“Ah, vain to seek sweet Yillah here,” cried Yoomy.—­“Poor land! curst of man, not Oro! how thou faintest for thy children, torn from thy soil, to till a stranger’s.  Vivenza! did these winds not spend their plaints, ere reaching thee, thy every vale would echo them.  Oh, tribe of Hamo! thy cup of woe so brims, that soon it must overflow upon the land which holds ye thralls.  No misery born of crime, but spreads and poisons wide.  Suffering hunteth sin, as the gaunt hound the hare, and tears it in the greenest brakes.”

Still on we sailed:  and after many tranquil days and nights, a storm came down, and burst its thousand bombs.  The lightnings forked and flashed; the waters boiled; our three prows lifted themselves in supplication; but the billows smote them as they reared.

Said Babbalanja, bowing to the blast:  “Thus, oh Vivenza! retribution works!  Though long delayed, it comes at last—­Judgment, with all her bolts.”

Now, a current seized us, and like three darts, our keels sped eastward, through a narrow strait, far in, upon a smooth expanse, an inland ocean, without a throb.

On our left, Porpheero’s southwest point, a mighty rock, long tiers of galleries within, deck on deck; and flag-staffs, like an admiral’s masts:  a line-of-battle-ship, all purple stone, and anchored in the sea.  Here Bello’s lion crouched; and, through a thousand port-holes, eyed the world.

On our right, Hamora’s northern shore gleamed thick with crescents; numerous as the crosses along the opposing strand.

“How vain to say, that progress is the test of truth, my lord,” said Babbalanja, “when, after many centuries, those crescents yet unwaning shine, and count a devotee for every worshiper of yonder crosses.  Truth and Merit have other symbols than success; and in this mortal race, all competitors may enter; and the field is clear for all.  Side by side, Lies run with Truths, and fools with wise; but, like geometric lines, though they pierce infinity, never may they join.”

Over that tideless sea we sailed; and landed right, and landed left; but the maiden never found; till, at last, we gained the water’s limit; and inland saw great pointed masses, crowned with halos.

“Granite continents,” cried Babbalanja, “that seem created like the planets, not built with human hands.  Lo, Landmarks! upon whose flanks Time leaves its traces, like old tide-rips of diluvian seas.”

As, after wandering round and round some purple dell, deep in a boundless prairie’s heart, the baffled hunter plunges in; then, despairing, turns once more to gain the open plain; even so we seekers now curved round our keels; and from that inland sea emerged.  The universe again before us; our quest, as wide.

CHAPTER LXV Sailing On

Morning dawned upon the same mild, blue Lagoon as erst; and all the lands that we had passed, since leaving Piko’s shore of spears, were faded from the sight.