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had been sent to reside, was situated on a
gentle acclivity, fronting one of the many
beautiful picturesque bays which are found
round the coast of New Zealand. It was a
long low-roofed house made of wood and reeds
bound together with flax, painted white,
having a large verandah entirely covered with
roses, geraniums, and woodbine, imported
from Europe; amidst the luxuriance of which
many birds had built their nests, not only all
over the roof, but in every one of the thickly
garlanded posts that upheld it. The wild
pigeon and the graceful tui flew from tree to
tree, and the hum of bees filled the air. The
sea lay blue and bright below, and so
exquisitely transparent, that any one bending over a
rock might see families of shell-fish with their
coral heads and shoulders projecting far out,
all busily feeding at the bottom, to the depth
of twelve or fifteen feet. Black swans sailed
along near the shore, red-bills lay basking in
crannies of the rocks, and the snowy albatross
often passed across the blue sky. The
mangrove fringed the borders of the bay, together
with beautiful trees in full blossom, while
sea-birds sat on the boughs pruning their
lustrous feathers in the sun, as the sparkling
drops of the briny wave flew from their
expanded pinions.

It was a delightful thing to behold Ta?nui,
very shortly after the events last described,
advancing towards this missionary station,
at the head of a number of his chiefs, and all
those of his tribe who had been converted,
holding his son by one hand, and the daughter
of Te Pomar by the other. Assembling all
who followed, in a great circle, the king
addressed them in a speech. He reminded
them of all his wars against Te Pomar–––of
the hatred he had borne him–––and of his
victory. He then spoke of his revengeful
feeling after the death of that great warrior,
and told them it had cost him very dear, as
he had suffered, in various ways, far more
than he had inflicted, or could possibly inflict.
But now a Good Spirit had descended upon
his soul, and taught him better things. He
gladly sanctioned the love of his son for
Te?ra, whom he had now brought to be
married according to the forms of the Christian
religion. He did not tell the chiefs around
him, nor any of his tribe, that he should
himself become a Christian. A man who was
sincere could not suddenly adopt any new
religion. But he for ever abjured the religion
of Tohunga, with its idols and gods of all
kind; and he promised his utmost protection
to all who taught, and all who embraced the
Christian faith, and that he would strive to
conform in all his future feelings and actions
to the teaching of the precepts of that
divine priest and master whom they called

Te?ra and Waipata were married the same
day at the missionary station, and Ta?nui
with his own hands collected the remains of
Te Pomar, which, together with the
wonderful flute, he buried in the evening with the
highest funeral ceremonies of his tribe. The
last part of this consisted in bearing the
remains to a secret cave.

To render this secrecy the more effectual,
and therefore the more to show honour by
its solemn mystery, the king, at night,
unacompanied by any one, took up the remains
of the departed chief, enveloped in a cloak of
the finest flax, and carried them in his arms
through a forest into the deepest recesses of a
beautiful stalactite grotto he had fixed upon,
and there deposited them with profound
reverence, and a truly contrite heart. As he
came forth again into the open air, the lofty
funeral march of a dead hero sounded with
its grand and elevating pathos, and Ta?nui
now, in sympathy with its harmony, beheld
the benign Phantom of Te Pomar slowly rise
before him, its arms extended nobly towards
him, and thus ascending into the night, till
its shadow mingled with the air, through
which the stars, one by one, came gently

          THE GOLDEN AGE.

    THE father sits, and marks his child
Through the clover racing wild;
And then as if he sweetly dream'd,
He half remembers how it seem'd
When he, too, was a reckless rover
Amongst the bee-beloved clover:
Pure airs, from heavenly places, rise
Breathing the blindness from his eyes,
Until, with rapture, grief, and awe,
He sees again as then he saw.

    As then he saw, he sees again
The heavy-loaded harvest wain,
Hanging tokens of its pride
In the trees on either side;
Daisies, coming out at dawn,
In constellations, on the lawn;
The glory of the daffodil;
The three black windmills on the hill,
Whose magic arms fling wildly by,
With magic shadows on the rye:
In the leafy coppice, lo,
More wealth than miser's dreams can show,
The blackbird's warm and woolly brood,
With golden beaks agape for food!
Gipsies, all the summer seen,
Native as poppies to the green;
Winter, with its frosts and thaws,
And opulence of hips and haws;
The mighty marvel of the snow;
The happy, happy ships that go,
Sailing up and sailing down,
Through the fields and by the town;–––
All the thousand dear events
That fell when days were incidents.

    And, then, his meek and loving mother–––
Oh, what speechless feelings smother
In his heart at thought of her!
What sacred, piercing sorrow mounts,
From new or unremembered founts,
While to thought her ways recur.
He hears the songs she used to sing;
His tears in scalding torrents spring;

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