Eruption of Tarawera, 10 June, 1886.

Sombre mountain, black, forbidding all around the placid lake.
Drifting wisps of snowy vapour where the geysers thud and shake.
Harsh abruptness of the mountain softened by the smoky haze.
Glowing terraces of pink and white agleam in noonday blaze.
This the scene of eerie wonder tourists came from far to view.
This the home of the Tuhourangi, once so many, now so few
Because they heeded not the warning of Tuhotu old and grim,
Because they said 'He is old and foolish, let us have no thought of him,
For we are young and youth must have its gaiety, joy and life.'
And so the white mans drink ran free and white mans vice and crime were rife.

Tamaohoi, spirit of the mountain, heard Tuhotu's call,
Heard and started to prepare to cause their ghastly death to fall.
He gave them warning, ah, but who could understand the ghostly sign?
I saw it, I Te Marama, saw plain the death canoe's outline,
The standing figures bowed of head, the spirits plumed as if for death.
I saw them in the twilight clearly, then all gone on a breezes breath.

These are the opening lines of a poem written by my oldest sister Tui when she was 12 years old. It goes on for many more lines, describing the eruption.