Malolo

Father E. Tremblay, formerly of Tonga, who now is filling an execufive position in Boston, USA, in the mission organisation of his Church, is preparing for the press a little book covering his many years of mission work at Haapai, Tonga.

He intends to include in his voT ume one or two poems by the late Mr. Masterton who, over 40 years ago, was British Consul at Nukua-

lofa. Mr. Masterton’s pen-name was Talefekau, and his verses were pub- Ushed in Sydney Bulletin, which has gi ven Father Tremblay permission to Mr. poem n^a ' Another of Mr. Masterton s poems also received a lot of notice when it was first published by Sydney Bul letin in 1913. Here it is:

Malolo

Malolo is Tongan; it signifies rest.

They’ve got it in plenty, these “Isles of the Blest”.

The first word of kids and the last of the old — It grapples them all in a sure strangle-hold.

Malolo, as dire as the “fate” of the Turk!

“Malolo this morning, to-morrow for work.”

“To-morrow, to-morrow,” but never, “to-day.”: They wait for an advent that comes not their way.

Malolo, Malolo, O musical word!

Especially so when by womankind purred.

Alluring as song of the siren that mocks The sailor-man’s crash on the Mermaiden’s rocks.

“Come, rest on this bosom, my own” —it is here That the warrior wanderer starteth to clear.

Once hark to her bidding, once drop to her mat, Malolo may make you for ever lie flat.

In supine contentment, inglorious ease, As one who has drunk of Life’s wine to its lees; As one who with nothing to worry about, Unhinged, is a quitter, ignored, counted out.

Oh, run about, friend, though the sun may be hot, If the shade is inviting, its promise is not; Or, best, run away, there is safety ’way back In the land whence you came, on the workaday track.

There is safety away from the lotus and palm; There are hopes that can’t stir in this back-water calm.

Are there deeds to be done, are there schemes to be planned In a place by continual restfulness banned?

Malolo is neither for you nor for me; Malolo is all that one ought not to be.

It makes any principles hard to endure, And ends just in atrophy, speedy and sure.

Malolo, Malolo, I know you too well!

We start to enjoy you for “just a short spell”.

A spell that grows longer and longer, until We cannot escape, for we haven’t the will.

Malolo, the creed of the done and the dead, An epitaph meet for a race that is sped.

All those to whom effort gives lively disgust Are summed up by Malolo, which signifies rust.

Tonga. Talefekau.