Volume II Part 53 (2/2)
But thus, in clouds of dust, and with a tra them all into his treacherous fold, as wild Indians the bison herds Nay, nay, Death is Life's last despair Hard and horrible is it to die Oro hiroan Yet hy live? Life is wearisoht, su for aye One moment lived, is a life No new stars appear in the sky; no new lights in the soul Yet, of changes there are ht, in childhood, we behold s beneath thefades All of us, in our very bodies, outlive our own selves I think of green youth as of a merry playmate departed; and to shake hands, and be pleasant with e, seeer to e is not for rows old This Mardi is not our home Up and doander, like exiles transported to a planet afar:--'tis not the world _ere born in; not the world once so lightsoay; not the world where we once merrily danced, dined, and supped; and wooed, and wedded our long-buried wives Then let us depart But whither? We push ourselves forward then, start back in affright Essay it again, and flee Hard to live; hard to die; intolerable suspense! But the gri-sheets, we are dropped in the sea”
”To ht-dews, ”death's dark defile at times seems at hand, with no voice to cheer That all have died, makes it not easier for me to depart And that many have been quenched in infancy seee, li been the tomb of my youth And more has died out of me, already, than remains for the last death to finish Babbalanja says truth In childhood, death stirredbandit on the road; now, grown an old man, it boldly leads the way; and ushersthe last solaces of life Maraloom”
”Death! death!” cried Yooo, and the flowers still bloo boys, of holidays, hide-and-seek a the tombs, which must hide all seekers at last”
”Clouds on clouds!” cried Media, ”but aith theraves, while yeby inches 'Tis no death, to die; the only death is the fear of it I, a demi-God, fear death not”
”But when the jackals howl round you?” said Babbalanja
”Drive them off! Die the demi-God's death! On his last couch of crossed spears, my brave old sire cried, 'Wine, wine; strike up, conch and cy die to , than dead,” said Babbalanja ”Our end of the winding procession resounds with music and flaunts with banners with brave devices: 'Cheer up!' 'Fear not!' 'Millions have died before!'-- but in the endless van, not a pennon streams; all there, is silent and sole which, each dip of the paddles in the now cal his head, Babbalanja thus:--”Yillah still eludes us And in all this tour of Mardi, how little have we found to fill the heart with peace: how s”
”Croak no hts, and jubilee sounds I never was sad in roans! Were all happy, or all miserable,--more tolerable then, than as it is But happiness and misery are so broadly marked, that this Mardi otten past--Yet vain our surmises
Still vainer to say, that all Mardi is but a means to an end; that this life is a state of probation: that evil is but perel is viceroy--Nay, nay Oro delegates his scepter to none; in his everlasting reign there are no interregnums; and Time is Eternity; and we live in Eternity now Yet, some tell of a hereafter, where all the s of the virtuous recompensed Oro is just, they say--Then always,--now, and ever; and Oro can do no wrong Yet what seeood to him If he fears not, nor hopes,--he has no other passion; no ends, no purposes He lives content; all ends are compassed in Hi nohich is an everlasting callooh the woodlands of Maramma; its dismal notes pervade our lives; and ould fain depart in peace, that bird flies on before:-- cloud-like, eclipsing our setting suns, and filling the air with dolor”
”Too true!” cried Yoomy ”Our calms must come by store is e founder”
”Our beginnings,” murmured Mohi, ”are lost in clouds; we live in darkness all our days, and perish without an end”
”Croak on, cowards!” cried Media, ”and fly before the hideous phantoms that pursue ye”
”No coward he, who hunted, turns and finds no foe to fight,” said Babbalanja ”Like the stag, whose brow is beat ings of hawks, perched in his heavenward antlers; so I, blinded, goaded, headlong, rush!+ this way and that; nor knohither; one forest wide around!”
CHAPTER LxxxII They Sail Fro the three canoes lurched heavily in a violent swell Like palls, the clouds swept to and fro, hooding the gibbering winds At every head-beat wave, our arching prows reared up, and shuddered; the night ran out in rain
Whither to turn we knew not; nor what haven to gain; so dense the darkness
But at last, the storilded
Day dawned; and froolden vases poured red wine upon the waters
That flushed tide rippled toward us; floating from the east, a lone canoe; in which, there sat a h in his hand: a bird's beak, holding amaranth and myrtles, his slender prow