101. CHAPTER CI.
That evening, in the groves, came to me three gliding
forms:—Hautia's heralds: the Iris mixed with nettles.
Said Yoomy, “A cruel message!”
With the right hand, the second syren presented glossy,
green wax-myrtle berries, those that burn like tapers; the
third, a lily of the valley, crushed in its own broad leaf.
This done, they earnestly eyed Yoomy; who, after much
pondering, said—“I speak for Hautia; who by these berries
says, I will enlighten you.”
“Oh, give me then that light! say, where is Yillah?”
and I rushed upon the heralds.
But eluding me, they looked reproachfully at Yoomy;
and seemed offended.
“Then, I am wrong,” said Yoomy. “It is thus:—Taji,
you have been enlightened, but the lily you seek is crushed.”
Then fell my heart, and the phantoms nodded; flinging
upon me bilberries, like rose pearls, which bruised against
my skin, left stains.
Waving oleanders, they retreated.
“Harm! treachery! beware!” cried Yoomy.
Then they glided through the wood: one showering dead
leaves along the path I trod, the others gayly waving bunches
of spring-crocuses, yellow, white, and purple; and thus
they vanished.
Said Yoomy, “Sad your path, but merry Hautia's.”
“Then merry may she be, whoe'er she is; and though
woe be mine, I turn not from that to Hautia; nor ever will
I woo her, though she woo me till I die;—though Yillah
never bless my eyes.”
