horizon, every day, every day; so at last he said to his brothers, "Let us now catch the sun in a noose, so that we may compel him to move more slowly, in order that mankind may have long days to labour in to procure subsistence for themselves." Then they began to spin and twist ropes to make a noose to catch the sun in, and thus the art of rope-making was discovered. And Maui took his enchanted weapon, which, like Samson's, was a jaw-bone, the jaw-bone of his ancestress Muri-ranga-whenua, and he and his brothers travelled off through the desert, till they came very far, very far, to the eastward, to the very edge of the place out of which the sun rises. There they set the noose, and at last the sun came up and put his head and fore-paws through it; then the brothers pulled the ropes tight and held him fast, and Maui rushed at him with his magic weapon. Alas! the sun screams aloud, he roars; Maui strikes him fiercely with many blows; they hold him for a long time, at last they let him go, and then, weak from wounds, the sun crept slowly along its course.[1] Another version of the story was taken down in the Samoan Islands. There was once a man who, like the white people, though it was years before pipes, muskets, or priests were heard of, never could be contented with what he had; pudding was not good enough for him, and he worried his family out of all heart with his new ways and ideas. At last he set to build himself a house of great stones, to last for ever; so he rose early and toiled late, but the stones were so heavy and so far off, and the sun went round so quickly, that he could get on but very slowly. One evening he lay awake, and thought and thought, and it struck him that as the sun had but one road to come by, he might stop him and keep him till the work was done. So he rose before the dawn, and pulling out in his canoe as the sun rose, he threw a rope round his neck; but no, the sun marched on and went his course unchecked. He put nets over the place where the sun rose, he used up all his mats to stop him, but in vain; the sun went on, and laughed in hot winds at all his efforts. Meanwhile the house stood still, and the builder fairly despaired. At last the great Itu, who generally lies on his mats, and cares not at all for those he has made, turned
- ↑ Grey, 'Polynesian Mythology,' pp. 35–8.
