Chapter 64 - Page 2

sang; and tales of fairy
times were told; of monstrous imps, and youths enchanted; of groves
and gardens in the sea. Yet still I moved not, hearing all, yet
noting naught. Media cried, "For shame, oh Taji; thou, a god?" and
placed a spear in my nerveless hand. And Jarl loud called upon me to
awake. Samoa marveled.

Still sped the days. And at length, my memory was restored. The
thoughts of things broke over me like returning billows on a beach
long bared. A rush, a foam of recollections!--Sweet Yillah gone, and
I bereaved.

Another interval, and that mood was past. Misery became a
memory. The keen pang a deep vibration. The remembrance seemed the
thing remembered; though bowed with sadness. There are thoughts that
lie and glitter deep: tearful pearls beneath life's sea, that surges
still, and rolls sunlit, whatever it may hide. Common woes, like
fluids, mix all round. Not so with that other grief. Some mourners
load the air with lamentations; but the loudest notes are struck from
hollows. Their tears flow fast: but the deep spring only wells.

At last I turned to Media, saying I must hie from Odo, and rove
throughout all Mardi; for Yillah might yet be found.

But hereafter, in words, little more of the maiden, till perchance
her fate be learned.