Chapter 58

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, scroll-prowed
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.