Te Aotea-roa.

The gods were in their strangest mood
When, out of Ocean's twisted mud,
By laboured shake and shock so rude,
All racked and torn, built up, undone,
Bewildered, quiv'ring whilst the sun
Shone red through wild Pacific scud,
They raised thee, Aotea-roa.
While Beauty drove across lone seas
By messengers of wave and wing,
Brave seeds to rise in forest trees;
And strange came their report to Her,
How all the bush grew mightier,
And ferns arose in offering
Of praise, in Aotea-roa.
So colour cried: “The land is green.
Pohutukawa, Rata, flower
Ye red as red has never been;
Let Clematis the Veiler know,
The South Wind drapes in virgin snow
Of white more white than her own shower,
Thy mountains, Aotea-roa.”
“Let Raupo ring her black lagoons
And Kowhai fringe her highland streams;
Let mosses cling in wild festoons
Of red, brown, gold and purple hue
On trees that rake the Southern blue;
O make her lakes and oceans dreams
Unknown from Aotea-roa.”
And Echo gave his sweetest words;
The Miro and the Rimu caught
Each note and fashioned them in birds
Of fluted voice and twilight cry,
And thus arose the revelry
Of song her feathered bells have taught
The glens of Aotea-roa.
Then clouds drew flame along the West,
And Night came starred to hold her sway,
The South Sea Cross upon her breast;
And Moa bird and Kiwi stalked,
And Maori maid with Toa walked,
While over all the land there lay
The Sign of Aotea-roa.
O Land of green-eternal shade,
O Land of myth and mystery,
The gods were lavish when they made
These mountains wrapped in sparkling ice,
Those alps a nearer paradise.
Of Long White Clouds and gave to thee
Thy name, Te Aotea-roa.

Pumice, Nelson, N. Z.

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