There where the roof had fallen, it roared like the mouth of hell. 
Thither Rahero went, stumbling on senseless folk,
And grappled a post of the house, and began to climb in the smoke: 
The last alive of Vaiau; and the son borne by the sire. 
The post glowed in the grain with ulcers of eating fire,
And the fire bit to the blood and mangled his hands and thighs;
And the fumes sang in his head like wine and stung in his eyes;
And still he climbed, and came to the top, the place of proof,
And thrust a hand through the flame, and clambered alive on the roof. 
But even as he did so, the wind, in a garment of flames and pain,
Wrapped him from head to heel; and the waistcloth parted in twain;
And the living fruit of his loins dropped in the fire below.

About the blazing feast-house clustered the eyes of the foe,
Watching, hand upon weapon, lest ever a soul should flee,
Shading the brow from the glare, straining the neck to see
Only, to leeward, the flames in the wind swept far and wide,
And the forest sputtered on fire; and there might no man abide. 
Thither Rahero crept, and dropped from the burning eaves,
And crouching low to the ground, in a treble covert of leaves
And fire and volleying smoke, ran for the life of his soul
Unseen; and behind him under a furnace of ardent coal,
Cairned with a wonder of flame, and blotting the night with smoke,
Blazed and were smelted together the bones of all his folk.

He fled unguided at first; but hearing the breakers roar,
Thitherward shaped his way, and came at length to the shore. 
Sound-limbed he was:  dry-eyed; but smarted in every part;
And the mighty cage of his ribs heaved on his straining heart
With sorrow and rage.  And “Fools!” he cried, “fools of Vaiau,
Heads of swine—­gluttons—­Alas! and where are they now? 
Those that I played with, those that nursed me, those that I nursed? 
God, and I outliving them!  I, the least and the worst —
I, that thought myself crafty, snared by this herd of swine,
In the tortures of hell and desolate, stripped of all that was mine: 
All!—­my friends and my fathers—­the silver heads of yore
That trooped to the council, the children that ran to the open door
Crying with innocent voices and clasping a father’s knees! 
And mine, my wife—­my daughter—­my sturdy climber of trees
Ah, never to climb again!”

Thus in the dusk of the night,
(For clouds rolled in the sky and the moon was swallowed from sight,)
Pacing and gnawing his fists, Rahero raged by the shore. 
Vengeance:  that must be his.  But much was to do before;
And first a single life to be snatched from a deadly place,
A life, the root of revenge, surviving plant of the race: 
And next the race to be raised anew, and the lands of the clan
Repeopled.  So Rahero designed, a prudent man
Even in wrath, and turned for the means of revenge and escape: 
A boat to be seized by stealth, a wife to be taken by rape.