69. CHAPTER LXIX.
AFTER A LONG INTERVAL, BY NIGHT THEY ARE BECALMED.
Now suns rose, and set; moons grew, and waned; till,
at last, the star that erewhile heralded the dawn, presaged
the eve; to us, sad token!—while deep within the deepest
heart of Mardi's circle, we sailed from sea to sea; and isle
to isle; and group to group;—vast empires explored, and
inland valleys, to their utmost heads; and for every ray in
heaven, beheld a king.
Needless to recount all that then befell; what tribes and
caravans we saw; what vast horizons; boundless plains;
and sierras, in their every intervale, a nation nestling.
Enough that still we roamed.
It was evening; and as the red sun, magnified, launched
into the wave, once more, from a wild strand, we launched
our three canoes.
Soon, from her clouds, hooded Night, like a nun from a
convent, drew nigh. Rustled her train, yet no spangles
were there. But high on her brow, still shone her pale
crescent; haloed by bandelets—violet, red, and yellow. So
looked the lone watcher through her rainbow-iris; so sad,
the night without stars.
The winds were laid; the lagoon, still, as a prairie of an
August noon.
“Let us dream out the calm,” said Media. “One of ye
paddlers, watch: Ho companions! who's for Cathay?”
Sleep reigned throughout the canoes, sleeping upon the
waters. But nearer and nearer, low-creeping along, came
mists and vapors, a thousand; spotted with twinklings of
Will-o-Wisps from neighboring shores. Dusky leopards,
stealing on by crouches, those vapors seemed.
Hours silently passed. When startled by a cry, Taji
sprang to his feet; against which something rattled; then, a
quick splash! and a dark form bounded into the lagoon.
The dozing watcher had called aloud; and, about to stab,
the assassin, dropping his stiletto, plunged.
Peering hard through those treacherous mists, two figures
in a shallop, were espied; dragging another, dripping, from
the brine.
“Foiled again, and foiled forever. No foe's corpse
was I.”
As we gazed, in the gloom quickly vanished the shallop;
ere ours could be reversed to pursue.
Then, from the opposite mists, glided a second canoe;
and beneath the Iris round the moon, shone now another:—
Hautia's flowery flag!
Vain to wave the sirens off; so still they came.
One waved a plant of sickly silver-green.
“The Midnight Tremmella!” cried Yoomy; “the falling-star
of flowers!—Still I come, when least foreseen;
then, flee.”
The second waved a hemlock top, the spike just tapering
to its final point. The third, a convolvulus, half closed.
“The end draws nigh, and all thy hopes are waning.”
Then they proffered grapes.
But once more waved off, silently they vanished.
Again the buried barb tore at my soul; again Yillah
was invoked, but Hautia made reply.
Slowly wore out the night. But when uprose the sun,
fled clouds, and fled sadness.
