; but that doesn't matter.