قراءة كتاب The Rose of Dawn: A Tale of the South Sea
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The stranger's coming, and the songs were stilled
To hush of expectation. Even so
A prince might come to claim his kingdom, lone,
In a frail craft, with weary eyes, and hair
Crowned with a fading wreath, more beautiful
Than all their lovers, slender, strong and young.
With one lithe spring he gained the yellow sand
And caught the boat and drew it with a swing
High on the beach,—its movement seemed alive.
His sinewy fingers loosed the flapping sail,
Gay shells clinked musical against the mast,
And all the maidens, timorous as birds,
Laughed at the sound with shy averted face.
Then straight and slender as the cocoa palm,
Straight as its shaft and crowned with shining hair,
The stranger lifted up his head. The wreath,
Faded yet still alive thro' ocean's breath,
Drooped o'er his brows. His flashing sun-bright eyes
Struck thro' the group of girls as shoots a dart,
And caught and quivered in sweet Taka's breast.
More noble than the rest, she scorned to fear,
And graceful in her modesty she faltered,
Then came to meet and greet the stranger guest.
Erect she faced him, o'er her brow the frail
Curves of the crest she wore, antennæ-wise,
Trembled a little. As a maid beseems,
Her eyes drooped from his gaze, yet not too soon
To miss the gleam with which he caught the first
Flash of her beauty. With that glance he gained—
Half conscious of a gladness—that this maid
Was still for winning. As the custom is
Her hair fell in twin braids, and were she wed
They had been sacrificed to that estate.
Maiden she was, his eyes caressed the sign
Black o'er the topaz beauty of her breast.
The stranger spoke. "Malua am I called;
I hold for title Tui Tua Kau.
Over the violent seas, beneath the frown,
Cold and untoward, of a starless sky,
The waves of chance have borne me; thro' the night
Around me and above the pitiless trades
Were blind with darkness, blown like maiden's hair
Across my face. As palm trees beaten by wind,
The tortured breakers tossed their streaming crests,
And all the light of all my life seemed dead—
Then—morning broke, and I behold the sun!"—
He held her with his gaze and found her eyes—
"On Tonga's shore I reigned a chief, and now
I am a beggar at your mercy." Then
The young pride mounting to his cheek, he cried,
"Nay, but I jested, for I come so far
To green Kambara for a lordly bowl
Fit for the kava of a chief."
And with the smile Malua felt the blood
Leap in his heart, his heart inviolate
Never before so stirred 'neath woman's eyes.
"Come, then, with me," said Taka, and the beach
Stretched from their feet, a ribbon that should bind
In its white length the heaven to the earth.
With delicate step she led him to the hut
Where old Akau gave him kindly greeting.
A little in the shadow, where the gourds
And strange sweet herbs—soft musty fragrances—
Hung swinging from the beams about her head,
Taka withdrew. Her wide eyes opened wide,
And, lightly folded on her golden breast,
Her two hands lay like flowers.
Bright as a sun god sat Malua listening
With greatest reverence to the aged man,
Who spoke to him of ancient, long dead things
While he displayed his wealth of burnished cups
Out of the splendid eld. "My son," he said,
"Yours is dim future, mine the deathless past;
Heroes have died for me and yet shall die,
And all the glory of the virgin earth
Yields up its sweets to me, for now I rest
And stretch my withered sinews in the sun
And wait for peaceful death; because your lips
Are innocent, and dawn is in your eyes,
I give you of my store the fairest treasure.
After my Taka, you have won my heart."
In his strong hand he laid a bowl; for this
The ages had paid toll, soft lightnings shone
From its brown glory, carved most royally.
He raised the kava bowl aloft, the sun
Struck on its shining rim, and straight as a spear
Shivered the dusk where Taka stood. The light
Lay on her swelling throat, and showed her eyes
Starred like a tropic night. The stranger's hand
Trembled a little, and his quick-drawn breath
Carried a message from his breast to hers.
They left the hut together. From the clear
Bright heat of noon they turned, and took their way
Into the greenly silent forest. Leaves
Flickered above wet blossoms, simple sounds
Of homely labor borne upon the breeze
Made them the more alone. They spoke of Love,
A mighty word to ease the strange new pain
Born in their hearts.
A little space deprived of flowers and life—
"The house of sandal wood," said Taka, pointing,
And there, the last home of a chief, it lay.
White shells and snowy pebbles girt him round
In his great mould of clay, and all his spears
And clubs of war kept vigil, showing still
His might in battle. Shrill the parrot's scream
Rang on the desolation, and the trees
Seemed to withdraw their shadows from the place
Sacred to death, the violent crime of war.
A little shadow darkened Taka's heart,
Could this sweet world contain both death and love?
She sought Malua's eyes to be assured
That love lives always.
To hold the leaves for her to pass, and softly
She came, and like a golden butterfly
Her small hand fluttered down upon his arm.
He caught his breath as tho' the leaping blood
That fled before this touch were very flame,
Then slowly, slowly turned, and in her eyes
Gave up his heart's desire. No word was said.
