58. CHAPTER LVIII.
MARDI BY NIGHT AND YILLAH BY DAY.
During the night following our arrival, many dreams
were no doubt dreamt in Odo. But my thoughts were
wakeful. And while all others slept, obeying a restless
impulse, I stole without into the magical starlight. There
are those who in a strange land ever love to view it by
night.
It has been said, that the opening in the groves where
was situated Media's city, was elevated above the surrounding
plains. Hence was commanded a broad reach of
prospect.
Far and wide was deep low-sobbing repose of man and
nature. The groves were motionless; and in the meadows,
like goblins, the shadows advanced and retreated. Full before
me, lay the Mardian fleet of isles, profoundly at anchor
within their coral harbor. Near by was one belted round
by a frothy luminous reef, wherein it lay, like Saturn in its
ring.
From all their summits, went up a milk-white smoke, as
from Indian wigwams in the hazy harvest-moon. And
floating away, these vapors blended with the faint mist, as
of a cataract, hovering over the circumvallating reef. Far
beyond all, and far into the infinite night, surged the jet-black
ocean.
But how tranquil the wide lagoon, which mirrored the
burning spots in heaven! Deep down into its innermost
heart penetrated the slanting rays of Hesperus like a shaft
of light, sunk far into mysterious Golcondas, where myriad
gnomes seemed toiling. Soon a light breeze rippled the
water, and the shaft was seen no more. But the moon's
bright wake was still revealed: a silver track, tipping every
wave-crest in its course, till each seemed a pearly, scrollprowed
nautilus, buoyant with some elfin crew.
From earth to heaven! High above me was Night's
shadowy bower, traversed, vine-like, by the Milky Way, and
heavy with golden clusterings. Oh stars! oh eyes, that see
me, wheresoe'er I roam: serene, intent, inscrutable for aye,
tell me Sybils, what I am.—Wondrous worlds on worlds!
Lo, round and round me, shining, awful spells: all glorious,
vivid constellations, God's diadem ye are! To you, ye stars,
man owes his subtlest raptures, thoughts unspeakable, yet
full of faith.
But how your mild effulgence stings the boding heart.
Am I a murderer, stars?
Hours pass. The starry trance is departed. Long
waited for, the dawn now comes.
First, breaking along the waking face; peeping from out
the languid lids; then shining forth in longer glances; till,
like the sun, up comes the soul, and sheds its rays abroad.
When thus my Yillah did daily dawn, how she lit up my
world; tinging more rosily the roseate clouds, that in her
summer cheek played to and fro, like clouds in Italian air.
