University of Virginia Library

82. CHAPTER LXXXII.

Ere long the three canoes lurched heavily in a violent
swell. Like palls, the clouds swept to and fro, hooding the
gibbering winds. At every head-beat wave, our arching
prows reared up, and shuddered; the night ran out in rain.

Whither to turn we knew not; nor what haven to gain;
so dense the darkness.

But at last, the storm was over. Our shattered prows
seemed gilded. Day dawned; and from his golden vases
poured red wine upon the waters.

That flushed tide rippled toward us; floating from the
east, a lone canoe; in which, there sat a mild old man; a
palm-bough in his hand: a bird's beak, holding amaranth
and myrtles, his slender prow.

“Alma's blessing upon ye, voyagers! ye look storm-worn.”

“The storm we have survived, old man; and many
more, we yet must ride,” said Babbalanja.

“The sun is risen; and all is well again. We but need
to repair our prows,” said Media.

“Then, turn aside to Serenia, a pleasant isle, where all
are welcome; where many storm-worn rovers land at last
to dwell.”

“Serenia?” said Babbalanja; “methinks Serenia is that
land of enthusiasts, of which we hear, my lord; where Mardians
pretend to the unnatural conjunction of reason with
things revealed; where Alma, they say, is restored to his
divine original; where, deriving their principles from the
same sources whence flow the persecutions of Maramma,—

men strive to live together in gentle bonds of peace and
charity;—folly! folly!”

“Ay,” said Media, “much is said of those people of Serenia;
but their social fabric must soon fall to pieces; it is
based upon the idlest of theories. Thanks for thy courtesy,
old man, but we care not to visit thy isle. Our voyage has
an object, which, something tells me, will not be gained by
touching at thy shores. Elsewhere we may refit. Farewell!
'Tis breezing; set the sails! Farewell, old man.”

“Nay, nay! think again; the distance is but small; the
wind fair,—but 'tis ever so, thither;—come: we, people of
Serenia, are most anxious to be seen of Mardi; so that if
our manner of life seem good, all Mardi may live as we.
In blessed Alma's name, I pray ye, come!”

“Shall we then, my lord?”

“Lead on, old man! We will e'en see this wondrous isle.”

So, guided by the venerable stranger, by noon we descried
an island blooming with bright savannas, and pensive with
peaceful groves.

Wafted from this shore, came balm of flowers, and melody
of birds: a thousand summer sounds and odors. The dimpled
tide sang round our splintered prows; the sun was high
in heaven, and the waters were deep below.

“The land of Love!” the old man murmured, as we
neared the beach, where innumerable shells were gently
rolling in the playful surf, and murmuring from their tuneful
valves. Behind, another, and a verdant surf played
against lofty banks of leaves; where the breeze, likewise,
found its shore.

And now, emerging from beneath the trees, there came a
goodly multitude in flowing robes; palm-branches in their
hands; and as they came, they sang:—