[figure description] Page 309.[end figure description]

“How still!” cried Babbalanja. “This calm is like unto
Oro's everlasting serenity, and like unto man's last despair.”

But now the silence was broken by a strange, distant,
intermitted melody in the water.

Gazing over the side, we saw naught but a far-darting
ray in its depths.

Then Yoomy, before buried in a reverie, burst forth with
a verse, sudden as a jet from a Geyser.

“What maiden, minstrel?” cried Media.

“None of these,” answered Yoomy, pointing out a shallop
gliding near.

“The damsels three:—Taji, they pursue you yet.”

That still canoe drew nigh, the Iris in its prow.

Gliding slowly by, one damsel flung a Venus-car, the
leaves yet fresh.

Said Yoomy—“Fly to love.”

The second maiden flung a pallid blossom, buried in
hemlock leaves.

Said Yoomy, starting—“I have wrought a death.”

Then came showering Venus-cars, and glorious mossroses
numberless, and odorous handfuls of Verbena.

Said Yoomy—“Yet fly, oh fly to me: all rosy joys and
sweets are mine.”

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Then the damsels floated on.

“Was ever queen more enigmatical?” cried Media—
“Love,—death,—joy,—fly to me? But what says Taji?”

“That I turn not back for Hautia; whoe'er she be, that
wild witch I contemn.”

“Then spread our pinions wide! a breeze! up sails! ply
paddles all! Come, Flora's flute, float forth a song.”

To pieces picking the thorny roses culled from Hautia's
gifts, and holding up their blighted cores, thus plumed and
turbaned Yoomy sang, leaning against the mast:—

p275-318

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