Then, as I frenzied gazed; gaining the one dark arch, the revolving shade darted out of sight, and the eddies whirled as before.

“Stay, stay! let me go with thee, though thou glidest to gulfs of blackness;—­naught can exceed the hell of this despair!—­Why beat longer in this corpse oh, my heart!”

As somnambulists fast-frozen in some horrid dream, ghost-like glide abroad, and fright the wakeful world; so that night, with death-glazed eyes, to and fro I flitted on the damp and weedy beach.

“Is this specter, Taji?”—­and Mohi and the minstrel stood before me.

“Taji lives no more.  So dead, he has no ghost.  I am his spirit’s phantom’s phantom.”

“Nay, then, phantom! the time has come to flee.”

They dragged me to the water’s brink, where a prow was beached.  Soon—­ Mohi at the helm—­we shot beneath the far-flung shadow of a cliff; when, as in a dream, I hearkened to a voice.

Arrived at Odo, Media had been met with yells.  Sedition was in arms, and to his beard defied him.  Vain all concessions then.  Foremost stood the three pale sons of him, whom I had slain, to gain the maiden lost.  Avengers, from the first hour we had parted on the sea, they had drifted on my track survived starvation; and lived to hunt me round all Mardi’s reef; and now at Odo, that last threshold, waited to destroy; or there, missing the revenge they sought, still swore to hunt me round Eternity.

Behind the avengers, raged a stormy mob, invoking Media to renounce his rule.  But one hand waving like a pennant above the smoke of some sea-fight, straight through that tumult Media sailed serene:  the rioters parting from before him, as wild waves before a prow inflexible.

A haven gained, he turned to Mohi and the minstrel:—­“Oh, friends! after our long companionship, hard to part!  But henceforth, for many moons, Odo will prove no home for old age, or youth.  In Serenia only, will ye find the peace ye seek; and thither ye must carry Taji, who else must soon be slain, or lost.  Go:  release him from the thrall of Hautia.  Outfly the avengers, and gain Serenia.  Reek not of me.  The state is tossed in storms; and where I stand, the combing billows must break over.  But among all noble souls, in tempest-time, the headmost man last flies the wreck.  So, here in Odo will I abide, though every plank breaks up beneath me.  And then,—­great Oro! let the king die clinging to the keel!  Farewell!”

Such Mohi’s tale.

In trumpet-blasts, the hoarse night-winds now blew; the Lagoon, black with the still shadows of the mountains, and the driving shadows of the clouds.  Of all the stars, only red Arcturus shone.  But through the gloom, and on the circumvallating reef, the breakers dashed ghost-white.

An outlet in that outer barrier was nigh.

“Ah!  Yillah!  Yillah!—­the currents sweep thee ocean-ward; nor will I tarry behind.—­Mardi, farewell!—­Give me the helm, old man!”