Chapter 78

They Embark

Next morning, King Abrazza sent frigid word to Media that the day was
very fine for yachting; but he much regretted that indisposition would
prevent his making one of the party, who that morning doubtless would
depart his isle.

"My compliments to your king," said Media to the chamberlains, "and
say the royal notice to quit was duly received."

"Take Azzageddi's also," said Babbalanja; "and say, I hope his
Highness will not fail in his appointment with me:--the first midnight
after he dies; at the grave-yard corner;--there I'll be, and grin again!"

Sailing on, the next land we saw was thickly wooded: hedged round
about by mangrove trees; which growing in the water, yet lifted high
their boughs. Here and there were shady nooks, half verdure and half
water. Fishes rippled, and canaries sung.

"Let us break through, my lord," said Yoomy, "and seek the shore. Its
solitudes must prove reviving." "Solitudes they are," cried Mohi.

"Peopled but not enlivened," said Babbalanja. "Hard landing here,
minstrel! see you not the isle is hedged?"

"Why, break through, then," said Media. "Yillah is not here."

"I mistrusted it," sighed Yoomy; "an imprisoned island! full of
uncomplaining woes: like many others we must have glided by,
unheedingly. Yet of them have I heard. This isle many pass, marking
its outward brightness, but dreaming not of the sad secrets
here embowered. Haunt of the hopeless! In those inland woods brood
Mardians who have tasted Mardi, and found it bitter--the draught so
sweet to others!--maidens whose unimparted bloom has cankered in the
bud; and children, with eyes averted from life's dawn--like those new-
oped morning blossoms which, foreseeing storms, turn and close."

"Yoomy's rendering of the truth," said Mohi.

"Why land, then?" said Media. "No merry man of sense--no demi-god like
me, will do it. Let's away; let's see all that's pleasant, or that
seems so, in our circuit, and, if possible, shun the sad."

"Then we have circled not the round reef wholly," said Babbalanja,
"but made of it a segment. For this is far from being the first sad
land, my lord, that we have slighted at your instance."

"No more. I will have no gloom. A chorus! there, ye paddlers! spread
all your sails; ply paddles; breeze up, merry winds!"

And so, in the saffron sunset, we neared another shore.

A gloomy-looking land! black, beetling crags, rent by volcanic clefts;
ploughed up with water-courses, and dusky with charred woods. The
beach was strewn with scoria and